"Breathes there the man with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,
This is my own, my native land!
Whose hear hath ne'er with him burn'd,
As home his footsteps he hath turn'd,
From wandering on a foreign strand!

Oh Caledonia, stern and wild,
Meet nurse for a poetic child!
Land of brown heath and shaggy wood,
Land of the mountain and the flood,
Land of my sires! What mortal hand
Can e'er untie the filial band
That knits me to thy rugged strand!"

-- Sir Walter Scott