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Best Famous Thomas Campbell Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Thomas Campbell poems. This is a select list of the best famous Thomas Campbell poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Thomas Campbell poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of Thomas Campbell poems.

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Written by Thomas Campbell |

Ode to Winter

 When first the fiery-mantled sun 
His heavenly race begun to run; 
Round the earth and ocean blue, 
His children four the Seasons flew.
First, in green apparel dancing, The young Spring smiled with angel grace; Rosy summer next advancing, Rushed into her sire's embrace:- Her blue-haired sire, who bade her keep For ever nearest to his smile, On Calpe's olive-shaded steep, On India's citron-covered isles: More remote and buxom-brown, The Queen of vintage bowed before his throne, A rich pomegranate gemmed her gown, A ripe sheaf bound her zone.
But howling Winter fled afar, To hills that prop the polar star, And lives on deer-borne car to ride With barren darkness at his side, Round the shore where loud Lofoden Whirls to death the roaring whale, Round the hall where runic Odin Howls his war-song to the gale; Save when adown the ravaged globe He travels on his native storm, Deflowering Nature's grassy robe, And trampling on her faded form:- Till light's returning lord assume The shaft the drives him to his polar field, Of power to pierce his raven plume And crystal-covered shield.
Oh, sire of storms! whose savage ear The Lapland drum delights to hear, When frenzy with her blood-shot eye Implores thy dreadful deity, Archangel! power of desolation! Fast descending as thou art, Say, hath mortal invocation Spells to touch thy stony heart? Then, sullen Winter, hear my prayer, And gently rule the ruined year; Nor chill the wanders bosom bare, Nor freeze the wretch's falling tear;- To shuddering Want's unmantled bed Thy horror-breathing agues cease to lead, And gently on the orphan head Of innocence descend.
- But chiefly spare, O king of clouds! The sailor on his airy shrouds; When wrecks and beacons strew the steep, And specters walk along the deep.
Milder yet thy snowy breezes Pour on yonder tented shores, Where the Rhine's broad billow freezes, Or the Dark-brown Danube roars.
Oh, winds of winter! List ye there To many a deep and dying groan; Or start, ye demons of the midnight air, At shrieks and thunders louder than your own.
Alas! Even unhallowed breath May spare the victim fallen low; But man will ask no truce of death,- No bounds to human woe.

Written by Thomas Campbell |

Freedom And Love

 How delicious is the winning
Of a kiss at love's beginning,
When two mutual hearts are sighing
For the knot there's no untying!
Yet remember, 'Midst our wooing,
Love has bliss, but Love has ruing;
Other smiles may make you fickle,
Tears for other charms may trickle.
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.
Bind the sea to slumber stilly, Bind its odour to the lily, Bind the aspen ne'er to quiver, Then bind Love to last for ever.
Love's a fire that needs renewal Of fresh beauty for its fuel: Love's wing moults when caged and captured, Only free, he soars enraptured.
Can you keep the bee from ranging Or the ringdove's neck from changing? No! nor fetter'd Love from dying In the knot there's no untying.

Written by Thomas Campbell |


 The ordeal's fatal trumpet sounded,
And sad pale Adelgitha came,
When forth a valiant champion bounded,
And slew the slanderer of her fame.
She wept, delivered from her danger; But when he knelt to claim her glove- "Seek not!" she cried, "oh, gallant stranger, For hapless Adelgitha's love.
For he is dead and in a foreign land Whose arm should now have set me free; And I must wear the willow garland For him that's dead, or false to me.
" "Nay! say not that his faith is tainted!"- He raised his visor.
-At the sight She fell into his arms and fainted; It was indeed her one true knight!

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Written by Thomas Campbell |


 Hadst thou a genius on thy peak, 
What tales, white-headed Ben, 
Could'st thou of ancient ages speak, 
That mock th' historian's pen! 

Thy long duration makes our livea 
Seem but so many hours; 
And likens, to the bees' frail hives, 
Our most stupendous towers.
Temples and towers thou seest begun, New creeds, new conquerers sway; And, like their shadows in the sun, Hast seen them swept away.
Thy steadfast summit, heaven-allied (Unlike life's little span), Looks down a mentor on the pride Of perishable man.

