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If I may trust the flattering eye of sleep.

If men be worlds, there is in every one

If this great world of joy and pain

If thou be one whose heart the holy forms
If thou wert by my side, my love
If with light head erect I sing
I got me flowers to strew thy way
I have done one braver thing.
I have learned to look on nature
I have ships that went to sea.

I have, thou gallant Trojan

I have woven shrouds of air

I hear thy solemn anthem fall

I know a little garden close

I made a footing in the wall

I made a posie while the day ran by

I mind it weel, in early date

I'm sitting alone by the fire

I must go furnish up

Inland, within a hollow vale I stood

In sweet dreams softer than unbroken rest

In the frosty season, when the sun

In the golden reign of Charlemagne the king.
In the hour of my distress

In the summer even

In this world, the isle of dreams

In vain the common theme my tongue would shun

In what torn ship soever I embark

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan

In yonder grave a Druid lies

I see a dusk and awful figure rise

I see before me the gladiator lie

I see men's judgments are.

I shall lack voice: the deeds of Coriolanus.

I sift the snow on the mountains below

I sing of brooks, of blossoms, birds, and bowers

I sprang to the stirrup, and Joris and he.

Is there for honest poverty

Is thy face like thy mother's, my fair child?

It don't seem hardly right, John

It follows now you are to prove.

It happed that I came on a day

I think not on my father

It is not to be thought of that the flood

It little profits that an idle king

It's narrow, narrow make your bed

It's no in titles or in rank

It was fifty years ago

It was the season, when through all the land.

It was the time when lilies blow

It was the winter wild.

It was thy fear, or else some transient wind

I wandered lonely as a cloud

I watched her face, suspecting germs

I wish I were where Helen lies

I would that thou might always be

I've taught me other tongues

John Anderson, my jo, John

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John Brown in Kansas settled like a steadfast
Just for a handful of silver he left us
Just now I've ta'en a fit of rhyme

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STEDMAN
BROWNING
BURNS

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King Ferdinand alone did stand one day upon the hill

LOCKHART'S SPANISH BAL-

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Lady Clara Vere De Vere

Lady, there is a hope that all men have

CHANNING

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Life and thought have gone away
Life, I know not what thou art

Life may be given in many ways
Light-winged smoke! Icarian bird

Like a poet hidden

Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore

Like to the clear in highest sphere.

Lithe and listen, gentlemen.

Little I ask, my wants are few

Little was King Laurin

Lochiel, Lochiel, beware of the day
"Lo," quoth he, "Cast up thine eye
Lo! on his far resounding path

Look not thou on beauty's charming
Lord, when I quit this earthly stage

Lord, with what care hast thou begirt us round
Loud is the vale, the voice is up
Love is a sickness full of woes.

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Merciful Heaven!

Merry it is in the good green wood

Methought I heard a voice cry, "Sleep no more
Methinks it is good to be here

Milton, thou shouldst be living at this hour

Mine eyes have seen the glory

Mine honesty and I begin to square.
Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors
Motions and means, on land and sea at war
Mournfully, sing mournfully.
Mourn, hills and groves of Attica

Much have I travelled in the realms of gold
My dear and only love, I pray
My gentle Puck, come hither

My God, I heard this day

My liege, I did deny no prisoners.

My lord, you told me you would tell the rest
My mind to me a kingdom is.

My mistress's eyes are nothing like the sun

My mother, when I learned that thou wast dead
Mysterious night! when our first parent knew

Naked on parents' knees, a new-born child.
Nature is made better by no mean
Nay, you wrong her, my friend
Needy knife-grinder, whither are you going?
Night is fair Virtue's immemorial friend
No abbey's gloom, nor dark cathedral stoops
No! is my answer from this cold bleak ridge
No man is the lord of any thing.

No more, no more, Oh! never more on me
Northward he turneth through a little door
No screw, no piercer can.

No splendor 'neath the sky's proud dome
Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note
Not mine own fears nor the prophetic soul
Nought loves another as itself

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November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh
Now deeper roll the maddening drums
Now haud your tongue

Now is the time for mirth

Now is the winter of our discontent.
Now Nature hangs her mantle green

Now overhead a rainbow bursting through

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SPENSER

67

SHAKSPEARE

510

ANONYMOUS.

162

J. Q. ADAMS

280

E. H.

327

SHAKSPEARE

511

SCOTT

334

510

167

274

MRS. HOWE

230

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O dark, dark, dark, amid the blaze of noon
O dear, dear Jeanie Morrison!

O divine star of heaven

O draw me, Father, after thee

O'er the glad waters of the dark blue sea
O'er western tides the fair spring day
Of a' the airts the wind can blaw

Of all the rides since the birth of time

Of Nelson and the North

O for my sake do you with fortune chide
Often trifling with a privilege

Oft in the stilly night

Of truth, of grandeur, beauty, love, and hope
Oft when returning with her loaded bill

O heavens, if you do love old men

O heard ye yon pibroch sound sad in the gale?.
Oh, go not yet, my love

Oh, have ye na heard o' the fause Sakelde

Oh, how much more doth beauty beauteous seem
Oh, lovely Mary Donnelly, it's you I love the best
O how canst thou renounce the boundless store
O how feeble is man's power.

