-

A CAT of yore- or else old Æsop lied, — 439.
A courtier extraordinary, who by diet, 496.
A grain of dust, 505.

A mightier wizard far than I, 457.

A mirthful man he was - the snows of age, 507.
A priest, ye cry, a priest !-lame shepherds
they, 496.

A tale of sorrow, for your eyes may weep, 508.
A thousand winters dark have flown, 462.
A weary lot is thine, fair maid, 253.
A weary month has wandered o'er, 420.
Admire not that I gained the prize, 485.
Ah! County Guy, the hour is nigh, 472.

Ah! mark the matron well- and laugh not,
Harry, 500.

Ah, poor Louise! the livelong day, 481.
Alas! alas! 456.

All is prepared-the chambers of the mine, 508,
All joy was bereft me the day that you left me,

401.

And ne'er but once, my son, he says, 23.

And some for safety took the dreadful leap, 503.
And what though winter will pinch severe, 430.
And when Love's torch has set the heart in
flame, 497.

And whither would you lead me then, 270.
And you shall deal the funeral dole, 464.
Anna-Marie, love, up is the sun, 452.
Approach the chamber, look upon his bed, 495.
Arouse thee, youth!-it is no common call,

493.

Arouse the tiger of Hyrcanian deserts, 495.
As lords their laborers' hire delay, 474.

-

As the worn war-horse, at the trumpet's sound,

Beggar! - the only freemen of your Common-
wealth, 492.

'Behold the Tiber!' the vain Roman cried, 506.
Between the foaming jaws of the white torrent,
507.

Bid not thy fortune troll upon the wheels, 500.
Birds of omen dark and foul, 448.

Bold knights and fair dames, to my harp give
an ear, 19.

Bring the bowl which you boast, 480.
But follow, follow me, 418.

By pathless march, by greenwood tree, 480.
By this good light, a wench of matchless metal,
501.

By ties mysterious linked, our fated race,

Canny moment, lucky fit, 424.
Can she not speak, 502.

Cauld is my bed, Lord Archibald, 441.
Champion, famed for warlike toil, 465.
Chance will not do the work, 501.

457.

Ch'm-maid! The Genman in the front parlor,

-

Come, let me have thy council, for I need it, 504.
Come, Lucy, while 't is morning hour, 287.
Complain not on me, child of clay, 457.
Contentions fierce, 503.

Credit me, friend, it hath been ever thus, 501.
Cry the wild war-note, let the champions pass,
508.

Cursed be the gold and silver which persuade,

506.

Daring youth! for thee 't is well, 456.
Dark Ahriman, whom Irak still, 477.
Dark are thy words and severe, 462.

Hail to thy cold and clouded beam, 239.
Happy thou art! then happy be, 494.
Hark! the bells summon and the bugle calls

498.

Hark to the insult loud, the bitter sneer, 500.
Harp of the North, farewell! The hills grow
dark. 208.

Harp of the North! that mouldering long bat
hung, 156.

Hawk and osprey screamed for joy, 382.
He came amongst them like a new-raised spirit.
303.

He came but valor had so fired his seye, £9
He is gone on the mountain, 177.

He strikes no coin, 't is true, but coins new
phrases, 496.

He was a fellow in a peasant's garb, 502.
He was a man Versed in the world as pilot
his compass, 498.

He was a son of Egypt, as he told me. 503.
He, whose heart for vengeance sued, 458.
Health to the chieftain from his clansman tree.
411.

Hear what Highland Nora said, 427.
Heaven knows its time; the bullet has its bilet

I glance like the wildfire thro' country and tow

440.

I knew Anselmo. He was shrewd and prudent.

492.

I strive like to the vessel in the tide-way, 499.
I was a wild and wayward boy, 267.

I was one, 506.

If you fail honor here, 492.

Ill fares the bark with tackle riven, 383.

In awful ruins Etna thunders nigh, 491.

