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

Samuel Rogers

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Samuel Rogers
Age: 92 †
Born: 1763
Born: July 30
Died: 1855
Died: December 18
Banker
Poet
Writer
Author of an Ode to superstition
S Rogers
Saml Rogers
Memory
Sweet
Memories
Wafted
Turn
Gale
Turns
Stream
Time
Sail
Streams
Gentle

More quotes by Samuel Rogers

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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.
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Women have the understanding of the heart, which is better than that of the head.
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To vanish in the chinks that Time has made.
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Then never less alone than when alone.
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Those that he loved so long and sees no more, Loved and still loves,-not dead, but gone before,- He gathers round him.
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Gentle to others, to himself severe.
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I lived to write, and wrote to live.
Samuel Rogers
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When a new book is published, read an old one.
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Example is a motive of very prevailing force on the actions of men.
Samuel Rogers
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Man to the last is but a froward child So eager for the future, come what may, And to the present so insensible.
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Fireside happiness, to hours of ease Blest with that charm, the certainty to please.
Samuel Rogers
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When with care we have raised an imaginary treasure of happiness, we find at last that the materials of the structure are frail and perishing, and the foundation itself is laid in the sand.
Samuel Rogers
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Mine be a cot beside the hill A bee-hive's hum shall soothe my ear A willowy brook, that turns a mill, With many a fall shall linger near.
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A man who attempts to read all the new productions must do as the flea does,--skip.
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It doesn't much signify whom one marries, for one is sure to find next morning that it was someone else.
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Long on the wave reflected lustres of play.
Samuel Rogers
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The hour arrives, the moment wish'd and fear'd, The child is born by many a pang endear'd And now the mother's ear has caught his cry O grant the cherub to her asking eye! He comes--she clasps him. To her bosom press'd He drinks the balm of life, and drops to rest.
Samuel Rogers
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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.
Samuel Rogers
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By many a temple half as old as Time.
Samuel Rogers
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Lull'd in the countless chambers of the brain, Our thoughts are link'd by many a hidden chain Awake but one, and lo, what myriads rise! Each stamps its image as the other flies!
Samuel Rogers