Samuel Rogers ( 8 of 8 )
I lived to write, and wrote to live
I lived to write, and wrote to live
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!
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,
read more
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!
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.
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?"
And the Sabbath bell,
That over wood and wild and mountain dell
Wanders so far, chasing all read more
And the Sabbath bell,
That over wood and wild and mountain dell
Wanders so far, chasing all thoughts unholy
With sounds most musical, most melancholy.