Written by Thomas Campbell |

Song to the Evening Star

 1 Star that bringest home the bee,
2 And sett'st the weary labourer free!
3 If any star shed peace, 'tis thou,
4 That send'st it from above,
5 Appearing when Heaven's breath and brow
6 Are sweet as hers we love.
7 Come to the luxuriant skies 8 Whilst the landscape's odours rise, 9 Whilst far-off lowing herds are heard, 10 And songs, when toil is done, 11 From cottages whose smoke unstirred 12 Curls yellow in the sun.
13 Star of lover's soft interviews, 14 Parted lovers on thee muse; 15 Their remembrancer in heaven 16 Of thrilling vows thou art, 17 Too delicious to be riven 18 By absence from the heart.

Written by Thomas Campbell |

The River of Life

 The more we live, more brief appear
Our life's succeeding stages; 
A day to childhood seems a year, 
And years like passing ages.
The gladsome current of our youth, Ere passion yet disorders, Steals lingering like a river smooth Along its grassy borders.
But as the careworn cheek grows wan, And sorrow's shafts fly thicker, Ye stars, that measure life to man, Why seem your courses quicker? When joys have lost their bloom and breath, And life itself is vapid, Why, as we reach the Falls of Death Feel we its tide more rapid? It may be strange—yet who would change Time's course to slower speeding, When one by one our friends have gone, And left our bosoms bleeding? Heaven gives our years of fading strength Indemnifying fleetness; And those of youth, a seeming length, Proportion'd to their sweetness.

Written by Thomas Campbell |


 1 On Linden, when the sun was low,
2 All bloodless lay the untrodden snow,
3 And dark as winter was the flow
4 Of Iser, rolling rapidly.
5 But Linden saw another sight 6 When the drum beat at dead of night, 7 Commanding fires of death to light 8 The darkness of her scenery.
9 By torch and trumpet fast arrayed, 10 Each horseman drew his battle blade, 11 And furious every charger neighed 12 To join the dreadful revelry.
13 Then shook the hills with thunder riven, 14 Then rushed the steed to battle driven, 15 And louder than the bolts of heaven 16 Far flashed the red artillery.
17 But redder yet that light shall glow 18 On Linden's hills of stainèd snow, 19 And bloodier yet the torrent flow 20 Of Iser, rolling rapidly.
21 'Tis morn, but scarce yon level sun 22 Can pierce the war clouds, rolling dun, 23 Where furious Frank and fiery Hun 24 Shout in their sulphurous canopy.
25 The combat deepens.
On, ye brave, 26 Who rush to glory, or the grave! 27 Wave, Munich! all thy banners wave, 28 And charge with all thy chivalry! 29 Few, few shall part where many meet! 30 The snow shall be their winding-sheet, 31 And every turf beneath their feet 32 Shall be a soldier's sepulchre.

Written by Thomas Campbell |

The Last Man

 All worldly shapes shall melt in gloom, 
The Sun himself must die, 
Before this mortal shall assume 
Its Immortality! 
I saw a vision in my sleep 
That gave my spirit strength to sweep 
Adown the gulf of Time! 
I saw the last of human mould, 
That shall Creation's death behold, 
As Adam saw her prime! 

The Sun's eye had a sickly glare, 
The Earth with age was wan, 
The skeletons of nations were 
Around that lonely man! 
Some had expired in fight,--the brands 
Still rested in their bony hands; 
In plague and famine some! 
Earth's cities had no sound nor tread; 
And ships were drifting with the dead 
To shores where all was dumb! 

