Maxioms by Thomas Campbell
Who hath not own'd, with rapture-smitten frame,
The power of grace, the magic of a name.
Who hath not own'd, with rapture-smitten frame,
The power of grace, the magic of a name.
He scorn'd his own, who felt another's woe.
He scorn'd his own, who felt another's woe.
When love came first to earth, the Spring
Spread rose-beds to receive him.
When love came first to earth, the Spring
Spread rose-beds to receive him.
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.
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.
