Thomas Campbell (1777-1844)
And I’ll give thee a silver pound
To row us o’er the ferry.’
‘Now who be ye would cross Lochgyle,
This dark and stormy water?’
‘Oh! I’m the chief of Ulva’s isle,
And this Lord Ullin’s daughter.
‘And fast before her father’s men
Three days we’ve fled together,
For should he find us in the glen,
My blood would stain the heather.
‘His horsemen hard behind us ride;
Should they our steps discover,
Then who will cheer my bonny bride
When they have slain her lover?’
Outspoke the hardy Highland wight:
‘I’ll go, my chief – I’m ready:
It is not for your silver bright,
But for your winsome lady.
‘And by my word, the bonny bird
In danger shall not tarry:
So, though the waves are raging white,
I’ll row you o’er the ferry.’
By this the storm grew loud apace,
The water-wraith was shrieking;
And in the scowl of heaven each face
Grew dark as they were speaking.
But still, as wilder blew the wind,
And as the night grew drearer,
Adown the glen rode armed men-
Their trampling sounded nearer.
‘Oh! Haste thee, haste!’ the lady cries,
‘Though tempests round us gather;
I’ll meet the raging of the skies,
But not an angry father.’
The boat has left a stormy land,
A stormy sea before her-
When oh! Too strong for human hand,
The tempest gathered o’er her.
And still they rowed amidst the roar
Of waters fast prevailing;
Lord Ullin reach’d that fatal shore-
His wrath was chang’d to wailing.
For sore dismay’d, through storm and shade,
His child he did discover;
One lovely hand she stretch’d for aid,
And one was round her lover.
‘Come back! Come back!’ he cried in grief,
‘Across this stormy water;
And I’ll forgive your Highland chief,
My daughter!- oh, my daughter!’
‘Twas vain: the loud waves lash’d the shore,
Return or aid preventing;
The waters wild went o’er his child,
And he was left lamenting.
Our bugles sang truce, for the night-cloud had lower'd,
And the sentinal stars set their watch in the sky;
And thousands had sunk to the ground overpower'd,
The weary to sleep and the wounded to die.
When reposing that night on my pallet of straw
By the wolf-scaring fagot that guarded the slain,
At the dead of the night a sweet Vision I saw,
And thrice ere the morning I dreamt it again.
Methought from the battlefield's deadly array
Far, far I had roam'd on a desolate track:
T'was Autumn, and sunshine arose on the way
To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back.
I flew to the pleasant fields traversed so oft
In life's morning march, when my bosom was young;
I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft,
And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers sung.
Then pledged we the wine-cup, and fondly I swore
From my home and my weeping friends never to part;
My little ones kiss'd me a thousand times o'er,
And my wife sobb'd aloud in her fullness of heart.
"Stay-stay with us!-rest!-thou art weary and worn!"-
And fain was their war-broken soldier to stay;-
But sorrow return'd with the dawning of morn,
And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away.
by Thomas Campbell
The River of Life
THE more we live, more brief appear
Our life’s succeeding stages;
A day to childhood seems a year,
And years like passing ages.
The gladsome current of our youth,
Ere passion yet disorders,
Steals lingering like a river smooth
Along its grassy borders.
But as the careworn cheek grows wan,
And sorrow’s shafts fly thicker,
Ye stars, that measure life to man,
Why seem your courses quicker?
When joys have lost their bloom and breath,
And life itself is vapid,
Why, as we reach the Falls of Death
Feel we its tide more rapid?
It may be strange—yet who would change
Time’s course to slower speeding,
When one by one our friends have gone,
And left our bosoms bleeding?
Heaven gives our years of fading strength
Indemnifying fleetness;
And those of youth, a seeming length,
Proportion’d to their sweetness.
Thomas Campbell (1777-1844) was born in Glasgow, the son of a tobacco merchant. At a young age he showed artistic promise and would at age 21 have his first poem ‘Pleasures of Hope’ published, a didactic poem in heroic couplets.
He studied at Glasgow University before settling in Edinburgh and becoming friends with Walter Scott, Francis Jeffrey, Dugald Stewart, and Archibald Constable.
He would follow a number of careers and artistic endeavours, such as tutoring, giving lessons as far afield as the western isles, and giving lectures on poetry and becoming editor of the new 'Monthly Magazine'.
He would also travel abroad and take a interest in international affairs with some interesting adventures during a period of war and social upheavals in europe. He also found time to compose several poems.
Thomas would marry Matilda Sinclair on 10 October 1803. They would move to London,
In 1825 Thomas published a proposal for the establishment of a university in London inspired by his experience in Glasgow. It led to the founding of University College. He would be given the Freedom of the City of Edinburgh and was re-elected twice as Rector of Glasgow University. His wife would die in 1828, whilst his only surviving son would suffer from mental illness. Due to failing health Thomas would move to France where he died on 15 June 1844 at Boulogne. He was buried on 3 July 1844 in Westminster Abbey.
He was the first President of the Clarence Club and a co-founder of the Literary Association of the Friends of Poland.
He would become known as a producer of several patriotic war songs during a period when the British Empire was expanding — "Ye Mariners of England", "The Soldier's Dream", "Hohenlinden" and The Battle of the Baltic. He also wrote poems about love and human existence.
The Poetic Works of Thomas Campbell
The poetical works of Thomas Campbell
allpoetry.com
In 1877 a statue was erected in George Square, Glasgow upon the centenary of his birth.
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ReplyDeleteLord Ullin's Daughter
ReplyDeleteThe Chieftan to the Highlands bound,
Cries, ‘Boatman, do not tarry;
And I’ll give thee a silver pound
To row us o’er the ferry.’
‘Now who be ye would cross Lochgyle,
This dark and stormy water?’
‘Oh! I’m the chief of Ulva’s isle,
And this Lord Ullin’s daughter.
‘And fast before her father’s men
Three days we’ve fled together,
For should he find us in the glen,
My blood would stain the heather.
‘His horsemen hard behind us ride;
Should they our steps discover,
Then who will cheer my bonny bride
When they have slain her lover?’
Outspoke the hardy Highland wight:
‘I’ll go, my chief – I’m ready:
It is not for your silver bright,
But for your winsome lady.
‘And by my word, the bonny bird
In danger shall not tarry:
So, though the waves are raging white,
I’ll row you o’er the ferry.’
By this the storm grew loud apace,
The water-wraith was shrieking;
And in the scowl of heaven each face
Grew dark as they were speaking.
But still, as wilder blew the wind,
And as the night grew drearer,
Adown the glen rode armed men-
Their trampling sounded nearer.
‘Oh! Haste thee, haste!’ the lady cries,
‘Though tempests round us gather;
I’ll meet the raging of the skies,
But not an angry father.’
The boat has left a stormy land,
A stormy sea before her-
When oh! Too strong for human hand,
The tempest gathered o’er her.
And still they rowed amidst the roar
Of waters fast prevailing;
Lord Ullin reach’d that fatal shore-
His wrath was chang’d to wailing.
For sore dismay’d, through storm and shade,
His child he did discover;
One lovely hand she stretch’d for aid,
And one was round her lover.
‘Come back! Come back!’ he cried in grief,
‘Across this stormy water;
And I’ll forgive your Highland chief,
My daughter!- oh, my daughter!’
‘Twas vain: the loud waves lash’d the shore,
Return or aid preventing;
The waters wild went o’er his child,
And he was left lamenting.