Life and thought have gone away Life may be given in many ways 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 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 Lo, when the Lord made North and South Macbeth is ripe for shaking Man, thee behooveth oft to have this in mind Merciful Heaven! Merry it is in the good green wood Methought I heard a voice cry, "Sleep no more Milton, thou shouldst be living at this hour Mine honesty and I begin to square Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors Mourn, hills and groves of Attica Much have I travelled in the realms of gold 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 mistress's eyes are nothing like the sun My mother, when I learned that thou wast dead Naked on parents' knees, a new-born child. Needy knife-grinder, whither are you going? No more, no more, Oh! never more on me No splendor 'neath the sky's proud dome November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh Now is the time for mirth Now is the winter of our discontent. Now overhead a rainbow bursting through Now ponder well, you parents dear O Brignall Banks are wild and fair O dark, dark, dark, amid the blaze of noon O divine star of heaven O draw me, Father, after thee O'er the glad waters of the dark blue sea Of all the rides since the birth of time Of Nelson and the North O for my sake do you with fortune chide Oft in the stilly night Of truth, of grandeur, beauty, love, and hope O heavens, if you do love old men O heard ye yon pibroch sound sad in the gale? Oh, have ye na heard o' the fause Sakelde Oh, how much more doth beauty beauteous seem 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? Once we built our fortress where you see O never rudely will I blame his faith One day, nigh weary of the irksome way 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 O that we now had here O the days are gone when beauty bright O then what soul was his, when, on the tops O thou who in the heavens dost dwell O thou that swing'st upon the waving ear O! 'tis wondrous much . Our boat to the waves go free Our brethren of New England use 289 SHAKSPEARE 521 SPENSER T. MOORE WORDSWORTH BURNS CHANNING BUTLER Our bugles sang truce; for the night cloud had lowered CAMPBELL And praised be rashness for it Rudolph, professor of the headsman's trade Rabia, sick upon her bed Rambling along the marshes - Reason thus with life Remove yon skull from out the scattered heaps. Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky. Rise up, BYRON rise up, Xarifa! lay the golden cushion down LOCKHART Round my own pretty rose. Royal Egypt! Empress 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, wha 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 Shall I, wasting in despair? She, of whose soul, if we may say, 'twas gold. T. H. BAYLY 171 192 447 35 521 O. W. HOLMES 503 Shine kindly forth, September sun Should auld acquaintance be forgot. Silence augmenteth grief-writing encreaseth rage. Since our country our God--Ŏh, my sire! Sing, and let your song be new Sing, O Goddess, the wrath, the ontamable dander Sitting in my window Sleep is like death, and after sleep So, when their feet were planted on the plain St. Mark's hushed abbey heard Star of the flowers and flower of the stars Still to be neat, still to be drest Svend Vonved binds his sword to his side. Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright Sweet echo, sweetest nymph that liv'st unseen Sweet peace, where dost thou dwell. Sweet scented flower, who art wont to bloom BYRON 203 GEORGE BORROW (Trans.) 328 339 HERRICK 15 ᎻᎬᎡᏴᎬᎡᎢ . 147 That regal soul I reverence in whose eyes That which her slender waist confined The birds against the April wind The curfew tolls the knell of parting day The daughter of a king, how should I know?. The destiny, minister general The earth goes on, the earth glittering in gold The feathered songster Chanticleer The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices The gods be your terror The harp that once through Tara's halls The king is full of grace and fair regard The king is kind; and well we know The Lord descended from above The minstrels played their Christmas tune The night is past and shines the sun BYRON 284 The old man said, "Take thou this shield, my son' The old mayor climbed the belfry tower There are points from which we can command our life P. BAILEY The recluse hermit ofttimes more doth know. There in the fane a beauteous creature stands There is a history in all men's lives There is a mystery in the soul of state There is a pleasure in the pathless woods There was a laughing devil in his sneer There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream. The sea rolls vaguely, and the stars are dumb . The sky is changed; and such a change The spirits I have raised abandon me The weather leech of the topsail shivers. A. H. CLOUGH. GOWER BYRON BYRON WORDSWORTH COWLEY W. MITCHELL. S. G. W 150 JEAN INGELOW 340 20 517 31 269 497 265 512 222 173 268 231 218 455 40 The wintry west extends his blast This army led by a delicate and tender prince This castle hath a pleasant seat; the air Thou hast learned the woes of all the world Thou that hast a daughter Thou that hast given so much to me. Thou wast not born for death, immortal bird! Thou whose sweet youth and early hopes enhance. Three score o' nobles rade up the king's ha' Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back 'Tis night, and the landscape is lovely no more. 'Tis not every day that I 'Tis not in battles that from youth we train "Tis truth, although this truth's a star To be furious To beguile the time To be no more- sad cure To be or not to be, that is the question To fair Fidele's grassy tomb To heroism and holiness Toiling in the naked fields To keep the lamp alive To me men are for what they are. Toll for the brave. True bard and simple,- -as the race Triumphal arch, that fill'st the sky To the belfry one by one, went the ringers from the sun MRS. BROWNING "Twas All-Souls' eve, and Surrey's heart beat high Two went to pray-oh! rather say 404 SCOTT 449 276 46 Two voices are there; one is of the sea |