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an epitome of man from the cradle to the grave, prescribed for the conduct of either, by the regu and is executed throughout with the poet's lations of social intercourse.

wonted care.

Our poet has travelled much out of his own The friendship of Rogers with Sheridan and country, and he is not less a master of manners with Byron is well known. When the great in the better classes of society abroad than at wit, dramatist, and orator, was near the close of home. His "Sketches in Italy," prove that he his career, neglected by those who were fore- was no unobservant sojourner abroad; and as most in the circle of friends when he enjoyed his opportunities for observation were great, he health and prosperity, the individual who re- did not fail to profit by them proportionatelylieved the wants of the dying man was Rogers; This may be noticed in his conversation, which whose opulence of purse enabled him to do is always amusing and instructive; and, more that act of benevolence to his friend, which particularly, when, visiting the circles of his must ever be one of his most gratifying remin- fashionable or learned friends, he becomes the iscences. It is seldom poets are so well enabled spokesman on some topic which interests him, and to meet the aspirations of their hearts towards which he sees affording gratification to others. others. A dispute, on the appearance of Moore's Rogers never entered upon the stormy ocean "Life of Sheridan," was very warmly kept up of politics. This is singular, from the number connected with this circumstance. It was said of his political friends, and the example set him that a friend of Sheridan, of no less rank than by his father. The elder Rogers was renowned the present King of England himself, had been in the annals of parliamentary elections for a among those who, in his last moments, were re- severe contest with Colonel Holroyd, subsequent. gardless of the pecuniary necessities of the dying ly Lord Sheffield, in dividing the suffrages of man; that at last, when no longer necessary, a the city of Coventry, when the obstinacy of the sum of money was sent by the royal order, which combat attracted much attention. He has wisely Sheridan returned, saying that it came too late, preferred the gratification of a pure taste, and a friend having furnished him with all he should the interchanges of urbanity, to the stirring require while life remained. Loyalty never hazards of political ambition: notwithstanding lacks defenders, or perhaps the Prince of Wales which he is a warm partisan of the principles he was not to blame, as tales of distress are always has chosen, and understands well how to mainslow in reaching the ears of individuals in tain them. What he has done every way proves august stations. However the matter might have that he is conscious of his own powers, but carebeen, the affair was warmly disputed in respect less of indulging them, though much in this to the implied royal neglect, and remains still respect may no doubt be attributed to his unceasin as much uncertainty as ever; but Rogers ing attention to the calls of business, from which gloriously carried off the palm of friendship and he never allows himself to be diverted. feeling on the occasion, let the truth lie which Rogers is now in the "sere and yellow leaf" side it may, in respect of the tender from a of human vegetation. He is the kind, agreeable, higher quarter. Byron and Rogers were on affable old man; but there is nothing beyond the terms of great intimacy, both in England and good and amiable in character depicted upon a during the poet's residence in Italy. In that countenance by no means the best formed and medley of truth and falsehood, the "Recollections most impressive of the species, if the features are of Byron" by Medwin, the noble poet is described separately considered. His habits are remarkably as alluding to a singular talent for epigram, regular, and his conduct governed by that urbanwhich Rogers is made to possess. This talent, ity and breeding which show he has been accus. however, has been very sparingly employed. tomed to mingle most in the best society.-He Certain buffoons and scribblers in Sunday news- takes a great interest in all that promotes the papers, who have been opposed from political improvement of the state and contributes to the principles, or rather whose pay at the moment comfort and happiness of his fellow-men. In was on the opposite side to that taken by the short, Rogers, like all men of genius, if possessvenerable poet, impudently ascribed a thousand ing certain eccentricities, is gifted with the bons-mots and repartees to Rogers, whom they impress of high intellect which belongs to that never saw in their lives, and which they manu- character, and which makes it so distinguished factured themselves. His skill in writing epi- above the herd of mankind. There is about gram, however, is acknowledged; but what he Rogers, however, a sort of otium cum dignitate has produced is the work of the scholar and the which seems to repress his energies, and to gentleman; for there is not an individual in keep inactive a spirit which, had it been less existence less likely to trespass on the rules indebted to good fortune and flung more upon

