<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=381482" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Scotland 1941</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">We were a tribe, a family, a people.<br>Wallace and Bruce guard now a painted field,<br>And all may read the folio of our fable,<br>Peruse the sword, the sceptre and the shield.<br>A simple sky roofed in that rustic day,<br>The busy corn-fields and the haunted holms,<br>The green road winding up the ferny brae.<br>But Knox and Melville clapped their preaching palms<br>And bundled all the harvesters away,<br>Hoodicrow Peden in the blighted corn<br>Hacked with his rusty beak the starving haulms.<br>Out of that desolation we were born.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Courage beyond the point and obdurate pride<br>Made us a nation, robbed us of a nation.<br>Defiance absolute and myriad-eyed<br>That could not pluck the palm plucked our damnation.<br>We with such courage and the bitter wit<br>To fell the ancient oak of loyalty,<br>And strip the peopled hill and altar bare,<br>And crush the poet with an iron text,<br>How could we read our souls and learn to be?<br>Here a dull drove of faces harsh and vexed,<br>We watch our cities burning in their pit,<br>To salve our souls grinding dull lucre out,<br>We, fanatics of the frustrate and the half,<br>Who once set Purgatory Hill in doubt.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Now smoke and dearth and money everywhere,<br>Mean heirlooms of each fainter generation,<br>And mummied housegods in their musty niches,<br>Burns and Scott, sham bards of a sham nation,<br>And spiritual defeat wrapped warm in riches,<br>No pride but pride of pelf. Long since the young<br>Fought in great bloody battles to carve out<br>This towering pulpit of the Golden Calf,<br>Montrose, Mackail, Argyle, perverse and brave,<br>Twisted the stream, unhooped the ancestral hill.<br>Never had Dee or Don or Yarrow or Till<br>Huddled such thriftless honour in a grave.<br>Such wasted bravery idle as a song,<br>Such hard-won ill might prove Time's verdict wrong,<br>And melt to pity the annalist's iron tongue.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Edwin+Muir">Edwin Muir</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=381482" data-title="Scotland 1941 de Edwin Muir" data-description="We were a tribe, a family, a people. Wallace and Bruce guard now a painted field, And all may read the folio of our fable, Peruse the sword, the sceptre and the shield. A simple sky roofed in that rustic day, The busy corn-fields and the haunted h..."></div> </div> </div>

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