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.
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Benlomond by Thomas Campbell )
- Love is, hasmukh amathalal
- Before A Dream, Tony Adah
- Words Worn-Out, Birgitta Heikka
- Gift of love, ramesh rai
- Tides And Emotions., Marcondes Pereira
- Morning Coffee, Bill Grace
- Happenstance Things, Patti Masterman
- Loot-Hoot-Shoot, Aftab Alam
- The Children See Colors, Hebert Logerie
- Ulterior motive, hasmukh amathalal