Maxioms by Thomas Campbell
For there no yew nor cypress spread their glom
But roses blossom'd each rustic tomb.
For there no yew nor cypress spread their glom
But roses blossom'd each rustic tomb.
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.
What we might call, by way of Eminence, the Dismal Science.
What we might call, by way of Eminence, the Dismal Science.
Men of England! who inherit
Rights that cost your sires their blood.
Men of England! who inherit
Rights that cost your sires their blood.