In Madoc's tent the clarion sounds, 504.

In some breasts passion lies concealed and silent,
498.

In the bonny cells of Bedlam, 441.

In the wide pile, by others heeded not, 493.

In the wild storm The seaman hews his mast
down, 497.

In yon lone vale his early youth was bred, 495.
Indifferent, but indifferent- - pshaw! he doth

--

it not, 496.
Is this thy castle, Baldwin? Melancholy, 495.
It chanced that Cupid on a season, 423.

It comes it wrings me in my parting hour, 504.
It is and is not 't is the thing I sought for,

497.

It is not texts will do it - Church artillery, 497.
It is the bonny butcher lad, 441.

It is time of danger, not of revel, 498.
It's up Glembarchan's braes I gaed, 414.
It was a little naughty page, 9.

It was an English ladye bright, 76.

It was Dunois, the young and brave, was bound
for Palestine, 423.

Joy to the victors, the sons of old Aspen, 10.

Late, when the autumn evening fell, 414.
Law, take thy victim!- May she find the
mercy, 494.

Let the proud salmon gorge the feathered hook,

501.

Let those go see who will I like it not, 493.
Life ebbs from such old age, unmarked and si-
lent, 493.

Life hath its May, and all is mirthful then, 497.
Life, with you, Glows in the brain and dances
in the arteries, 492.

Lives there a strain whose sounds of mounting
fire, 210.

Look not thou on beauty's charming, 448.

Look on my girdle-on this thread of gold, 457.
Look round thee, young Astolpho: Here's the
place, 493.

Lord William was born in gilded bower, 377.
Loud o'er my head though awful thunders roll,
491.

Love wakes and weeps, 464.

Lo! where he lies embalmed in gore, 506.

Macleod's wizard flag from the gray castle sal-
lies, 439.

Maiden whose sorrows wail the Living Dead,
458.

Many a fathom dark and deep, 456.

Many great ones Would part with half their
states, 492.

March, march, Ettrick and Teviotdale, 453.
Marry, come up, sir, with your gentle blood,
502.

Measurers of good and evil, 483.

Menseful maiden ne'er should rise, 465.
Merrily swim we, the moon shines bright, 453.
Merry it is in the good greenwood, 184.

Mid these wild scenes Enchantment waves her
hands, 505.

Mortal warp and mortal woof, 456.

Mother darksome, Mother dread, 462.

Must we then sheath our still victorious sword,
505.

My hawk is tired of perch and hood, 206.
My hounds may a' rin masterless, 493.

My tongue pads slowly under this new language,
506.

My wayward fate I needs must plain, 404.

Nay, dally not with time, the wise man's trea-
sure, 496.

Nay, hear me, brother-I am elder, wiser, 497.
Nay, let me have the friends who eat my vict-
uals, 496.

Nearest of blood should still be next in love,
504.

Necessity-thou best of peace-makers, 502.
Night and morning were at meeting, 421.
No human quality is so well wove, 503.
No, sir, I will not pledge-I'm one of those,

497.

November's hail-cloud drifts away, 449.
November's sky is chill and drear, 88.
Now, all ye ladies of fair Scotland, 504.
Now bid the steeple rock-she comes, she
comes, 498.

Now, by Our Lady, Sheriff, 't is hard reckoning,
496.

Now choose thee, gallant, betwixt wealth and
honor, 496.

Now fare thee well, my master, if true service,
498.

Now God be good to me in this wild pilgrimage,
498.

Now, hoist the anchor, mates and let the sails,
502.

Now let us sit in conclave. That these weeds,
496.

Now on my faith this gear is all entangled, 497.
Now Scot and English are agreed, 500.

O ay! the Monks, the Monks, they did the
mischief! 495.

O, Brignall banks are wild and fair, 250.
O, dread was the time, and more dreadful the
omen, 409.

O for a draught of power to steep, 506.
O for a glance of that gay Muse's eye, 431.