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They bore within their breasts the grief That fame can never heal- That deep, unutterable woe Which none save exiles feel.

William Edmondstoune Aytoun

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William Edmondstoune Aytoun
Age: 52 †
Born: 1813
Born: June 21
Died: 1865
Died: August 4
Judge
Lawyer
Linguist
Novelist
Poet
Translator
University Teacher
Writer
Edinburgh
Scotland
Layman of the church
Fame
Exile
Deep
Bores
Within
Breasts
Feel
Boredom
Feels
Heal
Unutterable
Never
Grief
Exiles
Save
Bore
None
Woe

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The earth is all the home I have, the heavens my wide roof-tree
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Do not lift him from the bracken, Leave him lying where he fell- Better bier ye cannot fashion: None beseems him half so well As the bare and broken heather, And the hard and trampled sod, Whence his angry soul ascended To the judgment seat of God!
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He is coming! He is coming! Like a bridegroom from his room, Came the hero from his prison To the scaffold and the doom.
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Fhairshon had a son, Who married Noah's daughter, And nearly spoil'd to Flood, By trinking up ta water: Which he would have done, I at least believe it, Had ta mixture peen Only half Glenlivet.
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Give me but one hour of Scotland, Let me see it ere I die.
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Nowhere beats the heart so kindly as beneath the tartan plaid!
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Fhairshon swore a feud Against the clan M,Tavish Marched into their land To murder and to rafish For he did resolve To extirpate the vipers, With four-and-twenty men And five-and-thirty pipers.
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