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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 faery beam upon you

The feathered spugster 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 have come

The merry world did on a day

The minstrels played their Christmas tune
The moon is up, and yet it is not might
The Moorish king rides up and down
The muse doth tell me where to borrow
The muse, mae poet ever fand her
The night is come like to the day.

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153

BYRON

The old man said, "Take thou this shield, my son"

The night is made for cooling shade.

The night is passed and shines the sun

The old mayor climbed the belfry tower
The owl is abroad, the bat, and the toad.
The pines were dark on Ramoth hill

WHITTIER

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

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TENNYSON

DONNE

PROF. WILSON (Trans.)'

SHAKSPEARE

SHAKSPEARE
DERBY
BYRON

A. H. CLOUGH,
SHAKSPEARE
WORDSWORTH
BEN JONSON
CLOUGH

MRS. HOWE.
BYRON

WORDSWORTH

GOWER

BYRON

BYRON

WORDSWORTH
CHAUCER

ADDISON

BYRON

TENNYSON

COWLEY

20

517

31

269

497

27

173

3-5

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WHITTIER

231

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The spirits I have raised abandon me
The splendor falls on castle walls.
The stars above will make thee known
The tent-lights glimmer on the land
The unearthly voices ceased
The wanton troopers riding by

The wintry west extends his blast
The woods decay

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

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To keep the lamp alive

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To me men are for what they are

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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

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

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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 sacritice before the rising morn
Woof of the fen, ethereal gauze
Would wisdom for herself be 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

MILTON

COWPER

BYRON

457

512

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Ye sigh not when the sun his course fulfilled
Yet a few days, and thee

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Your grace shall pardon me

Yet do I fear thy nature.

Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more

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 Neuka plunged into the deep

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

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LADY ANNE LINDSAY
BYRON
SHAKSPEARE

Zekle crep' up quite unbeknown

LOWELL

383

378

207

135

494

12

14

25

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