"The harp that once through Tara's halls The soul of music shed, Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls As if that soul were fled. So sleeps the pride of former days, So glory's thrill is o'er; And hearts that once beat high for praise Now feel that pulse no more."

"Life is a waste of wearisome hours Which seldom the rose of enjoyment adorns; And the heart that is soonest awake to the flowers, Is always the first to be touch'd by the thorns."

"And the tear that we shed, though in secret it rolls, Shall long keep his memory green in our souls."

"Go where glory waits thee, But while fame elates thee, Oh! still remember me!"

"Oh! breathe not his name, let it sleep in the shade, Where cold and unhonour'd his relics are laid."

"Come, come," said Tom's father, "at your time of life, There's no longer excuse for thus playing the rake-- It is time you should think, boy, of taking a wife." "Why, so it is father--whose wife shall I take?"

"Rich and rare were the gems she wore, And a bright gold ring on her wand she bore."

"All that's bright must fade,— The brightest and the fleetest; All that's sweet was made, But to be lost when sweetest."

"Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea! Jehovah has triumphed—his people are free."

"Fly not yet; 't is just the hour When pleasure, like the midnight flower That scorns the eye of vulgar light, Begins to bloom for sons of night And maids who love the moon."

"Oft, in the stilly night, Ere Slumber's chain has bound me, Fond Memory brings the light Of other days around me; The smiles, the tears, Of boyhood's years, The words of love then spoken; The eyes that shone, Now dimm'd and gone, The cheerful hearts now broken!"

"I feel like one, Who treads alone Some banquet-hall deserted, Whose lights are fled, Whose garlands dead, And all but he departed!"

"Believe me, if all those endearing young charms Which I gaze on so fondly to-day, Were to change by to-morrow and fleet in my arms, Like fairy gifts fading away. Thou wouldst still be adored as this moment thou art, Let thy loveliness fade as it will, And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart, Would entwine itself verdantly still."

"What though youth gave love and roses, Age still leaves us friends and wine."

"A Persian's heaven is easily made: 'Tis but black eyes and lemonade."

"Oh, call it by some better name, For friendship sounds too cold."

"Man for his glory To ancestry flies; But Woman's bright story Is told in her eyes."

"Mr. Campbell may be said to hold a place (among modern poets) between Lord Byron and Mr. Rogers. With much of the glossy splendour, the pointed vigour, and romantic interest of the one, he possesses the fastidious refinement, the classic elegance of the other. … There are those who complain of the little that Mr. Campbell has done in poetry, and who seem to insinuate that he is deterred by his own reputation from making any further or higher attempts. But after having produced two poems that have gone to the heart of a nation, and are gifts to a world, he may surely linger out the rest of his life in a dream of immortality."

"Faintly as tolls the evening chime, Our voices keep tune and our oars keep time."

"But your wights that take no pride to wield A massy spear and well-made shield, Nor joy to draw the sword: Oh, I bring those heartless, hapless drones, Down in a trice on their marrow-bones, To call me King and Lord."

"How glorious fall the valiant, sword in hand, In front of battle for their native land!"

"But youth’s fair form, though fallen, is ever fair, And beautiful in death the boy appears, The hero boy, that dies in blooming years: In man’s regret he lives, and woman’s tears; More sacred than in life, and lovelier far, For having perished in the front of war."

"How glorious is thy girdle cast O'er mountain, tower, and town, Or mirror'd in the ocean vast, A thousand fathoms down! As fresh in yon horizon dark, As young thy beauties seem, As when the eagle from the ark First sported in thy beam. For, faithful to its sacred page, Heaven still rebuilds thy span, Nor lets the type grow pale with age That first spoke peace to man."

"Row, brothers, row, the stream runs fast, The rapids are near, and the daylight's past."

"Can all that optics teach, unfold Thy form to please me so, As when I dreamt of gems and gold Hid in thy radiant bow? When Science from Creation's face Enchantment's veil withdraws, What lovely visions yield their place To cold material laws! And yet, fair bow, no fabling dreams, But words of the Most High, Have told why first thy robe of beams Was woven in the sky."

"When o'er the green undeluged earth Heaven's covenant thou didst shine, How came the world's grey fathers forth To watch thy sacred sign. And when its yellow lustre smiled O'er mountains yet untrod, Each mother held aloft her child To bless the bow of God."

"Triumphal arch, that fill'st the sky When storms prepare to part, I ask not proud Philosophy To teach me what thou art. — Still seem, as to my childhood's sight, A midway station given, For happy spirits to alight, Betwixt the earth and heaven."

"All worldly shapes shall melt in gloom, The Sun himself must die, Before this mortal shall assume Its Immortality!"

"I saw the last of human mould, That shall Creation's death behold, As Adam saw her prime!"

"Methinks, thy jubilee to keep, The first-made anthem rang On earth deliver'd from the deep, And the first poet sang. Nor ever shall the Muse's eye Unraptured greet thy beam: Theme of primeval prophecy, Be still the poet's theme!"

"Roland, the flower of Chivalry, Expired at Roncevall."

"Just as the mind the erring sense believes, The erring mind, in turn, the sense deceives."

"Drink ye to her that each loves best! And if you nurse a flame That's told but to her mutual breast, We will not ask her name."

"Again to the battle, Achaians! Our hearts bid the tyrants defiance! Our land, the first garden of Liberty's tree, It has been, and shall yet be, the land of the free."

"Oh, how hard it is to find The one just suited to our mind!"

"Star that bringest home the bee, And sett'st the weary labourer free!"

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

"To-morrow let us do or die."

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

"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."

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

"Self is the medium thro' which Judgment's ray Can seldom pass without being turned astray."

"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."

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

"Absence! is not the soul torn by it From more than light, or life, or breath? 'Tis Lethe's gloom, but not its quiet,— The pain without the peace of death!"

"What millions died that Caesar might be great!"

"Let Winter come! let polar spirits sweep The darkening world, and tempest-troubled deep! Though boundless snows the withered heath deform, And the dim sun scarce wanders through the storm, Yet shall the smile of social love repay, With mental light, the melancholy day! And, when its short and sullen noon is o'er, The ice-chained waters slumbering on the shore, How bright the fagots in his little hall Blaze on the hearth, and warm the pictured wall!"