Thomas Campbell

On the green banks of Shannon, when Sheelah was nigh,
No blithe Irish lad was so happy as I;
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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.

And hears thy stormy music in the drum!

And hears thy stormy music in the drum!

Lo! at the couch where infant beauty sleeps;
Her silent watch the mournful mother keeps;
She, while read more

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.

Hope for a season bade the world farewell,
And Freedom shrieked as Kosciusko fell!
. . . read more

Hope for a season bade the world farewell,
And Freedom shrieked as Kosciusko fell!
. . . .
O'er Prague's proud arch the fires of ruin glow.

Victory has a hundred fathers, but defeat is an orphan.

Victory has a hundred fathers, but defeat is an orphan.