SAMUEL ROGERS. SAMUEL ROGERS was born in London, July 80, 1763. After receiving a careful education, he was placed in his father's bank, where he became familiar with the business and followed it for many years. He travelled extensively on the Continent, and made a large collection of pictures and art curiosities. After retiring from business, he lived in elegant leisure in St. James Place, and gave breakfasts which are said to have been more celebrated than his poems. In 1786 he published "An Ode to Superstition, and other Poems;" which was followed in 1792 by "The Pleasures of Memory," his best poem, and the one on which chiefly his fame must In 1812 he published "Columbus," a poem in fragments, some passages of which are fine; in 1814 "Jacqueline" in a volume with rest. Byron's "Lara;" in 1819 "Human Life," a didactic poem of moderate merit, and in 1822 "Italy." The last named consists of short, unconnected passages, some in prose and the others in blank verse, descriptive, narrative, or meditative, for the most part rather tame. In 1836 he issued an illustrated edition of it, the plates for which are said to have cost £10,000. Rogers was small in person, with a very unattractive face, and never married. Though all his life possessed of an ample fortune, he is not known to have exercised any generosity which cost money-in fact, some of his dealings with artists and authors were simply contemptible. He died on December 18, 1855, the oldest of British poets. His "Table-Talk was published after his death. THE PLEASURES OF MEMORY. PART I. TWILIGHT'S Soft dews steal o'er the village green, court, Once the calm scene of many a simple sport; When nature pleased, for life itself was new, And the heart promised what the fancy drew. See, through the fractured pediment reveal'd, Where moss inlays the rudely-sculptured shield, The martin's old, hereditary nest: Long may the ruin spare its hollow'd guest! As jars the hinge, what sullen echoes call! O haste, unfold the hospitable hall! That hall, where once, in antiquated state, The chair of justice held the grave debate. Now stain'd with dews, with cobwebs darkly bung, Oft has its roof with peals of rapture rung; VOL. II.-1 When round yon ample board, in due degree, Ye household deities! whose guardian eve Whence the caged linnet soothed my pensive thought; |