Samuel Rogers

The soul of music slumbers in the shell,
Till wak'd and kindled by the master's spell,
And read more

The soul of music slumbers in the shell,
Till wak'd and kindled by the master's spell,
And feeling hearts touch them but lightly--pour
A thousand melodies unheard before!

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.

I came to the place of my birth and cried: "The friends of my
youth, where are they?"--and an read more

I came to the place of my birth and cried: "The friends of my
youth, where are they?"--and an echo answered, "Where are they?"

Long on the wave reflected lustres play.

Long on the wave reflected lustres play.

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!