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One moment may with bliss repay Unnumbered hours of pain.

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
Repay
Bliss
Hours
Happiness
Moment
Pain
Moments
May
Unnumbered

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The proud, the cold untroubled heart of stone, that never mused on sorrow but its own.
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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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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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The prophet's mantle, ere his flight began, Dropt on the world--a sacred gift to man.
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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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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.
Thomas Campbell
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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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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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What though my winged hours of bliss have been, Like angel visits, few and far between.
Thomas Campbell
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Better be courted and jilted Than never be courted at all.
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Oh, how hard it is to find The one just suited to our mind!
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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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Love! the surviving gift of Heaven, The choicest sweet of Paradise, In life's else bitter cup distilled.
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For Beauty's tears are lovelier than her smile.
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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 patriot's blood is the seed of Freedom's tree.
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Who hail thee, Man! the pilgrim of the day, spouse of the worm, and brother of the clay.
Thomas Campbell
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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.
Thomas Campbell
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Tomorrow let us do or die!
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Beauty's witching sway is now to me a star that's fallen-a dream that's passed away.
Thomas Campbell