The Poetical Works of Thomas Campbell, Volume 1

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Henry Colburn, 1828 - 238 pages
 

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Page 180 - I appeal to any white man to say, if ever he entered Logan's cabin hungry, and he gave him not meat; if ever he came cold and naked, and he clothed him not. During the course of the last long and bloody war Logan remained idle in his cabin, an advocate for peace. Such was my love for the whites, that my countrymen pointed as they passed, and said, 'Logan is the friend of white men.
Page 181 - There runs not a drop of my blood in the veins of any living creature. This called on me for revenge. I have sought it: I have killed many: I have fully glutted my vengeance: for my country I rejoice at the beams of peace. But do not harbour a thought that mine is the joy of fear.
Page 28 - Departed spirits of the mighty dead ! Ye that at Marathon and Leuctra bled ! Friends of the world ! restore your swords to man, Fight in his sacred cause, and lead the van ! Yet for Sarmatia's tears of blood atone, And make her arm puissant as your own ! Oh ! once again to Freedom's cause return The patriot Tell— the Bruce of Bannockburn...
Page 101 - As monumental bronze unchanged his look : A soul that pity touch'd, but never shook : Train'd, from his tree-rock'd cradle to his bier, The fierce extremes of good and ill to brook Impassive — fearing but the shame of fear — A stoic of the woods — a man without a tear.
Page 71 - Inspiring thought of rapture yet to be, The tears of Love were hopeless, but for thee ! If in that frame no deathless spirit dwell, If that faint murmur be the last farewell, If Fate unite the faithful but to part, Why is their memory sacred to the heart ? Why does the brother of my childhood seem...
Page 63 - Are these the pompous tidings ye proclaim, Lights of the world, and demi-gods of fame ? Is this your triumph — this your proud applause, Children of Truth, and champions of her cause...
Page 179 - But do not harbor a thought that mine is the joy of fear. Logan never felt fear. He will not turn on his heel to save his life.
Page 132 - With all his howling desolating band; — These eyes have seen their blade and burning pine Awake at once, and silence half your land. Red is the cup they drink ; but not with wine : Awake, and watch to-night, or see no morning shine ! XVII.
Page 8 - Now far he sweeps, where scarce a summer smiles, On Behring's rocks, or Greenland's naked isles ; Cold on his midnight watch, the breezes blow, From wastes that slumber in eternal snow ; And waft, across the wave's tumultuous roar, The wolf's long howl from Oonalaska's shore.
Page 26 - Firm-paced and slow, a horrid front they form, Still as the breeze, but dreadful as the storm. Low murmuring sounds along their banners fly, Revenge or death...

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