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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.

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
Star
Meteors
England
Depart
Danger
Troubled
Return
Flag
Shall
Terrific
Stars
Flags
Peace
Burn
Night
Till
Meteor

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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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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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For Beauty's tears are lovelier than her smile.
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Better be courted and jilted Than never be courted at all.
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Tomorrow let us do or die!
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The proud, the cold untroubled heart of stone, that never mused on sorrow but its own.
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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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Where the Scriptures speak, we speak where the Scriptures are silent, we are silent.
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The smaller your reality, the more convinced you are that you know everything.
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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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Oh, how hard it is to find The one just suited to our mind!
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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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A stoic of the woods,--a man without a tear.
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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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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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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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He scorn'd his own, who felt another's woe.
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What though my winged hours of bliss have been, Like angel visits, few and far between.
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