Page:Wallace and Bruce.pdf/17

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No! we were cast in other mould Than theirs by lawless power controlled! The nurture of our bitter sky Calls forth resisting energy, And the wild fastnesses are ours, The rocks, with their eternal towers! The soul, to struggle and to dare, Is mingled with our northern air, And dust beneath our soil is lying Of those who died for fame undying. Tread'st thou that soil! and can it be, No loftier thought is roused in thee? Doth no high feeling proudly start From slumber in thine inmost heart? No secret voice thy bosom thrill, For thine own Scotland pleading still?