The Poetical Works of Samuel Rogers

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E.H. Butler, 1854 - 451 pages
 

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Page 396 - It was on the day, or rather night, of the 27th of June 1787, between the hours of eleven and twelve, that I wrote the last lines of the last page, in a summer-house in my garden. After laying down my pen, I took several turns in a berceau, or covered walk of acacias, which commands a prospect of the country, the lake, and the mountains. The air was temperate, the sky was serene, the silver orb of the moon was reflected from the waters, and all nature was silent.
Page 149 - 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. The swallow, oft, beneath my thatch Shall twitter from her clay-built nest ; Oft shall the pilgrim lift the latch, And share my meal, a welcome guest.
Page 289 - Her pranks the favourite theme of every tongue. But now the day was come, the day, the hour ; Now frowning, smiling for the hundredth...
Page 438 - Of law there can be no less acknowledged, than that her seat is the bosom of God, her voice the harmony of the world ; all things in heaven and earth do her homage, the very least as feeling her care, and the greatest as not exempted from her power...
Page 81 - I have seen all the works that are done under the sun ; and, behold, all is vanity and vexation of spirit.
Page 427 - There it was that I found and visited the famous Galileo, grown old, a prisoner to the Inquisition, for thinking in astronomy otherwise than the Franciscan and Dominican licensers thought.
Page 86 - I began thus far to assent both to them and divers of my friends here at home ; and not less to an inward prompting which now grew daily upon me, that by labour and intent study, which I take to be my portion in- this life, joined with the strong propensity of nature, I might perhaps leave something so written to after-times, as they should not willingly let it die.
Page 289 - Orsini lived; and long mightst thou have seen An old man wandering as in quest of something, Something he could not find, — he knew not what. When he was gone, the house remained awhile Silent and tenantless, — then went to strangers.
Page 85 - I wis all their sport in the park is but a shadow to that pleasure that I find in Plato. Alas, good folk, they never felt what true pleasure meant.
Page 287 - IF thou shouldst ever come by choice or chance To MODENA, where still religiously Among her ancient trophies is preserved BOLOGNA'S bucket (in its chain it hangs* Within that reverend tower, the Guirlandine) Stop at a Palace near the Reggio gate, Dwelt in of old by one of the ORSINI.

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