Thomas Campbell (poet)

"Cease, every joy, to glimmer on my mind, But leave, oh! leave the light of Hope behind!"

"What though my wingèd hours of bliss have been Like angels visits, few and far between."

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

"While the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy winds do blow."

"Britannia needs no bulwarks, No towers along the steep; Her march is o'er the mountain waves, Her home is on the deep."

"With thunders from her native oak, She quells the floods below."

"The meteor flag of England Shall yet terrific burn, Till danger's troubled night depart, And the star of peace return."

"A stoic of the woods—a man without a tear."

"O Love! in such a wilderness as this."

"The torrent's smoothness, ere it dash below!"

"Lochiel, Lochiel, beware of the day! For, dark and despairing, my sight I may seal, But man cannot cover what God would reveal: 'Tis the sunset of life gives me mystical lore, And coming events cast their shadows before."

"Shall victor exult, or in death be laid low, With his back to the field and his feet to the foe, And leaving in battle no blot on his name, Look proudly to heaven from the death-bed of fame."

"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!"

"Few, few shall part where many meet! The snow shall be their winding-sheet, And every turf beneath their feet Shall be a soldier's sepulchre."

"There was silence deep as death, And the boldest held his breath, For a time."

"Ye are brothers! ye are men! And we conquer but to save."

"Let us think of them that sleep, Full many a fathom deep, By thy wild and stormy steep, Elsinore!"

"Oh leave this barren spot to me! Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree!"

"Oh! once the harp of Innisfail Was strung full high to notes of gladness; But yet it often told a tale Of more prevailing sadness."

"The hunter and the deer a shade."

"Another's sword has laid him low, Another's and another's; And every hand that dealt the blow— Ah me! it was a brother's!"

"Our bugles sang truce, for the night-cloud had lower'd, And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky; And thousands had sunk on the ground overpower'd, The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die."

"In life's morning march, when my bosom was young."

"But sorrow return'd with the dawning of morn, And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away."

"To live in hearts we leave behind Is not to die."

"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."

"To is to conquer our fate."