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University of Virginia Library

The poetical works of Samuel Rogers

with a memoir by Edward Bell

Rogers, Samuel (1763-1855)

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[Oh could my mind, unfolded in my page]

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THE PLEASURES OF MEMORY.

I.

II.

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AN EPISTLE TO A FRIEND.

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THE VOYAGE OF COLUMBUS.

INSCRIBED ON THE ORIGINAL MANUSCRIPT.

I.

CANTO I. NIGHT—COLUMBUS ON THE ATLANTIC—THE VARIATION OF THE COMPASS, &C.

II.

CANTO II. THE VOYAGE CONTINUED.

III.

CANTO III. AN ASSEMBLY OF EVIL SPIRITS.

IV.

CANTO IV. THE VOYAGE CONTINUED.

V.

CANTO V. THE VOYAGE CONTINUED.

VI.

CANTO VI. THE FLIGHT OF AN ANGEL OF DARKNESS.

VII.

CANTO VII. A MUTINY EXCITED.

VIII.

CANTO VIII. LAND DISCOVERED.

IX.

CANTO IX. THE NEW WORLD.

X.

CANTO X. CORA—LUXURIANT VEGETATION—THE HUMMING-BIRD—THE FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH.

XI.

CANTO XI. EVENING—A BANQUET—THE GHOST OF CAZZIVA.

XII.

CANTO XII. A VISION.

[Thy lonely watch-tower, Larenille]

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I.

II.

III.

ODE TO SUPERSTITION.

AN ITALIAN SONG.

THE ALPS AT DAY-BREAK.

WRITTEN IN A SICK CHAMBER.

TO TWO SISTERS.

TO A FRIEND ON HIS MARRIAGE.

WRITTEN TO BE SPOKEN BY MRS. SIDDONS.

FROM EURIPIDES.

FROM AN ITALIAN SONNET.

FROM A GREEK EPIGRAM.

WRITTEN AT MIDNIGHT.

TO THE YOUNGEST DAUGHTER OF LADY ---

TO A VOICE THAT HAD BEEN LOST.

TO THE BUTTERFLY.

TO THE FRAGMENT OF A STATUE OF HERCULES,

AN EPITAPH ON A ROBIN-REDBREAST.

THE BOY OF EGREMOND.

WRITTEN IN THE HIGHLANDS OF SCOTLAND

AN INSCRIPTION IN THE CRIMEA.

AN INSCRIPTION FOR A TEMPLE DEDICATED TO THE GRACES.

WRITTEN AT MIDNIGHT.

FROM AN ITALIAN SONNET.

WRITTEN IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY.

WRITTEN AT DROPMORE,

WRITTEN AT STRATHFIELD SAYE.

WRITTEN IN JULY, 1834.

WRITTEN IN 1834.

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THE LAKE OF GENEVA.

THE GREAT ST. BERNARD.

MARGUERITE DE TOURS.

ST. MARK'S PLACE.

THE BRIDES OF VENICE.

THE CAMPAGNA OF FLORENCE.

THE CAMPAGNA OF ROME.

THE ROMAN PONTIFFS.

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And hence that calm delight the portrait gives:
We gaze on every feature till it lives!
Still the fond lover sees the absent maid;
And the lost friend still lingers in his shade!
Say why the pensive widow loves to weep,
When on her knee she rocks her babe to sleep:
Tremblingly still, she lifts his veil to trace
The father's features in his infant face.
The hoary grandsire smiles the hour away,
Won by the raptures of a game at play;
He bends to meet each artless burst of joy,
Forgets his age, and acts again the boy.