Quote

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?

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
Place
Echo
Echoes
Answered
Cried
Birth
Youth
Came
Friends
Arabian

More quotes by Samuel Rogers

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Long on the wave reflected lustres of play.
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Women have the understanding of the heart, which is better than that of the head.
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Think nothing done while aught remains to do.
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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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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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When a new book is published, read an old one.
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By many a temple half as old as Time.
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Every day a little life, a blank to be inscribed with gentle thoughts.
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A guardian angel o'er his life presiding, Doubling his pleasures, and his cares dividing.
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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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Example is a motive of very prevailing force on the actions of men.
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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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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.
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To vanish in the chinks that Time has made.
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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.
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Gentle to others, to himself severe.
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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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Sweet Memory! wafted by thy gentle gale, Oft up the stream of Time I turn my sail.
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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!
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