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Rest is oot here.
The Swiss Cowberd's Song.
On revieiting the Sea-shore.
Youth and Age.
Loudon's Woods and Braes..
The Braés o' Balquhither..
. . 510
HENRY KIBKE WHITE.
SAMUEL ROGERS was born in London, July | Byron's " Lara ;” in 1819 “Human Life," a 80, 1763. After receiving a careful education, didactic poem of moderate merit, and in 1822 he was placed in his father's bank, where he “ Italy." The last named consists of short, un. became familiar with the business and followed connected passages, some in prose and the others it for many years. He travelled extensively on in blank verse, descriptive, narrative, or medi. the Continent, and made a large collection of tative, for the most part rather tame. In 1836 pictures and art curiosities. After retiring from he issued an illustrated edition of it, the plates business, he lived in elegant leisure in St. James for which are said to have cost £10,000. Place, and gave breakfasts which are said to Rogers was small in person, with a very unhave been more celebrated than his poems. In attractive face, and never married. Though all 1786 he published " An Ode to Superstition, his life possessed of an ample fortune, he is not and other Poems;” which was followed in 1792 known to have exercised any generosity which by “The Pleasures of Memory,” his best poem, cost money-in fact, some of his dealings with and the one on which chiefly his fame must artists and authors were simply contemptible. rest. In 1812 he published Columbus," a He died on December 18, 1855, the oldest of poem in fragments, some passages of which are British poets. His “ Table-Talk" was published fine; in 1814 " Jacqueline " in a volume with after his death.
When round yon ample board, in due degree, THE PLEASURES OF MEMORY.
We sweeten'd every meal with social glee.
'Twas here we chased the slipper by the sound;
O'er infant innocence to hang and weep, All, all are fled; yet still I linger here !
Murder'd by ruffian hands, when smiling in its What secret charms this silent spot endear!
sleep. Mark yon old mansion frowning through the trees, Ye household deities ! whose guardian eye Whose hollow turret woos the whistling breeze. Mark'd each pure thought, ere register'd on high ; That casement arch'd with ivy's brownest shade, Still, still ye walk the consecrated ground, First to these eyes the light of heaven convey'd. And breathe the soul of inspiration round. The mouldering gateway strews the grass-grown As o'er the dusky furniture I bend, court,
Each chair awakes the feeling of a friend. Once the calm scene of many a simple sport; The storied arras, source of fond delight, When nature pleased, for life itself was new, With old achievement charms the wilder'd sight; And the heart promised what the fancy drew. And still, with heraldry's rich hues imprest, See, through the fractured pediment reveal'd, On the dim window glows the pictured crest, Where moss inlays the rudely-sculptured shield, The screen unfolds its many.color'd chart, The martin's old, hereditary nest :
The clock still points its moral to the heart. Long may the ruin spare its hollow'd guest! That faithful monitor 'twas heaven to hear, As jars the hinge, what sullen echoes call ! When soft it spoke a promised pleasure near ; O haste, unfold the hospitable hall!
And has its sober hand, its simple chime, That hall, where once, in antiquated state, Forgot to trace the feather'd feet of time ? The chair of justice held the grave debate. That massive beam, with curious carvings Now stain'd with dews, with cobwebs darkly wrought, bung,
Whence the caged linnet soothed my pensive Oft has its roof with peals of rapture rung;
thought; VOL. II.-1