Oh, weel may the boatie row

OI have passed a miserable night

O joy hast thou a face

O keeper of the sacred key

O listen, listen, ladies gay

Old wine to drink

O Lord, in me there lieth nought

O messenger, art thou the king, or I?.

O my luve's like a red, red rose.
Once git a smell o' musk into a draw
Once more, Cesario

Once we built our fortress where

On the mountain peak.

you see

O never rudely will I blame his faith

One day, nigh weary of the irksome way
On Linden, when the sun was low

O Proserpina.

Or if the soul of proper kind.

Orpheus with his lute made trees

O Sacred Providence, who from end to end

O than the fairest day thrice fairer night
Oh that last day in Lucknow fort

O that we now had here

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O the days are gone when beauty bright

O then what soul was his, when, on the tops
O then I see Queen Mab hath been with you

O thou goddess

O thou who in the heavens dost dwell

O thou that swing'st upon the waving ear
O! 'tis wondrous much

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Our boat to the waves go free

Our brethren of New England use

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Our bugles sang truce; for the night cloud had lowered CAMPBELL

337

16

SCOTT

449

MILTON

199

MOTHERWELL

438

BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER

72

JOHN WESLEY

178

BYRON

39

W.ALLINGHAM

77

BURNS

442

WHITTIER

304

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Rambling along the marshes

-Oh, my

sire!

Stern daughter of the voice of God

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Rabia, sick upon her bed

Rashly, And praised be rashness for it
Reason thus with life

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Remove yon skull from out the scattered heaps.

Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky.

BYRON
TENNYSON

Rise up, rise up, Xarifa! lay the golden cushion down LOCKHART

Round my own pretty rose.

Royal Egypt! Empress

Rudolph, professor of the headsman's trade

Ruin seize thee, ruthless king

Rumble thy belly full! spit fire! spout rain!

Run, shepherds, run where Bethlehem blest appears

Say to me, whose fortunes shall rise higher

Say, what is Honor?

Scots, whia hae wi' Wallace bled

See how the Orient dew.

See living vales by living waters blest

See the chariot at hand here of love

See yonder souls set far within the shade

Send us your prisoners, or you'll hear of it.
Shake off your heavy trance

Shall I, wasting in despair?

She, of whose soul, if we may say, 'twas gold.
She's gane to dwell in heaven, my lassie
She walks in beauty, like the night

Shine kindly forth, September sun
Should auld acquaintance be forgot.

Silence augmenteth grief — writing encreaseth rage

Silent, O Moyle, be the roar of thy water
Since I am coming to that holy room
Since our country our God-

Since the sun

Sing, and let your song be new

Sing, O Goddess, the wrath, the ontamable dander

of Keitt

Sitting in my window

Sleep is like death, and after sleep
Sleep sweetly in your humble graves
Slow, slow fresh fount, keep time
So am I as the rich, whose blessed key
So every spirit as it is most pure
So fallen! so lost! the light withdrawn
Soft you; a word or two before you go
So Saturn, as he walked into the midst

So, when their feet were planted on the plain
Spring all the graces of the age

St. Mark's hushed abbey heard

Star of the flowers and flower of the stars

Svend Vonved binds his sword to his side.

Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright

Sweet echo, sweetest nymph that liv'st unseen
Sweetness, truth, and every grace
Sweet peace, where dost thou dwell

Sweet scented flower, who art wont to bloom

Take along with thee

Take, O take those lips away.

Teach me, my God and King

Tell me not, sweet, I am unkind.

Tell me where is fancy bred

Tell us, thou clear and heavenly tongue

Thanks for the lessons of this spot

T. H. BAYLY
SHAKSPEARE

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BROOKE)

MOORE

DONNE

BYRON

467

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71

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The birds against the April wind
The breaking waves dashed high.

The bush that has most briars and bitter fruit
The clouds are flying, the woods are sighing
The convent-bells are ringing

The curfew tolls the knell of parting day

The daughter of a king, how should I know?.
The despot's heel is on thy shore

The destiny, minister general

The earth goes on, the earth glittering in gold
The færy beam upon you

The feathered songster Chanticleer
The flighty purpose never is o'ertook
The garlands wither on your brow

The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices

The gods be your terror

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The harp that once through Tara's halls
The house of Chivalry decayed
The king called his best archers

The king is full of grace and fair regard
The king is kind; and well we know
The king sits in Dunfermline town
The king was on his throne

The Lord descended from above
The melancholy days are come
The merry world did on a day

The minstrels played their Christmas tune
The moon is up, and yet it is not night
The Moorish king rides up and down
The muse doth tell me where to borrow

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The old mayor climbed the belfry tower
The owl is abroad, the bat, the toad
The pines were dark on Ramoth hill

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The old man said, "Take thou this shield, my son"

There are points from which we can command our life P. BAILEY

There came to Cameliard

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