Samuel Rogers Poems

Well may you sit within, and, fond of grief,
Look in each other's face, and melt in tears;
Well may you shun all counsel, all relief -
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Ah! little thought she, when, with wild delight
By many a torrent's shining track she flew,
When mountain-glens and caverns full of night
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Grenville, to thee my gratitude is due
For many an hour of studious musing here,
For many a day-dream, such as hovered round
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While thro' the broken pane the tempest sighs,
And my step falters on the faithless floor,
Shades of departed joys around me rise,
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Well, when her day is over, be it said
That, though a speck on the terrestrial globe,
Found with long search and in a moment lost,
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Grey, thou hast served, and well, the sacred Cause
That Hampden, Sydney died for. Thou hast stood,
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'Tis a wild life, fearful and full of change,
The mountain-robber's. On the watch he lies,
Levelling his carbine at the passenger;
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Three days they lay in ambush at my gate,
Then sprung and led me captive. Many a wild
We traversed; but Rusconi, 'twas no less,
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This region, surely, is not of the earth.
Was it not dropt from heaven? Not a grove,
Citron or pine or cedar, not a grot
Sea-worn and mantled wit ...
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One of two things Montrioli may have,
My envy or compassion. Both he cannot.
Yet on he goes, numbering as miseries,
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