I strove with none, for none were worth my strife.
Nature I loved, and next to Nature, Art,
I warmed both hands before the fire of life;
It sinks, and I am ready to depart.
CHILD OF A DAY
Child of a day, thou knowest not
The tears that overflow thine urn,
The gushing eyes that read thy lot,
Nor, if thou knewest, could’st return!
And why the wish! the pure and blest
Watch, like thy mother, o’er thy sleep;
O peaceful night! O envied rest!
Thou wilt not ever see her weep.
THOMAS CAMPBELL
1767–1844
HOHENLINDEN
On Linden, when the sun was low,
All bloodless lay the untrodden snow;
And dark as winter was the flow
Of Iser, rolling rapidly.
But Linden saw another sight,
When the drum beat at dead of night
Commanding fires of death to light
The darkness of her scenery.
By torch and trumpet fast arrayed
Each horseman drew his battle-blade,
And furious every charger neighed
To join the dreadful revelry.
Then shook the hills with thunder riven;
Then rushed the steed, to battle driven;
And louder than the bolts of Heaven
Far flashed the red artillery.