Thomas Campbell

Love he comes and Love he tarries just as fate or fancy carries; longest stays, when sorest chidden; laughs and flies, when press'd and bidden.

On the green banks of Shannon, when Sheelah was nigh, no blithe Irish lad was so happy as I; no harp like my own could so cheerily play, and wherever I went was my poor dog Tray.

The popularity of that baby-faced boy, who possessed not even the elements of a good actor, was a hallucination in the public mind, and a disgrace to our theatrical history.

To-morrow let us do or die.

Who hail thee, Man! the pilgrim of the day,spouse of the worm, and brother of the clay.

Love! the surviving gift of Heaven, The choicest sweet of Paradise, In life's else bitter cup distilled.

One could take down a book from a shelf ten tines more wise and witty than almost any man's conversation. Bacon is wiser, Swift more humorous, than any person one is likely to meet with; but they cannot chime in with the exact frame of thought in which we happen to take them down from our shelves. Therein lies the luxury of conversation: and when a living speaker does not yield us that luxury, he becomes only a book on two legs.

The prophet's mantle, ere his flight began, dropt on the world--a sacred gift to man.

Triumphal arch, that fill'st the sky When storms prepare to part, I ask not proud Philosophy To teach me what thou art.

Who hath not own'd, with rapture-smitten frame, the power of grace, the magic of a name.

Love's a fire that needs renewal of fresh beauty for its fuel.

One moment may with bliss repay Unnumbered hours of pain.

The proud, the cold untroubled heart of stone that never mused on sorrow but its own.

Truth ever lovely - since the world began, The foe of tyrants, and the friend of man.

Whose sunbright summit mingles with the sky.

Love's wing moults when caged and captured, only free, he soars enraptured.

Our bugles sang truce - for the night-cloud had lowered, and the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky.

The scented wild-weeds and enamell'd moss.

'Twas sung, how they were lovely in their lives, and in their deaths had not divided been.

Without our hopes, without our fears, without the home that plighted love endears, without the smiles from plighted beauty won, oh! what were man? - a world without a sun.

Melt and dispel, ye spectre-doubts, that roll Cimmerian darkness o'er the parting soul!

Our land, the first garden of liberty's tree-- It has been, and shall be, the land of the free.

The sentinel stars set their watch in the sky.

United States, your banner wears Two emblems--one of fame; Alas! the other that it bears Reminds us of your shame. Your banner's constellation types White freedom with its stars, But what's the meaning of the stripes? They mean your negroes' scars.

Without the smile from partial beauty won, Oh what were man?—a world without a sun.