Saturday, August 01, 2009

Breathes There the Man


BREATHES there the man with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,
'This is my own, my native land!'
Whose heart hath ne'er within him burn'd
As home his footsteps he hath turn'd
From wandering on a foreign strand?
If such there breathe, go, mark him well;
For him no Minstrel raptures swell;
High though his titles, proud his name,
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim;
Despite those titles, power, and pelf,
The wretch, concentred all in self,
Living, shall forfeit fair renown,
And, doubly dying, shall go down
To the vile dust from whence he sprung,
Unwept, unhonour'd, and unsung.

Sir Walter Scott, 1771-1832


Crossposted at The Dougout

4 comments:

Anonymous said...

yup a special kinda dickhead...

willing to bow and scrape to this oiltick but has some kind of personal qualm about puting his hand over his heart during the anthem....

Anonymous said...

some one wanna explain to me how this clown became president?

rhetorical..

midnight rider said...

Rumcrook == rhetorical answer --

MSM

Anonymous said...

I changed the second picture to one that is even more illustrative of the Messiah's narcissism.