Yet, prophet-like, that lone one stood 
With dauntless words and high, 
That shook the sere leaves from the wood 
As if a storm passed by, 
Saying, "We are twins in death, proud Sun, 
Thy face is cold, thy race is run, 
'Tis Mercy bids thee go.
For thou ten thousand thousand years Hast seen the tide of human tears, That shall no longer flow.
"What though beneath thee man put forth His pomp, his pride, his skill; And arts that made fire, floods, and earth, The vassals of his will;-- Yet mourn not I thy parted sway, Thou dim discrowned king of day: For all those trophied arts And triumphs that beneath thee sprang, Healed not a passion or a pang Entailed on human hearts.
"Go, let oblivion's curtain fall Upon the stage of men, Nor with thy rising beams recall Life's tragedy again.
Its piteous pageants bring not back, Nor waken flesh, upon the rack Of pain anew to writhe; Stretched in disease's shapes abhorred, Or mown in battle by the sword, Like grass beneath the scythe.
"Ee'n I am weary in yon skies To watch thy fading fire; Test of all sumless agonies Behold not me expire.
My lips that speak thy dirge of death-- Their rounded gasp and gurgling breath To see thou shalt not boast.
The eclipse of Nature spreads my pall,-- The majesty of Darkness shall Receive my parting ghost! "This spirit shall return to Him That gave its heavenly spark; Yet think not, Sun, it shall be dim When thou thyself art dark! No! it shall live again, and shine In bliss unknown to beams of thine, By Him recalled to breath, Who captive led captivity.
Who robbed the grave of Victory,-- And took the sting from Death! "Go, Sun, while Mercy holds me up On Nature's awful waste To drink this last and bitter cup Of grief that man shall taste-- Go, tell the night that hides thy face, Thou saw'st the last of Adam's race, On Earth's sepulchral clod, The darkening universe defy To quench his Immortality, Or shake his trust in God!"

Written by Thomas Campbell |

Lord Ullins Daughter

 A chieftain, to the Highlands bound, 
Cries, ``Boatman, do not tarry! 
And I'll give thee a silver pound 
To row us o'er the ferry!''-- 

``Now, who be ye, would cross Lochgyle, 
This dark and stormy weather?'' 
``O, I'm the chief of Ulva's isle, 
And this, Lord Ullin's daughter.
-- ``And fast before her father's men Three days we've fled together, For should he find us in the glen, My blood would stain the heather.
``His horsemen hard behind us ride; Should they our steps discover, Then who will cheer my bonny bride When they have slain her lover?''-- Out spoke the hardy Highland wight,-- ``I'll go, my chief--I'm ready:-- It is not for your silver bright; But for your winsome lady: ``And by my word! the bonny bird In danger shall not tarry; So, though the waves are raging white, I'll row you o'er the ferry.
''-- By this the storm grew loud apace, The water-wraith was shrieking; And in the scowl of heaven each face Grew dark as they were speaking.
But still as wilder blew the wind, And as the night grew drearer, Adown the glen rode armèd men, Their trampling sounded nearer.
-- ``O haste thee, haste!'' the lady cries, ``Though tempests round us gather; I'll meet the raging of the skies, But not an angry father.
''-- The boat has left a stormy land, A stormy sea before her,-- When, O! too strong for human hand, The tempest gather'd o'er her.
And still they row'd amidst the roar Of waters fast prevailing: Lord Ullin reach'd that fatal shore,-- His wrath was changed to wailing.
For, sore dismay'd through storm and shade, His child he did discover:-- One lovely hand she stretch'd for aid, And one was round her lover.
``Come back! come back!'' he cried in grief ``Across this stormy water: And I'll forgive your Highland chief, My daughter!--O my daughter!'' 'Twas vain: the loud waves lash'd the shore, Return or aid preventing: The waters wild went o'er his child, And he was left lamenting.

Written by Thomas Campbell |

The Battle of the Baltic

 Of Nelson and the North 
Sing the glorious day's renown, 
When to battle fierce came forth 
All the might of Denmark's crown, 
And her arms along the deep proudly shone;
By each gun the lighted brand 
In a bold determined hand, 
And the Prince of all the land 
Led them on.
Like leviathans afloat Lay their bulwarks on the brine, While the sign of battle flew On the lofty British line: It was ten of April morn by the chime: As they drifted on their path There was silence deep as death, And the boldest held his breath For a time.
But the might of England flush'd To anticipate the scene; And her van the fleeter rush'd O'er the deadly space between: 'Hearts of oak!' our captains cried, when each gun From its adamantine lips Spread a death-shade round the ships, Like the hurricane eclipse Of the sun.
Again! again! again! And the havoc did not slack, Till a feeble cheer the Dane To our cheering sent us back;— Their shots along the deep slowly boom:— Then ceased—and all is wail, As they strike the shatter'd sail, Or in conflagration pale Light the gloom.
Out spoke the victor then As he hail'd them o'er the wave: 'Ye are brothers! ye are men! And we conquer but to save:— So peace instead of death let us bring: But yield, proud foe, thy fleet, With the crews, at England's feet, And make submission meet To our King.
Now joy, old England, raise! For the tidings of thy might, By the festal cities' blaze, Whilst the wine-cup shines in light! And yet amidst that joy and uproar, Let us think of them that sleep Full many a fathom deep, By thy wild and stormy steep, Elsinore!

