The Poetical Works of Samuel Rogers

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E.H. Butler, 1891 - 451 pages

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Page 135 - Orsini lived ; and long mightst thou have seen An old man wandering as in quest of something, Something he could not find — he knew not what.
Page 107 - There is a glorious city in the sea; The sea is in the broad, the narrow streets, Ebbing and flowing; and the salt seaweed Clings to the marble of her palaces.
Page 9 - Lulled in the countless chambers of the brain, Our thoughts are linked by many a hidden chain. Awake but one, and lo, what myriads rise ! * Each stamps its image as the other flies.
Page 88 - It was on the day, or rather night, of the 27th of June, 1787, between the hours of eleven and twelve, that I wrote the last lines of the last page in a summer-house in my garden. After laying down my pen, I took several turns in a berceau, or covered walk of acacias, which commands a prospect of the country, the lake, and the mountains. The air was temperate, the sky was serene, the silver orb of the moon was reflected from the waters, and all nature was silent.
Page 147 - 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 60 - 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 135 - ... 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 142 - ... mingling each with each ; Both and yet neither. There, from age to age, Two ghosts are sitting on their sepulchres. That is the Duke Lorenzo. Mark him well. He meditates, his head upon his hand. What from beneath his helm-like bonnet scowls ? Is it a face, or but an eyeless skull ? 'T is lost in shade ; yet, like the basilisk, It fascinates, and is intolerable.
Page 69 - 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. 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 109 - A few in fear, Flying away from him whose boast it was,* That the grass grew not where his horse had trod, Gave birth to VENICE.

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