breathes there the man with soul so dead who never to himself hath said this is my own my native land whos heart hath ne er within him burn d as home his footsteps he hath turn d from wandering on a foreign strand i ve wandered through the ancient glens where the air is filled with sorrow and climbed to the highest of peaks walked amongst the haunted ruins of my nation there s nowhere i d rather be this is my home my heart my soul my hearth