Whose was the guilt that wrought his fall.”
Still dost thou hear in stern disdain?
Are Freedom’s warning accents vain?
No! royal Bruce! within thy breast
Wakes each high thought, too long suppress’d.
And thy heart’s noblest feelings live,
Blent in that suppliant word—“Forgive!”
“Forgive the wrongs to Scotland done!
Wallace! thy fairest palm is won;
And, kindling at my country’s shrine,