The poetical works of Samuel Rogers :: :: University of Virginia Library

The poetical works of Samuel Rogers

with a memoir by Edward Bell

Rogers, Samuel (1763-1855)

[section]

[Oh could my mind, unfolded in my page]

THE PLEASURES OF MEMORY.

Part I.

II.

Part II.

AN EPISTLE TO A FRIEND.

PREFACE.

[argument]

[section]

THE VOYAGE OF COLUMBUS.

PREFACE.

THE ARGUMENT.

INSCRIBED ON THE ORIGINAL MANUSCRIPT.

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.

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.

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]

JACQUELINE.

II.

III.

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.

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.

THE GREAT ST. BERNARD.

THE BRIDES OF VENICE.

THE CAMPAGNA OF FLORENCE.

THE CAMPAGNA OF ROME.

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A FAREWELL.

1797.

Adieu! A long, a long adieu!
I must be gone while yet I may.
Oft shall I weep to think of you;
But here I will not, cannot stay.

162

The sweet expression of that face,
For ever changing, yet the same,
Ah no, I dare not turn to trace.
It melts my soul, it fires my frame!

Yet give me, give me, ere I go,
One little lock of those so blest,
That lend your cheek a warmer glow,
And on your white neck love to rest.

—Say, when, to kindle soft delight,
That hand has chanced with mine to meet,
How could its thrilling touch excite,
A sigh so short, and yet so sweet?

O say—but no, it must not be.
Adieu! A long, a long adieu!
—Yet still, methinks, you frown on me;
Or never could I fly from you.