Nay, Traveller! rest. This lonely yew-tree stands
Nor can I not believe but that thereby
Not in the lucid intervals of life . .

Not Love, not War, nor the tumultuous swell
Nuns fret not at their convent's narrow room

O Friend! I know not which way I must look.
Oft have I caught upon a fitful breeze.
Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray

O gentle Sleep! do they belong to thee

Once did She hold the gorgeous east in fee

On his morning rounds the master

O Nightingale! thou surely art
On Nature's invitation do I come

O thou! whose fancies from afar are brought

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Pansies, lilies, kingcups, daisies.

Pleasures newly found are sweet

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Return, Content! for fondly I pursued
Rotha, my spiritual child! this head was gray

Sacred Religion! mother of form and fear.
Scorn not the Sonnet; Critic, you have frowned
See what gay wild-flowers deck this earth-built cot
Serene, and fitted to embrace .

Six thousand veterans practised in War's game
Small service is true service while it lasts

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So fair, so sweet, withal so sensitive

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Sole listener, Duddon! to the breeze that played
Stay near me do not take thy flight

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Stern Daughter of the Voice of God
Strange fits of passion have I known

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Such age, how beautiful! O Lady bright
Surprised by joy-impatient as the Wind
Sweet Flower! belike one day to have
Sweet Highland girl, a very shower

Tax not the royal Saint with vain expense
The cock is crowing.

The gallant Youth, who may have gained

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The Knight had ridden down from Wensley Moor

The little hedge-row birds

The minstrels played their Christmas tune

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The Pibroch's note discountenanced or mute
The post-boy drove with fierce career

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There is a bondage worse, far worse, to bear
There is a Flower, the lesser Celandine

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There is an Eminence, - of these our hills
There is a Yew-tree, pride of Lorton Vale

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"There!" said the Stripling, pointing with meet pride

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There's not a nook within this solemn Pass

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There was a roaring in the wind all night

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There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream
These times strike monied worldlings with dismay

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"These tourists, heaven preserve us! needs must live "

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The sun has long been set.

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The world is too much with us: late and soon

"Thou lookst upon me, and dost fondly think"

'Tis gone, with old belief and dream
To a good Man of most dear memory
Too frail to keep the lofty vow
Toussaint, the most unhappy man of men
Troubled long with warring notions
Two Voices are there: one is of the sea

Up! up! my Friend, and quit your books
Up with me! up with me into the clouds

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Vanguard of Liberty, ye men of Kent.

---

Well mayst thou halt and gaze with brightening eye
We talked with open heart and tongue
We walked along, while bright and red
What awful perspective! while from our sight
What is good for a bootless bene

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What, you are stepping westward?"-Yea
When first descending from the moorlands.
When I have borne in memory what has tamed
When, to the attractions of the busy world
Where are they now, those wanton Boys
Where art thou, my beloved Son

Where towers are crushed, and unforbidden weeds
Where will they stop, those breathing powers
Who is the Happy Warrior? Who is he

Who swerves from innocence, who makes divorce

Why, William, on that old gray stone
Wings have we, and as far as we can go.
Within our happy Castle there dwelt One
Within the mind strong fancies work
With little here to do or see
With sacrifice before the rising morn

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