THE EARLY LIFE OF SAMUEL ROGERS1887 |
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Page 406 - ? 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. Oh, if you knew the pensive pleasure That fills my bosom when I sigh, You would not rob me of a treasure, Monarchs are too poor to buy
Page 289 - —that blessed mood In which the burthen and the mystery, In which the heavy and the weary weight Of all this unintelligible world, Is lightened—
Page 114 - sensations as he intended to excite. I reflect, not without vanity, that these discourses bear testimony of my admiration of that truly divine man, and I should desire that the last words I should pronounce in this Academy and from this place should be the name of Michael Angelo.
Page 27 - But soon a nobler task demands her care ; Apart, she joins his little hands in prayer, Telling of Him who sees in secret there. And now the volume on her knee has caught His wandering eye—now many a written thought Never to die, with many a lisping sweet, His moving, murmuring lips endeavour to repeat,
Page 83 - to rest, Thy meek submission to thy God expressed, When thy last look, ere thought and feeling fled, A mingled gleam of hope and triumph shed, What to thy soul its glad assurance gave, Its hope in death, its triumph o'er the grave ? The sweet remembrance of unblemished youth The still inspiring voice of Innocence and Truth
Page 114 - hand repeated Milton's lines:— The Angel ended, and in Adam's ear So charming left his voice that he awhile Thought him still speaking, still stood fix'd to hear.
Page 302 - with indignation, Satan stood Unterrified, and like a comet burn'd, That fires the length of Ophiuchus huge In th' arctic sky, and from his horrid hair Shakes pestilence and war. - Paradise Lost, Book
Page 221 - Awake but one, and lo, what myriads rise I Each stamps its image as the other flies. Each, as the various avenues of sense Delight or sorrow to the soul dispense, Brightens or fades; yet all, with magic art, Controul the latent fibres of the heart.
Page 235 - Ah! who can tell the triumphs of the mind By truth illumined, and by taste refined ? When age has quenched the eye, and closed the ear, Still nerved for action in her native sphere, Oft will she rise—with searching glance pursue Some long loved image vanished from her view
Page 220 - On yon grey stone, that fronts the chancel door, Worn smooth by busy feet now seen no more, Each eve we shot the marble through the ring, When the heart danced, and life was in its spring; Alas I unconscious of the kindred earth, That faintly echoed to the voice of mirth.