| "Lady Moon, Lady Moon, where are you roving?" |
| "Over the sea." |
| "Lady Moon, Lady Moon, whom are you loving?" |
| "All that love me." |
| |
| "Are you not tired with rolling and never |
| Resting to sleep? |
| Why look so pale and so sad, as for ever |
| Wishing to weep?" |
| |
| "Ask me not this, little child, if you love me; |
| You are too bold |
| I must obey my dear Father above me, |
| And do as I'm told." |
| |
| "Lady Moon, Lady Moon, where are you roving?" |
| "Over the sea." |
| "Lady Moon, Lady Moon, whom are you loving?" |
| "All that love me." |
| |
| Lord Houghton. |
| Breathes there the man with soul so dead |
| Who never to himself hath said, |
| This is my own, my native land? |
| Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned, |
| As home his footsteps he hath turned |
| From wandering on a foreign strand? |
| If such there breathe, go, mark him well; |
| For him no minstrel raptures swell; |
| High though his titles, proud his name, |
| Boundless his wealth as wish can claim,— |
| Despite those titles, power, and pelf, |
| The wretch, concentred all in self, |
| Living, shall forfeit fair renown, |
| And, doubly dying, shall go down |
| To the vile dust from whence he sprung, |
| Unwept, unhonored and unsung. |
| |
| Sir Walter Scott. |