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SAMUEL ROGERS. 1763 - 1855.

A guardian angel o'er his life presiding, Doubling his pleasures, and his cares dividing.

Fireside happiness, to hours of ease

Human Life.

Blest with that charm, the certainty to please.

Ibid.

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! Ibid.

Then, never less alone than when alone.1 Ibid.

Those that he loved so long and sees no more, Loved and still loves, not dead, but gone

before, 2

He gathers round him.

Mine be a cot beside the hill;

A beehive's hum shall soothe my ear;

A willowy brook, that turns a mill,

Ibid.

With many a fall, shall linger near. A Wish.

1 Numquam se minus otiosum esse, quam quum otiosus, nec minus solum, quam quum solus esset.

Cicero, De

Officiis, L. iii. c. I. and cf. Gibbon's Memoir, p. 117.

2 In a collection of Epitaphs published by Lackington & Co. (Vol. ii. p. 143), an epitaph is given "On Mary Angell at Stepney, who died 1693," in which this line "Not lost, but gone before.". - Notes and Que. ries, 3d Ser. x. p. 404, and cf. Seneca, Epist. 63. 16.

appears,

[Rogers continued.

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.

She was good as she was fair.

None none on earth above her!
As pure in thought as angels are,

To a Tear.

To know her was to love her.1 Jacqueline. St. 1.

The good are better made by ill,

As odours crushed are sweeter still.2

Ibid. St. 3.

JOHN TOBIN. 1770-1804.

The man that lays his hand upon a woman, Save in the way of kindness, is a wretch, Whom 't were gross flattery to name a coward. The Honeymoon. Act ii. Sc. I.

She's adorned

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Amply that in her husband's eye looks lovely, – The truest mirror that an honest wife

Can see her beauty in.

1 To see her is to love her,

Ibid. Act iii. Sc. 4.

And love but her for ever. Burns, Bonny Lesley. I will, if you please, take you to the house, and introduce you to its worthy master, whom to know is to love. Sir Humphrey Davy, Salmonia, Eighth Day.

None knew thee but to love thee. - Halleck, On the Death of Drake.

2 Virtue is like precious odours, most fragrant when they are incensed or crushed. — Bacon, Of Adversity.

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.1

1770-1850.

And homeless near a thousand homes I stood, And near a thousand tables pined and wanted

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She gave me eyes, she gave me ears;
And humble cares, and delicate fears,
A heart, the fountain of sweet tears;
And love, and thought, and joy.

The Sparrow's Nest.

The sweetest thing that ever grew

Beside a human door.

Lucy Gray. Stanza 2.

A simple Child,

That lightly draws its breath,

And feels its life in every limb,

What should it know of death? We are Seven.

Drink, pretty creature, drink! The Pet Lamb.

1 Coleridge said to Wordsworth, "Since Milton I know of no poet with so many felicities and unforgetable lines and stanzas as you."-Wordsworth's Memoirs, ii. 74. 2 The childhood shows the man

As morning shows the day.

Milton, Par. Regained, Book iv. L. 220.

Until a man might travel twelve stout miles, Or reap an acre of his neighbour's corn.

The Brothers.

Sweet childish days, that were as long
As twenty days are now.

To a Butterfly.

A noticeable Man with large gray eyes.

Stanzas written in Thomson.

She dwelt among the untrodden ways
Beside the springs of Dove,

A maid whom there were none to praise
And very few to love.

She dwelt among the untrodden ways.

A violet by a mossy stone

Half hidden from the eye!

Fair as a star, when only one

Is shining in the sky.

She lived unknown, and few could know

When Lucy ceased to be;

But she is in her grave, and oh!

The difference to me!

A Briton, even in love, should be

A subject, not a slave !

Ibid.

Ibid.

Ere with cold beads of midnight dew,

True beauty dwells in deep retreats,

Whose veil is unremoved

Till heart with heart in concord beats,

And the lover is beloved.

Minds that have nothing to confer
Find little to perceive.

To

Yes! thou art fair.

That kill the bloom before its time;
And blanch, without the owner's crime,

The most resplendent hair.

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Sole-sitting by the shores of old romance.

A Narrow Girdle of Rough Stones.

But He is risen, a later star of dawn.

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We meet thee, like a pleasant thought,

When such are wanted.

The poet's darling.

Thou unassuming Commonplace

Of Nature.

To the Daisy.

Ibid.

To the same Flower.

Oft on the dappled turf at ease

I sit, and play with similes,

Loose types of things through all degrees.

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