Thomas Campbell

J. McD., "Lines written on reading the Pleasures of Hope" Scots Magazine 69 (June 1807) 446.

'Tis thine, O Campbell, to attune the lyre
With Pope's sweet melody, — with Milton's fire;
Like Shakespeare strong, thy energy divine,
And as great Gray, delightful every line.
Well may sweet liberty aloud rejoice!
A Bard appears who knows her noble voice,
Who can in melting phrase her sweets describe,
Who scorns the tyrant and his hireling tribe;
Who boldly says Hindostan should be free,
And shews the dire effects of Tyranny.

Is there, alive, that human form does wear,
Can calmly hear, Suwarrow's brutal crew
Thousands of innocents in cold blood slew?
Whose icy breast ne'er cherish'd pity's sigh,
Who never grieves though Want's pale cheek by nigh;
Whose grov'ling soul wrong'd innocence can't move,
Unknown to friendship, — and unknown to love;—
Shame to the Coward! to deep dulness wed,—
He ought, he must be number'd with the dead,
Who can unmoved hear great Campbell tell,
How "Freedom shriek'd as Kosciusko fell!"

Campbell! on thee may Fortune ever smile;
Long may'st thou live, to bless native isle;
May that great soul which no base tyrant tears
Grow greater still, and ripen with thy years!
And when life's glimmering lamp begins to fade,
When Death's cold tremor doth thy frame pervade,
May conscious honesty afford the joy,
And peace, sweet peace, illume thy closing eye!
And Hope, great comforter, thee still attend,
Soothe thy lone heart, and make e'en Death thy friend!