- To live in hearts we leave behind
- Is not to die.
THOMAS CAMPBELL, Hallowed Ground
- 'Tis the sunset of life gives me mystical lore,
- And coming events cast their shadows before.
THOMAS CAMPBELL, Lochiel's Warning
- All worldly shapes shall melt in gloom,
- The sun himself must die,
- Before this mortal shall assume
- Its immortality.
THOMAS CAMPBELL, The Last Man
- Who hail thee, Man! the pilgrim of the day,
- Spouse of the worm, and brother of the clay.
THOMAS CAMPBELL, Pleasures of Hope
- 'Tis distance lends enchantment to the view,
- And robes the mountain in its azure hue.
THOMAS CAMPBELL, Pleasures of Hope
- Love's wing moults when caged and captured,
- Only free, he soars enraptured.
THOMAS CAMPBELL, Freedom and Love
- 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.
THOMAS CAMPBELL, Freedom and Love
- Love's a fire that needs renewal
- Of fresh beauty for its fuel.
THOMAS CAMPBELL, Freedom and Love
- With thee, sweet Hope! resides the heav'nly light,
- That pours remotest rapture on the sight:
- Thine is the charm of life's bewilder'd way,
- That calls each slumb'ring passion into play:
- Wak'd by thy touch, I see the sister band,
- On tiptoe watching, start at thy command,
- And fly where'er thy mandate bids them steer,
- To Pleasure's path, or Glory's bright career.
THOMAS CAMPBELL, The Pleasures of Hope
O star-eyed Science, hast thou wander'd there,
To waft us home the message of despair?
THOMAS CAMPBELL, Pleasures of Hope
When love came first to earth, the Spring
Spread rose-beds to receive him.
THOMAS CAMPBELL, "When Love Came First to Earth"
At summer eve, when Heaven's ethereal bow
Spans with bright arch the glittering hills below,
Why to yon mountain turns the musing eye,
Whose sunbright summit mingles with the sky?
Why do those cliffs of shadowy tint appear
More sweet than all the landscape smiling near?
'Tis distance lends enchantment to the view,
And robes the mountain in its azure hue.
THOMAS CAMPBELL, The Pleasures of Hope
The prophet's mantle, ere his flight began,
Dropt on the world -- a sacred gift to man.
THOMAS CAMPBELL, Pleasures of Hope
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