"Poema sobre o herói escocês William Wallace."
The Death of the Brave
Is it thou, my love, who wanderth in light?
Thou who cometh when day fadeth into night
Bearst my spirit to my forefathers’ hall
For out in the distant I hear them call
Is it thou who releaseth me from pain?
Though I am dying, I shall not die in vain
The sound of pipers echoeth in the land
For I have fought and not feared the near end
Whither hast gone thou, bender of the thistle?
Alas! I shall hear no more thy whistle
Farewell, breeze of the autuum’s dusky valley
For death approacheth and I leave thee sadly
Hath thy shadow grown, oh oak of the hill?
Beholding thy mighty image I stand still
My beloved land, at the gallows I lie
For freedom I claimed, the price was to die
Do ye, winds of the highlands, fly above?
Lead me forth to the arms of my dear love
At the threshold of death I feel thy clutch
For as the sun my heart blazeth at thy touch
Hath the winter's mist now covered my sight?
Thy gleaming fair green eyes now shine so bright
The time hath come as I fulfilled my part
For free was my soul and brave was my heart
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