Breathes there the man with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said, This is my own, my native land.
Walter ScottThe chain of friendship, however bright, does not stand the attrition of constant close contact.
Walter ScottBreathes there the man with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said, This is my own, my native land.
Walter ScottThe chain of friendship, however bright, does not stand the attrition of constant close contact.
Walter Scott