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What millions died that Caesar might be great!

Thomas Campbell

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Thomas Campbell
Age: 66 †
Born: 1777
Born: July 27
Died: 1844
Died: June 15
Journalist
Musicologist
Poet
Writer
Glasgow
Scotland
Caesar
Died
Millions
Might
Great

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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!
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Tomorrow let us do or die!
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One moment may with bliss repay Unnumbered hours of pain.
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Our land, the first garden of liberty's tree-- It has been, and shall be, the land of the free.
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A stoic of the woods,--a man without a tear.
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O star-eyed Science, hast thou wander'd there, To waft us home the message of despair?
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I'll meet the raging of the skies, but not an angry father.
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Triumphal arch, that fill'st the sky When storms prepare to part, I ask not proud Philosophy To teach me what thou art.
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The only thing that is fundamental (real) is consciousness itself all else is virtual- i.e., a result of an exchange of information within consciousness.
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Never wedding, ever wooing, Still a lovelorn heart pursuing, Read you not the wrong you're doing In my cheek's pale hue? All my life with sorrow strewing Wed or cease to woo.
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Fundamental assumptions in general and scientific assumptions in particular are so hard to overturn because they are based on belief. Beliefs are so hard to overcome because they are irrational and therefore do not yield to logical argument.
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Beauty's witching sway is now to me a star that's fallen-a dream that's passed away.
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What though my winged hours of bliss have been, Like angel visits, few and far between.
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The proud, the cold untroubled heart of stone, that never mused on sorrow but its own.
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He scorn'd his own, who felt another's woe.
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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.
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Who hail thee, Man! the pilgrim of the day, spouse of the worm, and brother of the clay.
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The meteor flag of England Shall yet terrific burn, Till danger's troubled night depart, And the star of peace return.
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For Beauty's tears are lovelier than her smile.
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Ye mariners of England! That guard our native seas Whose flag has braved a thousand years, The battle and the breeze!
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