 Poetry: January 19, 2011 Issue [#4185] |
  Poetry
This week: Thomas Campbell Edited by: Stormy Lady  
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This is poetry from the minds and the hearts of poets on Writing.Com. The poems I am going to be exposing throughout this newsletter are ones that I have found to be, very visual, mood setting and uniquely done.Stormy Lady
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Freedom And Love
by Thomas Campbell
How delicious is the winning
Of a kiss at love's beginning,
When two mutual hearts are sighing
For the knot there's no untying!
Yet remember, 'Midst our wooing,
Love has bliss, but Love has ruing;
Other smiles may make you fickle,
Tears for other charms may trickle.
Love he comes, and Love he tarries,
Just as fate or fancy carries;
Longest stays, when sorest chidden;
Laughs and flies, when press'd and bidden.
Bind the sea to slumber stilly,
Bind its odour to the lily,
Bind the aspen ne'er to quiver,
Then bind Love to last for ever.
Love's a fire that needs renewal
Of fresh beauty for its fuel:
Love's wing moults when caged and captured,
Only free, he soars enraptured.
Can you keep the bee from ranging
Or the ringdove's neck from changing?
No! nor fetter'd Love from dying
In the knot there's no untying.
Thomas Campbell was born on July 27, 1777 in Glasgow, Scotland. Campbell's parents were from well-established families, but his father had failed in his business, which left Campbell to support himself through school. He spent his free time tutoring. Campbell studied at the University of Glasgow. While in college Campbell grew as a poet, but he couldn't commit to being a poet as a profession. At the age of twenty-two Campbell published his first poem, "The Pleasures of Hope."
After the publication of his poem, Campbell travelled abroad, but he quickly ran through the money he had made and found himself poor. He then made his way to Britain, where his reputation as a poet helped him find literary employment promptly. After starting his work Campbell became forgetful and inconstant in completing his work on time. Eventually this made it hard for him to find companies to hire him. It was in 1802 when Campbell published "Lochiel's Warning," and "Hohenlinden," with great success. In 1809 he published "Gertrude of Wyoming, a Pennsylvania Tale."
Campbell life was turning around he had married and moved into a lovely home in England. He was offered an editorial position for the "New Monthly Magazine." Later he resigned from his position at the magazine to take over the "Metropolitan." His poem "The Last Man," was published in the "Metropolitan." In 1824 Campbell published his first volume "Theodric and Other Poems." Campbell had two son, one dying in infancy and one who became mentally insane. His wife died in 1828. Campbell than began to travel. His travels took him to Paris where he wrote "Letters from the South" which was published in 1837.He then published "Life of Mrs Siddons" in 1842. It was said that Campbell withdrew from his social life about the same time his son was institutionalized.
Campbell's health took a turn for the worse in the last few years of his life. Thomas Campbell died on, July 15, 1844. He was sixty-seven years old. Campbell was buried in Westminster Abbey.
To the Evening Star
by Thomas Campbell
Star that bringest home the bee,
And sett'st the weary labourer free!
If any star shed peace, 'tis thou,
That send 'st it from above,
Appearing when Heaven's breath and brow
Are sweet as hers we love.
Come to the luxuriant skies,
Whilst the landscape's odours rise,
Whilst far-off lowing herds are heard,
And songs when toil is done,
From cottages whose smoke unstirr'd
Curls yellow in the sun.
Star of love's soft interviews.
Parted lovers on thee muse;
Their remembrancer in heaven
Of thrilling vows thou art,
Too delicious to be riven
By absence from the heart.
The Last Man
by Thomas Campbell
All worldly shapes shall melt in gloom,
The Sun himself must die,
Before this mortal shall assume
Its Immortality!
I saw a vision in my sleep
That gave my spirit strength to sweep
Adown the gulf of Time!
I saw the last of human mould,
That shall Creation's death behold,
As Adam saw her prime!
The Sun's eye had a sickly glare,
The Earth with age was wan,
The skeletons of nations were
Around that lonely man!
Some had expired in fight,--the brands
Still rested in their bony hands;
In plague and famine some!
Earth's cities had no sound nor tread;
And ships were drifting with the dead
To shores where all was dumb!
Yet, prophet-like, that lone one stood
With dauntless words and high,
That shook the sere leaves from the wood
As if a storm passed by,
Saying, "We are twins in death, proud Sun,
Thy face is cold, thy race is run,
'Tis Mercy bids thee go.
For thou ten thousand thousand years
Hast seen the tide of human tears,
That shall no longer flow.
"What though beneath thee man put forth
His pomp, his pride, his skill;
And arts that made fire, floods, and earth,
The vassals of his will;--
Yet mourn not I thy parted sway,
Thou dim discrowned king of day:
For all those trophied arts
And triumphs that beneath thee sprang,
Healed not a passion or a pang
Entailed on human hearts.
"Go, let oblivion's curtain fall
Upon the stage of men,
Nor with thy rising beams recall
Life's tragedy again.
Its piteous pageants bring not back,
Nor waken flesh, upon the rack
Of pain anew to writhe;
Stretched in disease's shapes abhorred,
Or mown in battle by the sword,
Like grass beneath the scythe.
"Ee'n I am weary in yon skies
To watch thy fading fire;
Test of all sumless agonies
Behold not me expire.
My lips that speak thy dirge of death--
Their rounded gasp and gurgling breath
To see thou shalt not boast.
The eclipse of Nature spreads my pall,--
The majesty of Darkness shall
Receive my parting ghost!
"This spirit shall return to Him
That gave its heavenly spark;
Yet think not, Sun, it shall be dim
When thou thyself art dark!
No! it shall live again, and shine
In bliss unknown to beams of thine,
By Him recalled to breath,
Who captive led captivity.
Who robbed the grave of Victory,--
And took the sting from Death!
"Go, Sun, while Mercy holds me up
On Nature's awful waste
To drink this last and bitter cup
Of grief that man shall taste--
Go, tell the night that hides thy face,
Thou saw'st the last of Adam's race,
On Earth's sepulchral clod,
The darkening universe defy
To quench his Immortality,
Or shake his trust in God!"
Thank you all!
Stormy Lady
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The winner of "Stormy's poetry newsletter & contest" [ASR] is:
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Friends
I have spent a lifetime making friends.
To this end I strove; often I made amends.
Most proved worthy; others were pretends.
To my good fortune, my chums were godsends.
Reliable relationships are rarely broken.
It takes time for bonds to be proven.
Resilient struggles support rapport to ripen.
Daily endeavors create a climate seldom barren.
Many a poem has described human interaction.
Countless suggestions offered to stay friction.
Sundry advice meant to guide good fortune.
If the guidance has been minded, lives will brighten.
Little else is worse than a friendship torn apart?
The crash of a bell; It's nothing like a melting heart.
To make and keep good friends is an art.
Commitment from all assures bonds at no time depart.
Honorable mention:
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