Quote

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

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
Heart
Touch
Shell
Hearts
Rightly
Waked
Masters
Spell
Slumbers
Thousand
Shells
Kindled
Feeling
Spells
Melodies
Feelings
Melody
Unheard
Soul
Till
Slumber
Music
Master
Pour

More quotes by Samuel Rogers

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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!
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Fireside happiness, to hours of ease Blest with that charm, the certainty to please.
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Then never less alone than when alone.
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When a new book is published, read an old one.
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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.
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Women have the understanding of the heart, which is better than that of the head.
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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.
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Example is a motive of very prevailing force on the actions of men.
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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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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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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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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?
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Gentle to others, to himself severe.
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By many a temple half as old as Time.
Samuel Rogers
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To vanish in the chinks that Time has made.
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Every day a little life, a blank to be inscribed with gentle thoughts.
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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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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A guardian angel o'er his life presiding, Doubling his pleasures, and his cares dividing.
Samuel Rogers
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Sweet Memory! wafted by thy gentle gale, Oft up the stream of Time I turn my sail.
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