Poem by Thomas Campbell

Ben Lomond

Hadst thou a genius on thy peak,
   What tales, white-headed Ben,
Could'st thou of ancient ages speak,
   That mock th' historian's pen!

Thy long duration makes our livea
   Seem but so many hours;
And likens, to the bees' frail hives,
   Our most stupendous towers.

Temples and towers thou seest begun,
   New creeds, new conquerers sway;
And, like their shadows in the sun,
   Hast seen them swept away.

Thy steadfast summit, heaven-allied
   (Unlike life's little span),
Looks down a mentor on the pride
   Of perishable man. 

1. Lines on the Camp Hill, near Hastings
2. Napoleon and the British Sailor
3. Gilderoy
4. The Exile of Erin
5. O’Connor’s Child; Or, the Flower of Love Lies Bleeding

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