Samuel Rogers

“ At once lights up the features of the soul;
Unlocks each thought chain’d by coward Art,
And to full day the latent passions start!
—And she, whose first, best wish is your applause,
Herself exemplifies the truth she draws.
Born on the stage—thro’ every shifting scene,
Obscure or bright, tempestuous or serene,
Still has your smile her trembling spirit fir’d!
And can she act, with thoughts like these inspir’d?
Thus from her mind all artifice she flings,
All skill, all practice, now unmeaning things!
To you, uncheck’d, each genuine feeling flows ”

“ Oh could it still, thro’ 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 thro’ 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, tho’ limited their sphere,
Tho’ short their date, as his who trac’d them here. ”

“ But hark! thro’ 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 gray stone, that fronts the chancel-door.
Worn smooth by busy feet now seen no more,
Each eve we shot the marble thro’ the ring,
When the heart danc’d, and life was in its spring;
Alas! unconscious of the kindred earth,
That faintly echoed to the voice of mirth.
The glow-worm loves her emerald light to shed,
Where now the sexton rests his hoary head. ”

“ He, who, thro’ Nature’s various walk, surveys
The good and fair her faultless line pourtrays;
Whose mind, prophan’d by no unhallow’d guest,
Culls from the crowd the purest and the best;
May range, at will, bright Fancy’s golden clime,
Or, musing, mount where Science sits sublime,
Or wake the spirit of departed Time.
Who acts thus wisely, mark the moral muse,
A blooming Eden in his life reviews!
So rich the culture, tho’ so small the space,
Its scanty limits he forgets to trace.
But the fond fool, when evening shades the sky,
Turns but to start, and gazes but to sigh! ”

“ Thy pleasures most we feel, when most alone;
The only pleasures we can call our own.
Lighter than air, Hope’s summer-visions die,
If but a fleeting cloud obscure the sky;
If but a beam of sober Reason play,
Lo, Fancy’s fairy frost-work melts away!
But can the wiles of Art, the grasp of Power,
Snatch the rich relics of a well-spent hour?
These, when the trembling spirit wings her flight,
Pour round her path a stream of living light;
And gild those pure and perfect realms of rest,
Where Virtue triumphs, and her sons are blest! ”

“ The ballet danc’d in twilight glade,
The canzonet and roundelay
Sung in the silent green-wood shade;
These simple joys, that never fail,
Shall bind me to my native vale.
TO THE GNAT. When by the green-wood side, at summer eve,
Poetic visions charm my closing eye;
And fairy-scenes, that Fancy loves to weave,
Shift to wild notes of sweetest Minstrelsy;
’Tis thine to range in busy quest of prey,
Thy feathery antlers quivering with delight,
Brush from my lids the hues of heav’n away,
And all is Solitude, and all is Night! ”

“ Till twilight’s dewy tints deceiv’d his eye,
And fairy forests fring’d the evening sky.
So Scotia’s Queen, as slowly dawn’d the day,’ [5]
Rose on her couch, and gaz’d her soul away.
Her eyes had bless’d the beacon’s glimmering height,
That faintly tipt the feathery surge with light;
But now the morn with orient hues pourtray’d
Each castled cliff, and brown monastic shade:
All touch’d the talisman’s resistless spring,
And lo, what busy tribes were instant on the wing!
Thus kindred objects kindred thoughts inspire, [6]
As summer-clouds flash forth electric fire. ”

“ Carv’d is her name in many a spicy grove,
In many a plaintain-forest, waving wide;
Where dusky youths in painted plumage rove,
And giant palms o’er-arch the golden tide.
But lo, at last he comes with crowded sail!
Lo, o’er the cliff what eager figures bend!
And hark, what mingled murmurs swell the gale!
In each he hears the welcome of a friend.
—’Tis she, ’tis she herself! she waves her hand!
Soon is the anchor cast, the canvass furl’d;
Soon thro’ the whitening surge he springs to land,
And clasps the maid he singled from the world.
TO AN OLD OAK. Immota manet ”

“ Point the green lane that leads thro’ fern and flowers;
The shelter’d gate that opens to my field,
And the white front thro’ mingling elms reveal’d.
In vain, alas, a village-friend invites
To simple comforts, and domestic rites,
When the gay months of Carnival resume
Their annual round of glitter and perfume;
When London hails thee to its splendid mart,
Its hives of sweets, and cabinets of art;
And, lo, majestic as thy manly song,
Flows the full tide of human life along.
Still must my partial pencil love to dwell
On the home-prospects of my hermit cell ”