Such is the sum of all which is known of

its own resources, would have performed greater as one of great weight; and though not devoid things. of a certain irritability of temper, his general Among the friends of Rogers were Fox, Sher- good-nature and kindness, for he shows no idan, Windham, and a galaxy of distinguished tincture of envy in his character,-contribute names, when they were in the zenith of their largely to increase the influence and impression glory. To the illustrious nephew of Fox, the made by his judgment. well-known Lord Holland, and to his friends of the same political party, Rogers still adheres. Samuel Rogers, a poet who never rises to the He is accounted one of the literary coterie at height of Byron or Campbell, but who is of the Holland House, the hospitable receptacle of men same school. He is remarkable principally for of talent from all countries and of all creeds. He the elegance and grace of his compositions, which is introduced in the Novel of "Glenarvon" at he polishes up and smooths off as if he valued the court of the Princess of Madagascar (a only their brilliancy and finish, and forgot that character intended for Lady Holland); and per- strength and force are essential to poetic harmohaps the name of no individual is more on the ny and the perfection of metrical style. Notwithlips of a certain fashionable order of persons who standing this defect, Rogers will be read and are attached to literary pursuits, than that of admired while the English language continues Rogers. His opinion is looked up to, and justly, to be used or spoken in his native islands.

POETICAL WORKS

THE

SAMUEL ROGERS.

The Pleasures of Memory.

IN TWO PARTS.

PART I.

OF

-Hoc est

Vivere bis, vitá posse priore frui.-Mart.

On could my mind, unfolded in my page,
Enlighten climes and mould a future age;
There as it glow'd, with noblest frenzy fraught,
Dispense the treasures of exalted thought;
To Virtue wake the pulses of the heart,
And bid the tear of emulation start!
Oh could it still, through each succeeding year,
My life, my manners, and my name endear;
And, when the poet sleeps in silent dust,
Still hold communion with the wise and just!-
Yet should this Verse, my leisure's best resource,
When through the world it steals its secret course,
Revive but once a generous wish supprest,
Chase but a sigh, or charm a care to rest;
In one good deed a fleeting hour employ,
Or flush one faded cheek with honest joy;
Blest were my lines, though limited their sphere,
Though short their date, as his who traced them here.
1793.

Dolce sentier,

Colle, che mi piacesti,

Ov' ancor per usanza Amor mi mena;
Ben riconosco in voi l' usate forme,
Non, lasso, in me.

Petrarch.

regularity. They are sometimes excited by sensible objects, and sometimes by an internal operation of the mind. Of the former species is most probably the memory of brutes; and its many sources of pleasure to them, as well as to us, are considered in the first part. The latter is the most perfect degree of memory, and forms the subject of the second.

When ideas have any relation whatever, they are attractive of each other in the mind; and the perception of any object naturally leads to the idea of another, which was connected with it either in time or place, or which can be compared or contrasted with it. Hence arises our attachment to inanimate objects; hence also, in some degree, the love of our country, and the emotion with which we contemplate the celebrated scenes of antiquity. Hence a picture directs our thoughts to the original: and, as cold and darkness suggest forcibly the ideas of heat and light, he, who feels the infirmities of age, dwells most on whatever reminds him of the vigor and vivacity of his youth.

The associating principle, as here employed, is no less conducive to virtue than to happiness; and, as such, it frequently discovers itself in the most tumultuous scenes of life. It addresses our finer feelings, and gives exercise to every mild and generous propensity.

Not confined to man, it extends through all animated nature; and its effects are peculiarly striking in the domestic tribes.

ANALYSIS.

TWILIGHT'S Soft dews steal o'er the village-green, THE Poem begins with the description of an obscure With magic tints to harmonize the scene: village, and of the pleasing melancholy which it excites Still'd is the hum that through the hamlet broke, on being revisited after a long absence. This mixed When round the ruins of their ancient oak sensation is an effect of the memory. From an effect The peasants flock'd to hear the minstrel play, we naturally ascend to the cause; and the subject And games and carols closed the busy day. proposed is then unfolded, with an investigation of Her wheel at rest, the matron thrills no more the nature and leading principles of this faculty. With treasured tales, and legendary lore.

It is evident that our ideas flow in continual succes-All, all are fled; nor mirth nor music flows sion, and introduce each other with a certain degree of To chase the dreams of innocent repose.

All, all are fled; yet still I linger here! What secret charms this silent spot endear?

Mark yon old Mansion frowning through the trees, Whose hollow turret wooes the whistling breeze. That casement, arch'd with ivy's brownest shade, First to these eyes the light of heaven convey'd. The mouldering gateway strews the grass-grown

court,

Once the calm scene of many a simple sport,
When nature pleased, for life itself was new,
And the heart promised what the fancy drew.

See, through the fractured pediment reveal'd,
Where moss inlays the rudely-sculptured shield,
The martin's old hereditary nest:
Long may the ruin spare its hallow'd guest!
As jars the hinge, what sullen echoes call!
Oh haste, unfold the hospitable hall!
That hall, where once, in antiquated state,
The chair of justice held the grave debate.

