All thoughts, all passions, all delights A man prepared against all ills to come WORDSWORTH SCOTT HERRICK. LOWELL W. ALLINGHAM SCOTT 442 TENNYSON 198 W. BLAKE 29 BROWNING 282 CHARLES SPRAGUE 225 WORDSWORTH 221 SCOTT 363 237 198 158 502 224 A mist was driving down the British Channel As I in hoary winter's night. As I sit at my desk by the window As I stood by yon roofless tower As it befell As it fell upon a day Ask ye me why I send you here? A slumber did my spirit seal As Memnon's marble harp, renowned of old As ships becalmed at eve As unto blowing roses summer dews As vonce I valked by a dismal svamp A sweet, attractive kind of grace. A sweet disorder in the dress At anchor in Hampton Roads we lay LONGFELLOW BURNS WORDSWORTH R. BARNEFIELD A. H. CLOUGH 82 At summer eve, when Heaven's aërial bow A voice by the cedar-tree Awake, awake, my lyre. Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughtered saints whose bones MILTON TENNYSON COWLEY H. H. 202 195 72 129 Away, ye gay landscapes A weary lot is thine, fair maid A wet sheet and a flowing sea Ay, but to die, and go, we know not where Bankrupt, our pockets inside out Beaver roars hoarse with melting snows Being asked by an intimate party Beneath an Indian palm, a girl Below the bottom of the great abyss. Be thou blest, Bertram! and succeed thy father Better trust all, and be deceived Between the dark and the daylight Between the acting of a dreadful thing Birdie, birdie, will you, pet Blackened and bleeding, helpless, panting, prone Blow, blow, thou winter wind Blue crystal vault and elemental fires Bonny Kilmeny gaed up the glen Brave Schill, by death delivered Break, Fantasy, from thy cave of cloud Breathe, trumpets, breathe slow notes Bury the Great Duke Busk ye, busk ye, my bonny, bonny bride But all our praises, why should lords engross But are ye sure the news is true? But fare you weel, auld Nickie-Ben But for ye speken of such gentilesse But I wol turn againe to Ariadne But souls that of his own good life partake Call in the messengers sent from the Dauphin Calm and still light on yon great plain Come on, come on, and where you go Come on, sir, here's the place: stand still Come pitie us, all ye who see Come seeling night Come, see the Dolphin's anchor forged Come thou who art the wine and wit Come to Licöo! the sun is riding Come to the river's reedy shore Dark fell the night, the watch was set Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die Dear my friend and fellow-student 39 451 BEN JONSON 445 JONES VERY 159 WORDSWORTH 36 MRS. HEMANS 130 T. MOORE 436 HERRICK. 33 HERRICK 33 Fare thee well! and if forever Farewell, farewell to thee, Araby's daughter' BYRON 277 Get up, get up for shame, the blooming morn Goe, happy rose, and interwove Go, soul, the body's guest Grandmother's mother; her age I guess Hark, hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings Hath this world without me wrought? Have you heard of the wonderful one-hoss-shay? Hearken in your ear He clasps the crag with hooked hands He is gone-is dust He is gone on the mountains He leaves the earth, and says enough Hence, all you vain delights! Hence, loathed melancholy! Hence, vain deluding joys! Here is the place; right over the hill Here let us live, and spend away our lives Her fingers shame the ivory keys Her finger was so small the ring Her house is all of echo made He's a rare man He's gane! he's gane! he's frae us torn HERRICK 10 G. CHAPMAN 198 BEN JONSON 269 SIR W. RALEIGH. 160 HEYWOOD 65 COWPER 182 CHAUCER. 96 HERRICK 443 JEAN INGELOW 443 WALLER 443 SIR W. RALEIGH 139 I challenge not the oracle I climbed the dark brow of the mighty Helvellyn. 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 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 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 John Brown in Kansas settled like a steadfast 227 224 95 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 wish I were where Helen lies I would that thou might always be John Anderson, my jo, John TENNYSON SCOTT BURNS |