Maxioms by Thomas Campbell
There came to the beach a poor Exile of Erin,
The dew on his thin robe was heavy and read more
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 along by the wind-beaten hill.
But the day star attracted his eyes' sad devotion,
For it rose o'er his own native isle of the ocean,
Where once in the fire of his youthful emotion
He sang the bold anthem of Erin-go-bragh.
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.
Triumphal arch, that fill'st the sky
When storms prepare to part,
I ask not proud Philosophy
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Triumphal arch, that fill'st the sky
When storms prepare to part,
I ask not proud Philosophy
To teach me what thou art.
To live in hearts we leave behind,
Is not to die.
To live in hearts we leave behind,
Is not to die.
