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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!
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
Battle
Seas
Whose
Flag
Thousand
Breeze
Years
Flags
Guard
Native
Sea
Braved
England
Mariners
More quotes by Thomas Campbell
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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He scorn'd his own, who felt another's woe.
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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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Tomorrow let us do or die!
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The smaller your reality, the more convinced you are that you know everything.
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One moment may with bliss repay Unnumbered hours of pain.
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Where the Scriptures speak, we speak where the Scriptures are silent, we are silent.
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On Linden, when the sun was low, All bloodless lay the untrodden snow, And dark as winter was the flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly.
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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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I'll meet the raging of the skies, but not an angry father.
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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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What though my winged hours of bliss have been, Like angel visits, few and far between.
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Oh, how hard it is to find The one just suited to our mind!
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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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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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O star-eyed Science, hast thou wander'd there, To waft us home the message of despair?
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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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