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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.
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
Poor
Harps
Happiness
Lad
Cheerily
Irish
Shannon
Happy
Banks
Blithe
Play
Wherever
Tray
Like
Dog
Trays
Green
Nigh
Went
Harp
More quotes by Thomas Campbell
Love! the surviving gift of Heaven, The choicest sweet of Paradise, In life's else bitter cup distilled.
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The prophet's mantle, ere his flight began, Dropt on the world--a sacred gift to man.
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He scorn'd his own, who felt another's woe.
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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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One moment may with bliss repay Unnumbered hours of pain.
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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 smaller your reality, the more convinced you are that you know everything.
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I'll meet the raging of the skies, but not an angry father.
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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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An original something, dear maid, you would wish me to write but how shall I begin? For I'm sure I have not original in me, Excepting Original Sin.
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The popularity of that baby-faced boy, who possessed not even the elements of a good actor, was a hallucination in the public mind, and a disgrace to our theatrical history.
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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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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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The proud, the cold untroubled heart of stone, that never mused on sorrow but its own.
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Oh, how hard it is to find The one just suited to our mind!
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The patriot's blood is the seed of Freedom's tree.
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For Beauty's tears are lovelier than her smile.
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What though my winged hours of bliss have been, Like angel visits, few and far between.
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O star-eyed Science, hast thou wander'd there, To waft us home the message of despair?
Thomas Campbell
Tomorrow let us do or die!
Thomas Campbell