Now stain'd with dews, with cobwebs darkly hung, Oft has its roof with peals of rapture rung; When round yon ample board, in due degree, We sweeten'd every meal with social glee. The heart's light laugh pursued the circling jest; And all was sunshine in each little breast. 'Twas here we chased the slipper by the sound; And turn'd the blindfold hero round and round. "Twas here, at eve, we form'd our fairy ring; And fancy flutter'd on her wildest wing. Giants and genii chain'd each wondering ear; And orphan-sorrows drew the ready tear. Oft with the babes we wander'd in the wood, Or view'd the forest-feats of Robin Hood: Oft, fancy-led, at midnight's fearful hour, With startling step we scaled the lonely tower; O'er infant innocence to hang and weep, Murder'd by ruffian hands, when smiling in its sleep. Ye Household Deities! whose guardian eye Mark'd each pure thought, ere register'd on high; Still, still ye walk the consecrated ground, And breathe the soul of Inspiration round.

As o'er the dusky furniture I bend, Each chair awakes the feelings of a friend. The storied arras, source of fond delight, With old achievement charms the wilder'd sight; And still, with Heraldry's rich hues imprest, On the dim window glows the pictured crest. The screen unfolds its many-color'd chart; The clock still points its moral to the heart; That faithful monitor 't was heaven to hear, When soft it spoke a promised pleasure near: And has its sober hand, its simple chime, Forgot to trace the feather'd feet of Time? That massive beam, with curious carvings wrought, Whence the caged linnet soothed my pensive thought; Those muskets, cased with venerable rust; [dust, Those once-loved forms, still breathing thro' their Still, from the frame in mould gigantic cast, Starting to life-all whisper of the Past!

As through the garden's desert paths I rove, What fond illusions swarm in every grove! How oft, when purple evening tinged the west, We watch'd the emmet to her grainy nest; Welcomed the wild-bee home on weary wing, Laden with sweets, the choicest of the spring! How oft inscribed, with Friendship's votive rhyme, The bark now silver'd by the touch of Time;

Soar'd in the swing, half pleased and half afraid,
Through sister elms that waved their summer shade;
Or strew'd with crumbs yon root-inwoven seat,
To lure the red-breast from his lone retreat!

Childhood's loved group revisits every scene; The tangled wood-walk, and the tufted green! Indulgent MEMORY wakes, and lo, they live! Clothed with far softer hues than Light can give. Thou first, best friend that Heaven assigns below, To soothe and sweeten all the cares we know; Whose glad suggestions still each vain alarm, When nature fades, and life forgets to charm ; Thee would the Muse invoke!-to thee belong The sage's precept, and the poet's song. What soften'd views thy magic glass reveals, When o'er the landscape Time's meek twilight steals' As when in ocean sinks the orb of day, Long on the wave reflected lustres play; Thy temper'd gleams of happiness resign'd Glance on the darken'd mirror of the mind. The School's lone porch, with reverend mosses grey, Just tells the pensive pilgrim where it lay. Mute is the bell that rung at peep of dawn, Quickening my truant feet across the lawn: Unheard the shout that rent the noontide air, When the slow dial gave a pause to care. Up springs, at every step, to claim a tear, (1) Some little friendship form'd and cherish'd here; And not the lightest leaf, but trembling teems With golden visions, and romantic dreams!

Down by yon hazel copse, at evening, blazed The Gipsey's fagot-there we stood and gazed; Gazed on her sun-burnt face with silent awe, Her tatter'd mantle, and her hood of straw; Her moving lips, her caldron brimming o'er; The drowsy brood that on her back she bore, Imps in the barn with mousing owlet bred, From rifled roost at nightly revel fed; [shade, Whose dark eyes flash'd through locks of blackest When in the breeze the distant watch-dog bay'd · And heroes fled the Sibyl's mutter'd call, Whose elfin prowess scaled the orchard-wall. As o'er my palm the silver piece she drew, And traced the line of life with searching view, How throbb'd my fluttering pulse with hopes and fears,

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To learn the color of my future years!

Ah, then, what honest triumph flush'd my breast; This truth once known-To bless is to be blest! We led the bending beggar on his way, (Bare were his feet, his tresses silver-grey) Soothed the keen pangs his aged spirit felt, And on his tale with mute attention dwelt. As in his scrip we dropt our little store, And sigh'd to think that little was no more, [live!" He breathed his prayer, "Long may such goodness "Twas all he gave, 'twas all he had to give.

But hark! through those old firs, with sullen swell, The church-clock strikes! ye tender scenes, farewell! It calls me hence, beneath their shade, to trace The few fond lines that Time may soon efface.

On yon grey stone, that fronts the chancel-door, Worn smooth by busy feet now seen no more, Each eve we shot the marble through the ring, When the heart danced, and life was in its spring; Alas! unconscious of the kindred earth, That faintly echo'd to the voice of mirth.

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