Mosw90

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Mosw90 Social Profile

Linux is only free if your time has no value.

  • Phone Number *** - **** 8488
  • E-Mailbrownswan885***@******.***
  • Birthday09 October 1978
  • Education -
  • Address Calle de Alberto Aguilera No: 8488
  • CityCórdoba
  • CountrySpain

Mosw90 Live Statistics

Mosw90 have a 188 following and 469 followers. Mosw90's world rankings is 146. This page is based on Mosw90's online data & informations. You can find information birth date, place of residence, phone number, address and social media accounts on Mosw90's page.

1Followers
1Following
1Popularity
1Scores

Mosw90's Life Motto

Take no thought of who is right or wrong or who is better than. Be not for or against. ..

About mosw90

Mosw90 living Calle de Alberto Aguilera No: 8488 Córdoba Spain

NOW Nature hangs her mantle green
On every blooming tree,
And spreads her sheets o' daisies white
Out o'er the grassy lea;
Now Phoebus cheers the crystal streams,
And glads the azure skies;
But nought can glad the weary wight
That fast in durance lies.
Now laverocks wake the merry morn
Aloft on dewy wing;
The merle, in his noontide bow'r,
Makes woodland echoes ring;
The mavis wild wi' mony a note,
Sings drowsy day to rest:
In love and freedom they rejoice,
Wi' care nor thrall opprest.
Now blooms the lily by the bank,
The primrose down the brae;
The hawthorn's budding in the glen,
And milk-white is the slae:
The meanest hind in fair Scotland
May rove their sweets amang;
But I, the Queen of a' Scotland,
Maun lie in prison strang.
I was the Queen o' bonie France,
Where happy I hae been;
Fu' lightly raise I in the morn,
As blythe lay down at e'en:
And I'm the sov'reign of Scotland,
And mony a traitor there;
Yet here I lie in foreign bands,
And never-ending care.
But as for thee, thou false woman,
My sister and my fae,
Grim Vengeance yet shall whet a sword
That thro' thy soul shall gae;
The weeping blood in woman's breast
Was never known to thee;
Nor th' balm that draps on wounds of woe
Frae woman's pitying e'e.
My son! my son! may kinder stars
Upon thy fortune shine;
And may those pleasures gild thy reign,
That ne'er wad blink on mine!
God keep thee frae thy mother's faes,
Or turn their hearts to thee:
And where thou meet'st thy mother's friend,
Remember him for me!
O! soon, to me, may Summer suns
Nae mair light up the morn!
Nae mair to me the Autumn winds
Wave o'er the yellow corn?
And, in the narrow house of death,
Let Winter round me rave;
And the next flow'rs that deck the Spring,
Bloom on my peaceful grave!