Samuel Rogers Quotes
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Fireside happiness, to hours of ease Blest with that charm, the certainty to please.
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Mine be a cot beside the hill; A bee-hive's hum shall soothe my ear; A willowy brook, that turns a mill, With many a fall shall linger near.
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Sweet memory, wafted by the gentle gale, Oft up the stream of Time I turn my sail, To view the fairy haunts of long-lost hours, Blest with far greener shades, far fresher flowers.
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I am in Rome! Oft as the morning ray Visits these eyes, waking at once I cry, Whence this excess of joy? What has befallen me? And from within a thrilling voice replies, Thou art in Rome! A thousand busy thoughts Rush on my mind, a thousand images; And I spring up as girt to run a race!
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And the Sabbath bell, That over wood and wild and mountain dell Wanders so far, chasing all thoughts unholy With sounds most musical, most melancholy.
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Example is a motive of very prevailing force on the actions of men.
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Think nothing done while aught remains to do.
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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.
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To know her was to love her.
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When a new book is published, read an old one.
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Women have the understanding of the heart, which is better than that of the head.
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Twilight's soft dews steal o'er the village-green, With magic tints to harmonize the scene. Stilled is the hum that through the hamlet broke When round the ruins of their ancient oak The peasants flocked to hear the minstrel play, And games and carols closed the busy day.
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A man who attempts to read all the new productions must do as the flea does,--skip.
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Then never less alone than when alone.
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The hour arrives, the moment wish'd and fear'd, The child is born by many a pang endear'd And now the mother's ear has caught his cry; O grant the cherub to her asking eye! He comes--she clasps him. To her bosom press'd He drinks the balm of life, and drops to rest.
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Oh! she was good as she was fair. None-none on earth above her! As pure in thought as angels are, To know her was to love her.
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Vast and deep the mountain shadows grew.
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Gentle to others, to himself severe.
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Kindred objects kindred thoughts inspire, As summer clouds flash forth electric fire.
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Lull'd in the countless chambers of the brain, Our thoughts are link'd by many a hidden chain; Awake but one, and lo, what myriads rise! Each stamps its image as the other flies!
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The soul of music slumbers in the shell Till waked and kindled by the master's spell; And feeling hearts, touch them but rightly, pour A thousand melodies unheard before!
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Sweet Memory! wafted by thy gentle gale, Oft up the stream of Time I turn my sail.
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Every day a little life, a blank to be inscribed with gentle thoughts.
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A guardian angel o'er his life presiding, Doubling his pleasures, and his cares dividing.
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Those that he loved so long and sees no more, Loved and still loves,-not dead, but gone before,- He gathers round him.
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Paris strikes the vulgar part of us infinitely the most, but to a thinking mind London is incomparably the most delightful subject for contemplation.
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Long on the wave reflected lustres of play.
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I lived to write, and wrote to live.
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That very law which moulds a tear And bids it trickle from its source,- That law preserves the earth a sphere, And guides the planets in their course.
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To vanish in the chinks that Time has made.
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