The Poetical Works of Samuel RogersE.H. Butler, 1852 - 451 pages |
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Page 33
... dead hour of night to Silence given , Whispering seraphic visions of her heaven . When the blithe son of Savoy , journeying round With humble wares and pipe of merry sound , From his green vale and sheltered cabin hies , And scales the ...
... dead hour of night to Silence given , Whispering seraphic visions of her heaven . When the blithe son of Savoy , journeying round With humble wares and pipe of merry sound , From his green vale and sheltered cabin hies , And scales the ...
Page 36
... dead son the gallant ORMOND sighed . Thus , thro ' the gloom of SHENSTONE'S fairy - grove , MARIA'S urn still breathes the voice of love . As the stern grandeur of a Gothic tower Awes us less deeply in its morning - hour , Than when the ...
... dead son the gallant ORMOND sighed . Thus , thro ' the gloom of SHENSTONE'S fairy - grove , MARIA'S urn still breathes the voice of love . As the stern grandeur of a Gothic tower Awes us less deeply in its morning - hour , Than when the ...
Page 43
... dead descend To watch the silent slumbers of a friend ; To hover round his evening - walk unseen ; And hold sweet converse on the dusky green ; To hail the spot where first their friendship grew , And heaven and nature opened to their ...
... dead descend To watch the silent slumbers of a friend ; To hover round his evening - walk unseen ; And hold sweet converse on the dusky green ; To hail the spot where first their friendship grew , And heaven and nature opened to their ...
Page 53
... dead son the gallant ORMOND sighed . " I would not exchange my dead son , " said he , " for any living son in Christendom . " — HUME . The same sentiment is inscribed on an urn at the Leasowes . quanto minus est cum reliquis versari ...
... dead son the gallant ORMOND sighed . " I would not exchange my dead son , " said he , " for any living son in Christendom . " — HUME . The same sentiment is inscribed on an urn at the Leasowes . quanto minus est cum reliquis versari ...
Page 56
... dead , on the warm turf we lie , While many an emmet comes with curious eye ; And on her nest the watchful wren sits by ! Nor do we speak or move , or hear or see ; So like what once we were , and once again shall be ! And say , how ...
... dead , on the warm turf we lie , While many an emmet comes with curious eye ; And on her nest the watchful wren sits by ! Nor do we speak or move , or hear or see ; So like what once we were , and once again shall be ! And say , how ...
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Common terms and phrases
age to age ancient beautiful blessed blest Boccaccio breathe bright called charm child Cicero CIMABUE cliff clouds Columbus cried dark dead death delight dream earth ELEONORA DI TOLEDO Euripides eyes father fear fled FLORENCE flowers gate gazed GENOA gentle gilt glimmering glory glows gold Gondolier gone grave grey grove hand hast heard heart heaven holy hour hung Icarius light lived look MARTIN FARQUHAR TUPPER mind MONTESQUIEU Morocco night noblest o'er once passed Pausanias Petrarch pleasure rest rise round sacred sail sate says scene shade shifting sail shine shore sigh silent sing sitting sleep smile song soon soul spirit spoke stir stood stranger sung sweet tears thee thine things thou thought thro Titian tower triumphs turned Twas VENICE voice walls wander wave weep whence wild wind wings young youth
Popular passages
Page 149 - MINE be a cot beside the hill, A bee-hive's hum shall soothe my ear ; A willowy brook, that turns a mill, With many a fall, shall linger near. The swallow, oft, beneath my thatch Shall twitter from her clay-built nest ; Oft shall the pilgrim lift the latch, And share my meal, a welcome guest.
Page 289 - Her pranks the favourite theme of every tongue. But now the day was come, the day, the hour ; Now frowning, smiling for the hundredth...
Page 104 - But little do men perceive what solitude is, and how far it extendeth. For a crowd is not company, and faces are but a gallery of pictures, and talk but a tinkling cymbal, where there is no love.
Page 290 - That mouldering chest was noticed; and 'twas said By one as young, as thoughtless as Ginevra, Why not remove it from its lurking place? 'Twas done as soon as said; but on the way It burst, it fell; and lo, a skeleton, With here and there a pearl, an emerald-stone, A golden clasp, clasping a shred of gold.
Page 438 - Of law there can be no less acknowledged, than that her seat is the bosom of God, her voice the harmony of the world ; all things in heaven and earth do her homage, the very least as feeling her care, and the greatest as not exempted from her power...
Page 86 - I began thus far to assent both to them and divers of my friends here at home ; and not less to an inward prompting which now grew daily upon me, that by labour and intent study, which I take to be my portion in- this life, joined with the strong propensity of nature, I might perhaps leave something so written to after-times, as they should not willingly let it die.
Page 81 - O eloquent, just, and mighty Death! whom none could advise, thou hast persuaded; what none hath dared, thou hast done; and whom all the world hath flattered, thou only hast cast out of the world and despised : thou hast drawn together all the far-stretched greatness, all the pride, cruelty, and ambition of man, and covered it all over with these two narrow words, Hie jacet.
Page 85 - I wis, all their sport in the park is but a shadow to that pleasure that I find in Plato. Alas ! good folk, they never felt what true pleasure meant.
Page 55 - And, crowding, stop the cradle to admire The babe, the sleeping image of his sire. A few short years — and then these sounds shall hail The day again, and gladness fill the vale ; So soon the child a youth, the youth a man, Eager to run the race his fathers ran. Then the huge ox shall yield the broad sirloin ; The ale, now...
Page 30 - SWEET MEMORY, wafted by thy gentle gale, Oft up the stream of Time I turn my sail, To view the fairy-haunts of long-lost hours, Blest with far greener shades, far fresher flowers. Ages and climes remote to Thee impart What charms in Genius and refines in Art ; Thee, in whose hands the keys of Science dwell, The pensive portress of her holy cell ; Whose constant vigils chase the chilling damp Oblivion steals upon her vestal-lamp.