Samuel Rogers Poems

Among those awful forms, in elder time
Assembled, and through many an after-age
Destined to stand as Genii of the Place
...

Happy is he who loves companionship,
And lights on thee, Luigi. Thee I found,
Playing at Mora on the cabin-roof
...

Over how many tracts, vast, measureless,
Ages on ages roll, and none appear
Save the wild hunter ranging for his prey;
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Boy, call the Gondola; the sun is set.----
It came, and we embarked; but instantly,
As at the waving of a magic wand,
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It was St. Mary's Eve, and all poured forth
As to some grand solemnity. The fisher
Came from his islet, bringing o'er the waves
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Let us lift up the curtain, and observe
What passes in that chamber. Now a sigh,
And now a groan is heard. Then all is still.
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These grey majestic cliffs that tower to heaven,
These glimmering glades and open chestnut-groves,
That echo to the heifer's wandering bell,
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Three leagues from Padua stands, and long has stood
(The Paduan student knows it, honours it)
A lonely tomb beside a mountain-church;
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Ah! why with tell-tale tongue reveal
What most her blushes would conceal?
Why lift that modest veil to trace
The seraph-sweetness of her face?
...

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.
...