Play
The archive, at your fingertips
Try an author, a thought, or a phrase in “quotes”.↑ ↓ Navigate · Esc Close

0 words found

Explore all results ↗
TCThomas Campbell

51 collected words

Thomas Campbell

Life dates: 1777 AD — 1844 AD

Listed in the author section of Bartlett’s ninth-edition anthology, in the linked 1905 printing. Dates reflect that historical edition and may differ from modern scholarship.

▷ Play this voiceSearch these words ↗Place in time ↗lovenaturemindlifedeathpeacetimecourage

Quotations and sayings

19c. 1810 AD
I hold it a religious duty To love and worship children's beauty; They've least the taint of earthly clod, They're freshest from the hand of God; With heavenly looks they make us sure The heaven that made them must be pure; We love them not in earthly fashion, But with a beatific passion. I chanced to, yesterday, behold A maiden child of beauty's mould; 'Twas near, more sacred was the scene, The palace of our patriot Queen. The little charmer to my view Was sculpture brought to life anew. Her eyes had a poetic glow, Her pouting mouth was Cupid's bow: And through her frock I could descry Her neck and shoulders' symmetry. 'Twas obvious from her walk and gait Her limbs were beautifully straight; I stopp'd th' enchantress and was told, Though tall, she was but four years' old. Her guide so grave an aspect wore I could not ask a question more; But follow'd her. The little one Threw backward ever and anon Her lovely neck, as if to say, "I know you love me, Mister Grey;" For by its instincts childhood's eye Is shrewd in physiognomy; They well distinguish fawning art From sterling fondness of the heart. And so she flirted, like a true Good woman, till we bade adieu. 'Twas then I with regret grew wild, Oh, beauteous, interesting child! Why ask'd I not thy home and name? My courage fail'd me—more's the shame. But where abides this jewel rare? Oh, ye that own her, tell me where! For sad it makes my heart and sore To think I ne'er may meet her more.
Thomas Campbell / quote
↗
20c. 1810 AD
O leave this barren spot to me: Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree! Though bush or floweret never grow My dark unwarming shade below; Nor summer bud perfume the dew, Of rosy blush, or yellow hue! Nor fruits of autumn, blossom-born, My green and glossy leaves adorn; Nor murmuring tribes from me derive Th' ambrosial amber of the hive; Yet leave this barren spot to me: Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree! Thrice twenty summers I have seen The sky grow bright, the forest green; And many a wintry wind have stood In bloomless, fruitless solitude, Since childhood in my pleasant bower First spent its sweet and sportive hour, Since youthful lovers in my shade Their vows of truth and rapture made; And on my trunk's surviving frame Carved many a long-forgotten name. Oh! by the sighs of gentle sound, First breathed upon this sacred ground; By all that Love has whisper'd here, Or Beauty heard with ravished ear; As Love's own altar honor me: Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree! (This piece was written for Miss Mary Campbell, the poet's sister; it appeared first in the Morning Chronicle. The tree, the subject of the lines still ornaments the grounds at Ardwell, in Scotland, the seat of James Murray McCulloch, Esq.)
Thomas Campbell / quote
↗