Thomas Campbell (1777 – 1844)
Scottish poet, who served as Lord Rector of Glasgow University (1826–1829).
Ye mariners of England,
That guard our native seas;
Whose flag has braved, a thousand years,
The battle and the breeze!
O Love! in such a wilderness as this.
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!
Oh leave this barren spot to me!
Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree!
There was silence deep as death,
And the boldest held his breath,
For a time.
While Memory watches o'er the sad review
Of joys that faded like the morning dew.
There shall he love when genial morn appears,
Like pensive Beauty smiling in her tears.
To live in hearts we leave behind is not to die.
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.
O star-eyed Science! hast thou wandered there,
To waft us home the message of despair?
"Come back! come back!" he cried in grief
"Across this stormy water;
And I'll forgive your Highland chief,
My daughter! O my daughter!"
'Tis distance lends enchantment to the view,
And robes the mountain in its azure hue.
While the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy winds do blow.
But sad as angels for the good man's sin,
Weep to record, and blush to give it in.
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.
Who hath not owned, with rapture-smitten frame,
The power of grace, the magic of a name?
Oh, how hard it is to find
The one just suited to our mind!
The meteor flag of England
Shall yet terrific burn,
Till danger's troubled night depart,
And the star of peace return.
O Heaven! he cried, my bleeding country save!
The world was sad, the garden was a wild,
And man the hermit sigh'd—till woman smiled.