Samuel Rogers

I am in Rome! Oft as the morning ray
Visits these eyes, waking at once I cry,
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I am in Rome! Oft as the morning ray
Visits these eyes, waking at once I cry,
Whence this excess of joy? What has befallen me?
And from within a thrilling voice replies,
Thou art in Rome! A thousand busy thoughts
Rush on my mind, a thousand images;
And I spring up as girt to run a race!

The Good are better made by Ill,
As odours crushed are sweeter still.

The Good are better made by Ill,
As odours crushed are sweeter still.

Nothing is so secure in its position as not to be in danger from
the attack even of the read more

Nothing is so secure in its position as not to be in danger from
the attack even of the weak.

Twilight's soft dews steal o'er the village-green,
With magic tints to harmonize the scene.
Stilled is the read more

Twilight's soft dews steal o'er the village-green,
With magic tints to harmonize the scene.
Stilled is the hum that through the hamlet broke
When round the ruins of their ancient oak
The peasants flocked to hear the minstrel play,
And games and carols closed the busy day.

Long on the wave reflected lustres play.

Long on the wave reflected lustres play.