Thomas Campbell (1777–1844)

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 to 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.