“ Worn to a shade, and wan with slow decay,
A father sleeps! Oh hush’d be every sound!
Soft may we breathe the midnight hours away!
He stirs—yet still he sleeps. May heavenly dreams
Long o’er his smooth and settled pillow rise;
Till thro’ the shutter’d pane the morning streams,
And on the hearth the glimmering rush-light dies.
TO A FRIEND ON HIS MARRIAGE. On thee, blest youth, a father’s hand confers
The maid thy earliest, fondest wishes knew.
Each soft enchantment of the soul is hers;
Thine be the joys to firm attachment due. ”

“ Whence, thro’ her April-shower, soft Pity smil’d;
Has clos’d the heart each godlike virtue bless’d,
To all the silent pleadings of his child.
At thy command he plants the dagger deep,
At thy command exults, tho’ Nature bids him weep!
I. 2.
When, with a frown that froze the peopled earth, [3]
Thou dartedst thy huge head from high,
Night wav’d her banners o’er the sky,
And, brooding, gave her shapeless shadows birth.
Rocking on the billowy air,
Ha! what withering phantoms glare!
As blows the blast with many a sudden swell,
At each dead pause, what shrill-ton’d voices yell! ”

“ The stranger greets each native of his isle;
So scenes of life, when present and confest,
Stamp but their bolder features on the breast;
Yet not an image, when remotely view’d,
However trivial, and however rude,
But wins the heart, and wakes the social sigh,
With every claim of close affinity!
But these pure joys the world can never know;
In gentler climes their silver currents flow.
Oft at the silent, shadowy close of day,
When the hush’d grove has sung its parting lay;
When pensive Twilight, in her dusky car,
Comes slowly on to meet the evening-star ”

“ Of hopes too fondly nurs’d, too rudely cross’d,
Of many a cause to wish, yet fear to die;
For what, except th’ instinctive fear
Lest she survive, detains me here,
When “all the life of life” is fled?—
What, but the deep inherent dread,
Lest she beyond the grave resume her reign,
And realize the hell that priests and beldams feign?
[24] Hast thou thro’ Eden’s wild-wood vales pursued ”

“ Whose lips have mov’d in prayer from age to age;
Whose eyes, that wander’d as in search before,
Now on COLUMBUS fix’d—to search no more!
CAZZIVA, [4] gifted in his day to know
The gathering signs of a long night of woe;
Gifted by Those who give but to enslave;
No rest in death! no refuge in the grave!
—With sudden spring as at the shout of war,
He flies! and, turning in his flight, from far
Glares thro’ the gloom like some portentous star!
Unseen, unheard!—Hence, Minister of Ill! [5]
Hence, ’tis not yet the hour; tho’ come it will! ”

“ Repose with dignity, with Quiet fame.
Here no state-chambers in long line unfold,
Bright with broad mirrors, rough with fretted gold;
Yet modest ornament, with use combin’d,
Attracts the eye to exercise the mind.
Small change of scene, small space his home requires, [c]
Who leads a life of satisfied desires.
What tho’ no marble breathes, no canvass glows,
From every point a ray of genius flows! [d]
Be mine to bless the more mechanic skill,
That stamps, renews, and multiplies at will;
And cheaply circulates, thro’ distant climes,
The fairest relics of the purest times. ”

“ There, VENUS, rising, shrinks with sweet surprize,
As her fair self reflected seems to rise!
Far from the joyless glare, the maddening strife,
And all ‘the dull impertinence of life,’
These eyelids open to the rising ray,
And close, when Nature bids, at close of day.
Here, at the dawn, the kindling landscape glows;
There noon-day levees call from faint repose.
Here the flush’d wave flings back the parting light;
There glimmering lamps anticipate the night. ”

“ Shot thro’ the gathering shadows of decay.
Each mov’d a God; and all, as Gods, possess’d
One half the globe; from pole to pole confess’d! [1]
These in dim shrines and barbarous symbols reign,
Where PLATA and MARAGNON meet the Main. [o]
Those the wild hunter worships as he roves,
In the green shade of CHILI’S fragrant groves;
Or warrior-tribes with rites of blood implore,
Whose night-fires gleam along the sullen shore
Of HURON or ONTARIO, inland seas, [p]
What time the song of death is in the breeze! ”

“ And thro’ the various year, the various day, [b]
What scenes of glory burst, and melt away!
When April-verdure springs in Grosvenor-square,
And the furr’d Beauty comes to winter there,
She bids old Nature mar the plan no more;
Yet still the seasons circle as before.
Ah, still as soon the young Aurora plays,
Tho’ moons and flambeaux trail their broadest blaze;
As soon the sky-lark pours his matin song,
Tho’ Evening lingers at the mask so long.
There let her strike with momentary ray,
As tapers shine their little lives away ”

