Thomas Campbell


Scottish Poet

Author Quotes

In the human breast two master-passions cannot coexist.

My love lies bleeding.

Sorrow returned with the dawning of morn, and the voice in my dreaming ear melted away.

The waters wild went o'er his child, and he was left lamenting.

We had him stopped when he left the house... Then we went to the home.

Ye mariners of England! That guard our native seas; Whose flag has braved a thousand years, The battle and the breeze!

Is't death to fall for Freedom's right? He's dead alone who lacks her light!

Never wedding, ever wooing, still a lovelorn heart pursuing, read you not the wrong you're doing in my cheek's pale hue? All my life with sorrow strewing; wed or cease to woo.

Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree.

The wine is poured, you should drink it.

What loved little islands, twice seen in their lakes, can the wild water-lily restore.

It's inherent in the denial.

O leave this barren spot to me! Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree.

'T is the sunset of life gives us mystical lore.

The world was sad; the garden was a wild; and man, the hermit, sigh'd--till woman smiled.

What though my winged hours of bliss have been like angel visits, few and far between.

Last year's loss in the semifinals was definitely a heartbreaker. We know what we are capable of. We need to come out and work hard.

O Star-eyed Science! hast thou wandered there, to waft us home the message of despair?

That would be important to us to honor our dad.

There came to the beach a poor Exile of Erin, the dew on his thin robe was heavy and chill; for his country he sigh'd, when at twilight repairing. To wander along by the wind-beaten hill. But the day star attracted his eyes' sad devotion, for it rose o'er his own native isle of the ocean, where once in the fire of his youthful emotion he sang the bold anthem of Erin-go-bragh.

What we might call, by way of Eminence, the Dismal Science.

Let us do or die.

O'er Prague's proud arch the fires of ruin glow.

The combat deepens. On, ye brave, who rush to glory, or the grave! Wave, Munich! all thy banners wave, and charge with all thy chivalry.

There was silence deep as death, and the boldest held his breath for a time.

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Scottish Poet