Quotes
Quotes - Campbell
When the stormy winds do blow;
When the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy winds do blow.
The meteor flag of England
Shall yet terrific burn,
Till danger's troubled night depart,
And the star of peace return.
There was silence deep as death,
And the boldest held his breath
For a time.
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!
Few, few shall part where many meet!
The snow shall be their winding-sheet,
And every turf beneath their feet
Shall be a soldier's sepulchre.
There came to the beach a poor exile of Erin,
The dew on his thin robe was heavy and chill;
For his country he sigh'd, when at twilight repairing
To wander alone by the wind-beaten hill.
To bear is to conquer our fate.
The sentinel stars set their watch in the sky.
In life's morning march, when my bosom was young.
But sorrow return'd with the dawning of morn,
And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away.
Triumphal arch, that fill'st the sky
When storms prepare to part,
I ask not proud Philosophy
To teach me what thou art.
A stoic of the woods,--a man without a tear.
O Love! in such a wilderness as this.
The torrent's smoothness, ere it dash below!
Again to the battle, Achaians!
Our hearts bid the tyrants defiance!
Our land, the first garden of Liberty's tree,
It has been, and shall yet be, the land of the free.
Drink ye to her that each loves best!
And if you nurse a flame
That's told but to her mutual breast,
We will not ask her name.
To live in hearts we leave behind
Is not to die.
Oh leave this barren spot to me!
Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree!
When we quit thinking primarily about ourselves and our own self- preservation, we undergo a truly heroic transformation of consciousness.
When we quit thinking primarily about ourselves and our own self-preservation, we undergo a truly heroic transformation of consciousness.
To-morrow let us do or die.
Lo! at the couch where infant beauty sleeps; Her silent watch the mournful mother keeps; She, while the lovely babe unconscious lies, Smiles on her slumbering child with pensive eyes.
A society in which adults are estranged from the world of children, and often from their own childhood, tends to hear children's speech only as a foreign language, or as a lie. Children have been treated. as congenital fibbers, fakers and fantasisers.
But now our fate from unmomentous things, may rise like rivers out of little springs.
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.
