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The poetical works of Samuel Rogers

with a memoir by Edward Bell
Rogers, Samuel (1763-1855)

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[section]
  
[Oh could my mind, unfolded in my page]
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THE PLEASURES OF MEMORY.
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AN EPISTLE TO A FRIEND.
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THE VOYAGE OF COLUMBUS.
  
PREFACE.
  
THE ARGUMENT.
  
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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JACQUELINE.
  
HUMAN LIFE.
  
ODE TO SUPERSTITION.
  
THE SAILOR.
  
A WISH.
  
AN ITALIAN SONG.
  
THE ALPS AT DAY-BREAK.
  
ON A TEAR.
  
WRITTEN IN A SICK CHAMBER.
  
TO TWO SISTERS.
  
TO A FRIEND ON HIS MARRIAGE.
  
WRITTEN TO BE SPOKEN BY MRS. SIDDONS.
  
A FAREWELL.
  
TO ---
  
FROM EURIPIDES.
  
FROM AN ITALIAN SONNET.
  
FROM A GREEK EPIGRAM.
  
A CHARACTER.
  
CAPTIVITY.
  
WRITTEN AT MIDNIGHT.
  
TO AN OLD OAK.
  
TO THE GNAT.
  
TO THE YOUNGEST DAUGHTER OF LADY ---
  
TO A VOICE THAT HAD BEEN LOST.
  
TO THE BUTTERFLY.
  
TO ---
  
TO THE FRAGMENT OF A STATUE OF HERCULES,
  
AN EPITAPH ON A ROBIN-REDBREAST.
  
THE BOY OF EGREMOND.
  
WRITTEN IN THE HIGHLANDS OF SCOTLAND
  
ON --- ASLEEP.
  
AN INSCRIPTION IN THE CRIMEA.
  
AN INSCRIPTION FOR A TEMPLE DEDICATED TO THE GRACES.
  
WRITTEN AT MIDNIGHT.
  
REFLECTIONS.
  
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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ITALY.

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Thus, in this calm recess, so richly fraught
With mental light, and luxury of thought,
My life steals on; (O could it blend with thine!)
Careless my course, yet not without design.
So thro' the vales of Loire the bee-hives glide,
The light raft dropping with the silent tide;
So, till the laughing scenes are lost in night,
The busy people wing their various flight,
Culling unnumbered sweets from nameless flowers,
That scent the vineyard in its purple hours.
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