British poet; (1763-1855)
Samuel Rogers (30 July 1763 – 18 December 1855) was an English poet.
- Mine be a cot beside the hill;
A beehive's hum shall soothe my ear;
A willowy brook that turns a mill,
With many a fall, shall linger near.
- A Wish (1834), l. 1-4.
- That very law which moulds a tear
And bids it trickle from its source,—
That law preserves the earth a sphere,
And guides the planets in their course.
- On a Tear (c. 1813-5), l. 21-4.
- Go! you may call it madness, folly;
You shall not chase my gloom away!
There's such a charm in melancholy
I would not if I could be gay.
- To ———, reported in Bartlett's Familiar Quotations, 10th ed. (1919).
- To vanish in the chinks that Time has made.
- Pæstum, reported in Bartlett's Familiar Quotations, 10th ed. (1919).
- Ward has no heart, they say, but I deny it:
He has a heart, and gets his speeches by it.
- Epigram, reported in Bartlett's Familiar Quotations, 10th ed. (1919).
Ode to Superstition (1786)Edit
- Hence, to the realms of Night, dire Demon, hence!
Thy chain of adamant can bind
That little world, the human mind,
And sink its noblest powers to impotence.
- I.1 l. 1-4.
- Lo, steel-clad War his gorgeous standard rears !
The red-cross squadrons madly rage,
And mow thro' infancy and age
- III.2. l. 1-3.
The Pleasures of Memory (1792)Edit
- Thou first, best friend that Heav'n assigns below
To sooth and sweeten all the cares we know.
- I, l. 85-6.
- Sweet Memory! wafted by thy gentle gale,
Oft up the stream of Time I turn my sail.
- II, l. 1-2.
- Oh ! She was good as she was fair,
None—none on earth above her!
As pure in thought as angels are:
To know her was to love her.
- I, l. 67-70.
- The good are better made by ill,
As odours crushed are sweeter still.
- III, l. 16-7.
Human Life (1819)Edit
- A guardian angel o'er his life presiding,
Doubling his pleasures, and his cares dividing.
- Fireside happiness, to hours of ease
Blest with that charm, the certainty to please.
- The soul of music slumbers in the shell
Till waked and kindled by the master's spell;
And feeling hearts, touch them but rightly, pour
A thousand melodies unheard before!
- Then, never less alone than when alone.
- Those that he loved so long and sees no more,
Loved and still loves,—not dead, but gone before,—
He gathers round him.