Hail to thee, blithe Spirit

Happy the man, whose wish and care

Happy those early days, when I.
He that loves a rosy cheek.
He is gone on the mountain
Hence, all you vain delights
Hence, loathed Melancholy.
Hence, vain deluding Joys.
How delicious is the winning

How happy is he born and taught
How like a winter hath my absence been
How sleep the Brave who sink to rest
How sweet the answer Echo makes
How vainly men themselves amaze

I dream'd that as I wander'd by the way
If aught of oaten stop or pastoral song
If doughty deeds my lady please.

I fear thy kisses, gentle maiden .
If Thou survive my well-contented day
If to be absent were to be

If women could be fair, and yet not fond

I have had playmates, I have had companions

I heard a thousand blended notes

I met a traveller from an antique land

In a drear-nighted December

In the downhill of life, when I find I'm declining

In the sweet shire of Cardigan

I remember, I remember

It is a beauteous evening, calm and free
It is not Beauty I demand

I've heard them lilting at our ewe-milking
I wander'd lonely as a cloud

I was thy neighbour once, thou rugged Pile
I wish I were where Helen lies

John Anderson my jo, John.

Lawrence, of virtuous father virtuous son
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Life! I know not what thou art.

Life of Life! Thy lips enkindle

81

Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore
Like to the clear in highest sphere

Love not me for comely grace

Lo! where the rosy-bosom'd Hours

Many a green isle needs must be

Mary! I want a lyre with other strings

Milton thou shouldst be living at this hour
Mine be a cot beside the hill

Mortality, behold and fear

Much have I travell'd in the realms of gold
Music, when soft voices die.

My days among the Dead are past

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My heart leaps up when I behold

My Love in her attire doth shew her wit
My lute, be as thou wert when thou didst grow
My thoughts hold mortal strife

My true-love hath my heart, and I have his

No longer mourn for me when I am dead
Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note
Not, Celia, that I juster am

34

O blithe new-comer! I have heard
O Brignall banks are wild and fair
Of all the girls that are so smart
Of a' the airts the wind can blaw
Of Nelson and the North

O friend! I know not which way I must cok
Of this fair volume which we World do name
Oft in the stilly night.

O if thou knew'st how thou thyself dost harm

O listen, listen, ladies gay

O lovers' eyes are sharp to see

O Mary, at thy window be .

O me! what eyes hath love put in my head
O Mistress mine, where are you roaming?
my
Luve's like a red, red rose

O

Once did She hold the gorgeous East in fee
One more Unfortunate

O never say that I was false of heart
One word is too often profaned

On Linden, when the sun was low

O saw ye bonnie Lesley

O say what is that thing call'd Light .

O snatch'd away in beauty's bloom

O talk not to me of a name great in story

Our bugles sang truce, for the night-cloud had lower'd 311
Over the mountains

O waly waly up the bank

O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms

O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being
O World! O Life! O Time!

85

Poor Soul, the centre of my sinful earth
Proud Maisie is in the wood

Queen and Huntress, chaste and fair .

82

Pack, clouds, away, and welcome day
Phoebus, arise

Pibroch of Donuil Dhu

Rarely, rarely, comest thou
Ruin seize thee, ruthless King!

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day
Shall I, wasting in despair.

She dwelt among the untrodden ways
She is not fair to outward view

She walks in beauty, like the night
She was a phantom of delight

Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea
Since there's no help, come let us kiss and part .
Sleep on, and dream of Heaven awhile

Souls of Poets dead and gone

Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king
Star that bringest home the bee

Stern Daughter of the voice of God

Surprised by joy-impatient as the wind
Sweet, be not proud of those two eyes

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Sweet stream, that winds through yonder glade
Swiftly walk over the western wave

Tax not the royal Saint with vain expense
Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind

Tell me where is Fancy bred

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337

88

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95

That time of year thou may'st in me behold
That which her slender waist confined
The curfew tolls the knell of parting day
The forward youth that would appear
The fountains mingle with the river
The glories of our blood and state
The last and greatest Herald of Heaven's King
The lovely lass o' Inverness

The poplars are fell'd, farewell to the shade
The sun is warm, the sky is clear
The sun upon the lake is low

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344

The twentieth year is well nigh past

The World is too much with us: late and soon.

The World's a bubble, and the Life of Man
There be none of Beauty's daughters.
There is a flower, the Lesser Celandine
There is a garden in her face

There's not a joy the world can give like that it

takes away

There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream
They that have power to hurt, and will do none
This is the month, and this the happy morn
This Life, which seems so fair

Three years she grew in sun and shower
Thy braes were bonny, Yarrow stream
Thy hue, dear pledge, is pure and bright
Timely blossom, Infant fair

Tired with all these, for restful death I cry
Toll for the Brave

To me, fair Friend, you never can be old
'Twas at the royal feast for Persia won
'Twas on a lofty vase's side

Two Voices are there, one is of the Sea

Under the greenwood tree .

Verse, a breeze 'mid blossoms straying
Victorious men of earth, no more

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76

Waken, lords and ladies gay

Wee, sleekit, cow'rin', tim'rous beastie
Were I as base as is the lowly plain
We talk'd with open heart, and tongue
We walk'd along, while bright and red
We watch'd her breathing thro' the night
Whenas in silks my Julia goes

When Britain first at Heaven's command
When first the fiery-mantled Sun

When God at first made man

When he who adores thee has left but the name