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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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Tho' changed my cloth of gold for amice grey—
In my spring-time, when every month was May,
With hawk and hound I coursed away the hour,
Or sung my roundelay in lady's bower.
And tho' my world be now a narrow cell,
(Renounced for ever all I loved so well,)
Tho' now my head be bald, my feet be bare,
And scarce my knees sustain my book of prayer,
Oh I was there, one of that gallant crew,
And saw—and wondered whence his Power He drew,
Yet little thought, tho' by his side I stood,

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Of his great Foes in earth and air and flood,
Then uninstructed.—But my sand is run,
And the Night coming ... and my Task not done!..