Milton, thou shouldst be living at this hour WORDSWORTH 274 Mine honesty and I begin to square. Motions and means, on land and sea at war 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' eyes are nothing like the sun My mother, when I learned that thou wast dead Naked on parents' knees, a new-born child. 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 Nature hangs her mantle green 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 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' 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, 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 1? Once we built our fortress where you see O never rudely will I blame his faith One day, nigh weary of the irksome way Our boat to the waves go free Our brethren of New England use 289 SHAKSPEARE 521 W. E. CHANNING W. E. CHANNING CAMPBELL SHAKSPEARE T. MOORE WORDSWORTH SHAKSPEARE SHAKSPEARE Our bugles sang truce; for the night cloud had lowered CAMPBELL SCOTT ANONYMOUS. POPE. SCOTT Rashly; and praised be rashness for it 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, 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, 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 Send us your prisoners, or you'll hear of it. Shall I, wasting in despair? She, of whose soul, if we may say, 'twas gold. Shine kindly forth, September sun Should auld acquaintance be forgot T. H. BAYLY SHAKSPEARE O. W. HOLMES BEN JONSON SHAKSPEARE 161 BYRON 171 TENNYSON 192 447 35 521 503 193 FULKE GREVILLE (LORD BROOKE) 467 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 Sven Vonved binds his sword to his side. Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright Sweet echo, sweetest nymph that liv'st unseen 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 That regal soul I reverence in whose eyes That which her slender waist confined The Abbot on the threshold stood The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold The barge she sat in, like a burnished throne. BEN JONSON SPENSER MISS PALFREY J. J. G. WILKINSON WORDSWORTH BEN JONSON E. S. H. DONNE. BYRON 186 203 WORDSWORTH 44 SIR PHILIP SIDNEY 181 PUNCH 500 BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. 71 ALLINGHAM 91 441 84 227 476 518 294 434 417 34 149 87 GEORGE BORROW (Trans.) 328 339 The birds against the April wind The bush that has most briars and bitter fruit 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 flighty purpose never is o'ertook 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 was on his throne The Lord descended from above. The minstrels played their Christmas tune The muse, nae poet ever fand her The night is made for cooling shade. The night is passed and shines the sun The old mayor climbed the belfry tower BYRON 284 The old man said, Take thou this shield, my son" The owl is abroad, the bat, and the toad. There are points from which we can command our life P. BAILEY The recluse hermit ofttimes more doth know. There is a history in all men's lives There is a mystery in the soul of state There is a pleasure in the pathiess woods A. H. CLOUGH. S. G. W 150 JEAN INGELOW 340 BEN JONSON 125 WHITTIER 79 153 TENNYSON 296 DONNE 517 PROF. WILSON (Trans.)' 58 20 517 31 269 The wintry west extends his blast They made her a grave too cold and damp Think we King Harry strong This army led by a delicate and tender prince This castle hath a pleasant seat; the air Thou blossom bright with autumn dew Thou hast learned the woes of all the world Thou that hast a daughter Thon 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 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. COWPER 463 To the belfry one by one, went the ringers from the sun MRS. BROWNING. 404 SCOTT 449 True bard and simple, - -as the race Triumphal arch, that fill'st the sky 'Twas All-Souls' eve, and Surrey's heart beat high Two went to pray-oh! rather say Two voices are there; one is of the sea |