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More from Samuel Rogers

Mine be a cot beside the hill;
A beehive’s hum shall soothe my ear;
A willowy brook that turns a mill,
With many a fall, shall linger near.

That very law which moulds a tear
And bids it trickle from its source,–
That law preserves the earth a sphere,
And guides the planets in their course.

On a Tear

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.

Think nothing done while aught remains to do.

Human Life (1819)

Sweet Memory! wafted by thy gentle gale,
Oft up the stream of Time I turn my sail.

The Pleasures of Memory. Part ii. i.