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-Oh, my

sire!

Stern daughter of the voice of God.

Still to be neat, still to be drest

Sweep ho! Sweep ho!

Tell me not, sweet, I am unkind

Rashly, -And praised be rashness for it

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
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.
Shake off your heavy trance

Shall I, wasting in despair?

She, of whose soul, if we may say, 'twas gold.
She's gane to dwell in heaven, my lassie
She walks in beauty, like the night
Shine kindly forth, September sun
Should auld acquaintance be forgot.

Silence augmenteth grief-writing encreaseth rage.

Silent, O Moyle, be the roar of thy water
Since I am coming to that holy room
Since our country our God—
Since the sun

Sing, and let your song be new

Sing, O Goddess, the wrath, the ontamable dander

of Keitt

Sitting in my window

Sleep is like death, and after sleep
Sleep sweetly in your humble graves
Slow, slow fresh fount, keep time
So am I as the rich, whose blessed key
So every spirit as it is most pure
So fallen! so lost! the light withdrawn
Soft you; a word or two before you go
So Saturn, as he walked into the midst

So, when their feet were planted on the plain
Spring all the graces of the age

St. Mark's hushed abbey heard

Star of the flowers and flower of the stars

Svend Vonved binds his sword to his side.

Sweet country life, to such unknown

Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright

Sweet echo, sweetest nymph that liv'st unseen Sweetness, truth, and every grace

Sweet peace, where dost thou dwell

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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 where is fancy bred

Tell us, thou clear and heavenly tongue

Thanks for the lessons of this spot

That instrument ne'er heard.

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.

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SHAKSPEARE

521

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447

35

521

O. W. HOLMES

503

GRAY

215

SHAKSPEARE

102

WILLIAM DRUMMOND

190

SHAKSPEARE

519

WORDSWORTH

144

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The birds against the April wind
The breaking waves dashed high

The bush that has most briars and bitter fruit
The clouds are flying, the woods are sighing
The convent-bells are ringing

The curfew tolls the knell of parting day

The daughter of a king, how should I know?.
The despot's heel is on thy shore.

The destiny, minister general

The earth goes on, the earth glittering in gold
The færy beam upon you

The feathered songster Chanticleer
The flighty purpose never is o'ertook
The garlands wither on your brow

The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices

The gods be your terror.

.

The harp that once through Tara's halls.
The house of Chivalry decayed
The king called his best archers

The king is full of grace and fair regard

The king is kind; and well we know

The king sits in Dunfermline town
The king was on his throne

The Lord descended from above
The melancholy days are come
The merry world did on a day

The minstrels played their Christmas tune
The moon is up, and yet it is not night
The Moorish king rides up and down

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The muse doth tell me where to borrow

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The muse, nae poet ever fand her

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The night is come like to the day

SIR T. BROWNE

185

The night is made for cooling shade.

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The pines were dark on Ramoth hill

WHITTIER

79

The sky is changed; and such a change

There are points from which we can command our life P. BAILEY
There came to Cameliard

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 an island on a river lying

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods
There is a stream, I name not its name
There is a tide in the affairs of men

There is a Yew-tree, pride of Lorton Vale
There like a rich and golden pyramid
"There is no God," the wicked saith
There's a flag hangs over my threshold

There where death's brief pang was quickest.
There was a boy; ye knew him well, ye cliffs
There was a king that much might

There was a laughing devil in his sneer
There was a sound of revelry by night

There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream.
Ther is right at the West side of Itaille

The sea rolls vaguely, and the stars are dumb
The shadow on the dial's face

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A. H. CLOUGH.
SHAKSPEARE
WORDSWORTH
BEN JONSON

BYRON.
BYRON
WORDSWORTH
CHAUCER

BYRON

TENNYSON

COWLEY

WHITTIER
SCOTT
MARVELL

W. MITCHELL.

SCOTT

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513

441

268

231

218

455

40

330

GEORGE MACDONALD.

318

The wintry west extends his blast
The woods decay, the woods decay and fall.
They made her a grave too cold and damp
They told me I was heir: I turned in haste
They that never had the use
Think we King Harry strong
This ae night, this ae night

This army led by a delicate and tender prince
This bright wood-fire

This castle hath a pleasant seat; the air
This knight a doughter hadde by his wif
This morning, timely rapt with holy fire
Thou art not gone, being gone
Thou blossom bright with autumn dew
Though the day of my destiny's over

Thou hast learned the woes of all the world
Thou hast sworn by thy God, my Jeannie
Thou hidden love of God! whose height
Thou that art our queen again

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 days through sapphire seas we sailed
Three poets in three distant ages born

Three score o' nobles rade up the king's ha'
Three years she grew in sun and shower
Thy braes were bonny, yarrow stream.
Thy voice is heard through rolling drums
Tiger! Tiger! burning bright

Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back.
Tired nature's sweet restorer, balmy sleep.
'Tis madness to resist or blame

"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

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Toiling in the naked fields

JOHN CLARE

456

To keep the lamp alive

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To me men are for what they are

MILNES

145

Toll for the brave.

COWPER

463

To the belfry one by one, went the ringers from the sun MRS. BROWNING
To the Lords of Convention

404

SCOTT

449

True bard and simple, as the race

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Triumphal arch, that fill'st the sky

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'Twas All-Souls' eve, and Surrey's heart beat high 'Twas at the royal feast for Persia won

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Two went to pray-oh! rather say

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Two voices are there; one is of the sea

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When biting Boreas, fell and doure
Whence is it that the air so sudden clears
When Chapman billies leave the street
When coldness wraps this suffering clay
When daisies pied and violets blue
Whene'er a noble deed is wrought

When first thou didst entice to thee my heart
When Flora with her fragrant flowers.
When God at first made man

When I a verse shall make

When I consider how my light is spent

When I do count the clock that tells the time

When I love as some have told

When Love with unconfined wings

When Music, heavenly maid, was young

When spring to woods and wastes around
When the British warrior queen

When the moon is on the wave

When the radiant morn of creation broke
When we in our viciousness grow hard
When whispering strains with creeping wind.
When wise Minerva still was young

When with the virgin morning thou dost rise.
Where dost thou careless lie

Where have ye been, ye ill woman?

Where is Timarchus gone?

Where like a pillow on a bed

Where the bee sucks, there suck I

Where the remote Bermudas ride

Which I wish to remark.

While from the purpling east departs

While malice, Pope, denies thy page

Whither midst falling dew.

Who counts himself as nobly born

Who can divine what impulses from God

Who is the happy warrior

Who is the honest man

Whose are the gilded tents that crowd the way.

Whoso him bethoft

Why fearest thou the outward foe

Willie stands in his stable door

Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day
Winstanley's deed, you kindly folk

Within my ears resounds that ancient song

Within the mind strong fancies work
With joys unknown, with sadness unconfessed
With naked foot and sackcloth vest.
With sacrifice before the rising morn
Woof of the fen, ethereal gauze
Would wisdom for herself wooed

Ye banks and braes of bonnie Doon

Ye distant spires, ye antique towers
Ye mariners of England

Ye scattered birds that faintly sing

Yes, I answered you last night

Ye sigh not when the sun his course fulfilled

Yet a few days, and thee

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Yet do I fear thy nature.

Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more

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Your grace shall pardon me

LADY ANNE LINDSAY BYRON SHAKSPEARE

Zekle crep' up quite unbeknown

You lay a wreath on murdered Lincoln's bier

You meaner beauties of the night

Young Jamie lo'ed me weel, and he sought me for his bride

Young Neuha plunged into the deep

TOM TAYLOR

WOTTON.

You that can look through Heaven, and tell the stars BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.

254

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