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Our land, the first garden of liberty's tree-- It has been, and shall be, the land of the free.

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
Garden
Tree
Liberty
Shall
Land
Free
Firsts
First
Patriotism

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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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What though my winged hours of bliss have been, Like angel visits, few and far between.
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He scorn'd his own, who felt another's woe.
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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 millions died that Caesar might be great!
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Oh, how hard it is to find The one just suited to our mind!
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Better be courted and jilted Than never be courted at all.
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The smaller your reality, the more convinced you are that you know everything.
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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The patriot's blood is the seed of Freedom's tree.
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The proud, the cold untroubled heart of stone, that never mused on sorrow but its own.
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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
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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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Love! the surviving gift of Heaven, The choicest sweet of Paradise, In life's else bitter cup distilled.
Thomas Campbell
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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.
Thomas Campbell
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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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Tomorrow let us do or die!
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