Canto Sixth of The Lay of the Last MinstrelBreathes 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 burn'd,As home his footsteps he hath 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 downTo the vile dust, from whence he sprung,Unwept, unhonor'd, and unsung. Sir Walter Scott
I'm in! I'll just throw on my tilted kilt and I be ready to race!
Those of us who know you, Miss Colleen, would prefer you race sans kilt...I shall run as well if I get one of my daughters to join me. Hopefully to see you there.Ah, too much of a Franz Schubert's String Quartet No. 15 in G Major day. This is why I left Chicago some twenty years ago - it's this gray eight months out of the year up there.
I have to say that the St. Luke's Dunwoody Tartan Trot was probably the most well organized 10K race I've ever run in, with the exception of the Peachtree Road Race or maybe the Chattahoochee Challenge in the earlier years of the last decade; however, the Tartan Trot shirts are the most attractive ones ever awarded. Really sharp looking! Thank-you!
The beer was cold and the women were fast. Most enjoyable!
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