Written by Thomas Campbell |

The Dirge of Wallace

 When Scotland's great Regent, our warrior most dear, 
The debt of his nature did pay, 
T' was Edward, the cruel, had reason to fear, 
And cause to be struck with dismay.
At the window of Edward the raven did croak, Though Scotland a widow became; Each tie of true honor to Wallace he broke- The raven croaked "Sorrow and shame!" At Eldersie Castle no raven was heard, But soothings of honor and truth; His spirit inspired the soul of the bard To comfort the Love of his youth! They lighted the tapers at dead of night, And chanted their holiest hymn; But her brow and her bosom were all damp with affright, Her eye was all sleepless and dim! And the lady of Eldersie wept for her lord, With a death-watch beat in her lonely room, When her curtain shook of its own accord, And the raven flapped at her window board To tell of her warrior's doom.
Now sing ye the death-song, and loudly pray For the soul of my knight so dear! And call me a widow, this wretched day, Since the warning of God is here.
For a nightmare rests on my strangled sleep; The lord of my bosom is doomed to die! His valorous heart they have wounded deep, And the blood-red tears his country shall weep For Wallace of Elderslie.
Yet knew not his country, that ominous hour, Ere the loud matin-bell was rung, That the trumpet of death on an English tower, The dirge of her champion sung.
When his dungeon light looked dim and red On the high-born blood of a martyr slain, No anthem was sung at his lowly death-bed,- No weeping was there when his bosom bled, And his heart was rent in twain.
When he strode o'er the wreck of each well-fought field, With the yellow-haired chiefs of his native land; For his lace was not shivered on helmet or shield, And the sword that was fit for archangel to wield Was light in his terrible hand.
Yet, bleeding and bound, though the "Wallacewight" For his long-loved country die,, The bugle ne'er sung to a braver night Than William of Elderslie.
But the day of his triumphs shall never depart; His head, unemtombed, shall with glory be palmed: From its blood streaming altar his spirit shall start; Though the raven has fed on his mouldering heart, A nobler was never embalmed!

Written by Thomas Campbell |

Ye Mariners of England

 1 Ye Mariners of England
2 That guard our native seas,
3 Whose flag has braved, a thousand years,
4 The battle and the breeze--
5 Your glorious standard launch again
6 To match another foe!
7 And sweep through the deep,
8 While the stormy winds do blow,--
9 While the battle rages loud and long,
10 And the stormy winds do blow.
11 The spirits of your fathers 12 Shall start from every wave! 13 For the deck it was their field of fame, 14 And Ocean was their grave.
15 Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell 16 Your manly hearts shall glow, 17 As ye sweep through the deep, 18 While the stormy winds do blow,-- 19 While the battle rages loud and long, 20 And the stormy winds do blow.
21 Britannia needs no bulwarks, 22 No towers along the steep; 23 Her march is o'er the mountain waves, 24 Her home is on the deep.
25 With thunders from her native oak 26 She quells the floods below, 27 As they roar on the shore 28 When the stormy winds do blow,-- 29 When the battle rages loud and long 30 And the stormy winds do blow.
31 The meteor flag of England 32 Shall yet terrific burn, 33 Till danger's troubled night depart 34 And the star of peace return.
35 Then, then, ye ocean warriors! 36 Our song and feast shall flow 37 To the fame of your name, 38 When the storm has ceased to blow,-- 39 When the fiery fight is heard no more, 40 And the storm has ceased to blow