For there no yew nor cypress spread their glom But roses blossom'd each rustic tomb.
Thomas CampbellWho hail thee, Man! the pilgrim of the day, spouse of the worm, and brother of the clay.
Thomas CampbellThe meteor flag of England Shall yet terrific burn, Till danger's troubled night depart, And the star of peace return.
Thomas CampbellOn 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.
Thomas Campbell