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Now Neptune, joyful of the sacrifice
Now the light o' the west is a-turn'd to gloom

Of Heaven or Hell I have no power to sing
Of love that never found his earthly close
Of Mary's pains may now learn whoso will
Of old sat Freedom on the heights.

Of the million or two, more or less

Oh for the young heart like a fountain playing
Oh, to be in England

O jay betide the dear wold mill

O Love, what hours were thine and mine

O most just Vizier, send away

Once Cagn was like a father, kind and good
On that last night before we went.

O so drowsy! In a daze

Out in the meadows the young grass springs
Over the summer sea

O well for him whose will is strong

O where are you going with your love-locks flowing
O zummer clote! when the brook's a-glidèn

Pale, beyond porch and portal

Play then and sing; we too have played

Quoth tongue of neither maid nor wife.

Sad would the salt waves be.

So far as I conceive the world's rebuke
Sunrise! and it is summer, and the morning.

Take me away, and in the lowest deep
The curtains were half drawn, the floor was swept.

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The lake is calm; and, calm, the skies
The last year's leaf, its time is brief

The morning broke and Spring was there
There is a sweetness in autumnal days
There's a woman like a dew-drop, she's so purer than the

purest.

There's one great bunch of stars in heaven

There, where the sun shines first

The silent Forces of the World

The sunrise wakes the lark to sing.

The woods decay, the woods decay and fall

They are gone—all is still! Foolish heart, dost thou

quiver

'Tis merry ov a zummer's day

Uprisen from the sea when Cytherea

Vanity, saith the preacher, vanity.

Wailing, wailing, wailing, the wind over land and sea
We were two daughters of one race

We wish to declare how the Birds of the air all high In-
stitutions designed

What time the mighty moon was gathering light
What! wilt thou throw thy stone of malice now

Wheer 'asta beän saw long and meä liggin' 'ere aloän

When age comes by and lays his frosty hands

When I am dead, my dearest

When I was dead, my spirit turned

When I was young, I said to Sorrow

When the hounds of spring are on winter's traces
When think you comes the wind
Where sunless rivers weep

Where the bridge out at Woodley did stride
Why should we seek at all to gain.
Why woonce, at Chris'mas-tide, avore
Within the isle, far from the walks of men

Ye rocky heights of Chios, where the snow
Yes! in the sea of life enisled
You hail from Dream-land, Dragon-fly.
You promise heavens free from strife

London:

Printed by William Clowes and Sons, Limited,

Stamford Street and Charing Cross.