“ Beneath his plantain’s antient shade, renew
The simple transports that with freedom flew;
Catch the cool breeze that musky Evening blows,
And quaff the palm’s rich nectar as it glows;
The oral tale of elder time rehearse,
And chant the rude, traditionary verse;
With those, the lov’d companions of his youth,
When life was luxury, and friendship truth.
Ah! why should Virtue fear the frowns of Fate?
Hers what no wealth can win, no power create! ”

“ So thro’ the vales of Loire the bee-hives glide, [n]
The light raft dropping with the silent tide;
So, till the laughing scenes are lost in night,
The busy people wing their various flight,
Culling unnumber’d sweets from nameless flowers,
That scent the vineyard in its purple hours.
Rise, ere the watch-relieving clarions play,
Caught thro’ St. James’s groves at blush of day;
Ere its full voice the choral anthem flings
Thro’ trophied tombs of heroes and of kings.
Haste to the tranquil shade of learned ease, [7]
Tho’ skill’d alike to dazzle and to please ”

“ Twice the Moon fill’d her silver urn with light.
Then from the Throne an Angel wing’d his flight;
He, who unfix’d the compass, and assign’d
O’er the wild waves a pathway to the wind;
Who, while approach’d by none but Spirits pure,
Wrought, in his progress thro’ the dread obscure,
Signs like the ethereal bow—that shall endure! [1]
Before the great Discoverer, laid to rest,
He stood, and thus his secret soul address’d. [2]
“The wind recalls thee; its still voice obey.
Millions await thy coming; hence, away. ”

“ Thro’ sister elms that wav’d their summer-shade;
Or strew’d with crumbs yon root-inwoven seat,
To lure the redbreast from his lone retreat!
Childhood’s lov’d group revisits every scene;
The tangled wood-walk, and the tufted green!
Indulgent MEMORY wakes, and lo, they live!
Cloth’d with far softer hues than Light can give.
Thou first, best friend that Heav’n assigns below,
To sooth and sweeten all the cares we know;
Whose glad suggestions still each vain alarm,
When nature fades, and life forgets to charm ”

“ Conven’d the subject-spirits to his cell;
Each, at thy call, advances or retires,
As judgment dictates, or the scene inspires.
Each thrills the seat of sense, that sacred source
Whence the fine nerves direct their mazy course,
And thro’ the frame invisibly convey
The subtle, quick vibrations as they play.
Survey the globe, each ruder realm explore;
From Reason’s faintest ray to NEWTON soar,
What different spheres to human bliss assign’d! ”

“ O’er his dead son the gallant ORMOND sigh’d. [25]
Thus, thro’ the gloom of SHENSTONE’S fairy grove,
MARIA’S urn still breathes the voice of love.
As the stern grandeur of a Gothic tower
Awes us less deeply in its morning hour,
Than when the shades of Time serenely fall
On every broken arch and ivy’d wall;
The tender images we love to trace,
Steal from each year a melancholy grace!
And as the sparks of social love expand,
As the heart opens in a foreign land ”

“ Bursts thro’ the cypress-walk, the convent-cell,
Oft will her warm and wayward heart revive,
To love and joy still tremblingly alive;
The whisper’d vow, the chaste caress prolong,
Weave the light dance and swell the choral song;
With rapt ear drink the enchanting serenade,
And, as it melts along the moonlight-glade,
To each soft note return as soft a sigh,
And bless the youth that bids her slumbers fly. ”

“ Gaz’d on the tumbling tide of dread Lodoar;
And thro’ the rifted cliffs, that scal’d the sky,
Derwent’s clear mirror charm’d his dazzled eye. [27]
Each osier isle, inverted on the wave,
Thro’ morn’s gray mist its melting colours gave;
And, o’er the cygnet’s haunt, the mantling grove
Its emerald arch with wild luxuriance wove.
Light as the breeze that brush’d the orient dew:
From rock to rock the young adventurer flew ”

“ The weak, wan votarist leaves her twilight cell,
To walk, with taper dim, the winding isle;
With choral chantings vainly to aspire,
Beyond this nether sphere, on Rapture’s wing of fire.
III. 3.
Lord of each pang the nerves can feel,
Hence, with the rack and reeking wheel.
Faith lifts the soul above this little ball!
While gleams of glory open round,
And circling choirs of angels call,
Can’st thou, with all thy terrors crown’d,
Hope to obscure that latent spark,
Destin’d to shine when suns are dark?
Thy triumphs cease! thro’ every land,
Hark! ”