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Get up, get up for shame, the blooming morn
Give me a spirit that on life's rough sea.
Give me my cup

Give me my scallop's shell of quiet
Give place, ye ladies, and begone
God moves in a mysterious way.

God of science and of light

Goe, happy rose, and interwove
Goldilocks sat on the grass
Go, lovely rose

Go, soul, the body's guest

Grandmother's mother; her age I guess
Great God, greater than greatest.

Great Ocean! strongest of Creation's sons
Gude Lord Graham is to Carlisle gane.

Hail to the chief who in triumph advances
Happy, happier far than thou

Happy those early days when I

Hark, hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings
Hark, how I'll bribe you

Hath this world without me wrought?'

Have you heard of the wonderful one-hoss-shay?
Hearken in your ear

He clasps the crag with hooked hands

He is gone is dust

He is gone on the mountains

He leaves the earth, and says enough

Hence, all yon vain delights!

Hence, loathed melancholy!
Hence, vain deluding joys!

Here is the place; right over the hill

Here let us live, and spend away our lives
Here might I pause and bend in reverence
Her eyes the glow-worm lend thee

Her fingers shame the ivory keys

Her finger was so small, the ring

Her house is all of echo made

He's a rare man

He's gane! he's gane! he's frae us torn

He that loves a rosy cheek

He works in rings, in magic rings of eliance

Hope smiled when your nativity was cast

How changed is here each place man makes or fills!
How fresh, O Lord, how sweet and clean!
How happy is he born and taught

How many a time have I

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How many thousand of my poorest subjects
How near to good is what is fair!

How oft when thou my music, music play'st
How pleasant were the songs of Toobonai!
How seldom, friends, a good great man inherits
How sleep the brave who sink to rest

How soon hath time, the subtle thief of youth
How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon the bank!

How they go by, those strange and dreamlike men!
How vainly men themselves amaze!

How young and fresh am I to-night!

I am holy while I stand

I called on dreams and visions to disclose

I came to a laund of white and green.

TENNYSON

SPENSER.
SHAKSPEARE

HERRICK.

F. H. HEDGE
O. W. HOLMES
LOWELL

TENNYSON

CHANNING

SHAKSPEARE

205

DRYDEN.

127

SHAKSPEARE

133

SHAKSPEARE.

441

24

267

6

10

G. CHAPMAN

198

BEN JONSON

269

SIR W. RALEIGH.

160

HEYWOOD

65

COWPER

182

CHAUCER.

96

HERRICK

443

JEAN INGELOW

443

WALLER

443

SIR W. RALEIGH

139

O. W. HOLMES

498

YOUNG

180

POLLOK

38

SCOTT

350

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I challenge not the oracle

I climbed the dark brow of the mighty Helvellyn. If aught of oaten stop, or pastoral song

If I may trust the flattering eye of sleep.

If men be worlds, there is in every one

If this great world of joy and pain

If thou be one whose heart the holy forms
If thou wert by my side, my love
If with light head erect I sing
1 got me flowers to strew thy way
I have done one braver thing.
I have learned to look on nature
I have ships that went to sea.

I have, thou gallant Trojan

I have woven shrouds of air

I hear thy solemn anthem fall

I know a little garden close

I made a footing in the wall

I made a posie, while the day ran by

I mind it weel, in early date

I'm sitting alone by the fire

I must go furnish up

Inland, within a hollow vale I stood

In sweet dreams, softer than unbroken rest

In the frosty season, when the sun

In the golden reign of Charlemagne the king.
In the hour of my distress

In the summer even

In this world, the isle of dreams

In vain the common theme my tongue would shun

In what torn ship soever I embark

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan

In yonder grave a Druid lies.

I see a dusk and awful figure rise

I see before me the gladiator le

I see men's judgments are

I shall lack voice: the deeds of Coriolanus.

I sift the snow on the mountains below

I sing of brooks, of blossoms, birds, and bowers

I sprang to the stirrup, and Joris and he.

Is there for honest poverty

.

Is thy face like thy mother's, my fair child?

It don't seem hardly right, John.

It follows now you are to prove.

It happen that I came on a day

I think not on my father

It is not to be thought of, that the flood

It little profits that an idle king

It's narrow, narrow make your bed

It's no in titles or in rank

It was fifty years ago

It was the season, when through all the land.

It was the time when lilies blow

It was the winter wild.

It was thy fear, or else some transient wind

I wandered lonely as a cloud

I watched her face, suspecting

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MILTON.

W. CONGREVE
WORDSWORTH
PATMORE
SCOTT

N. P. WILLIS
BYRON.

BURNS

STEDMAN
BROWNING

BURNS.

SPENSER

903

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DANIEL

517

King Ferdinand alone did stand one day upon the hill

LOCKHART'S SPANISH BAL

LADS

300

Lady Clara Vere De Vere

Lady, there is a hope that all men have

TENNYSON

365

CHANNING

153

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SCOTT

334

SHAKSPEARE
H. KNOWLES
WORDSWORTH

510

167

274

MRS. HOWE.
SHAKSPEARE

230

521

SHAKSPEARE

69

WORDSWORTH.

98

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"Lo," quoth he, "Cast up thine eye'

Look not thou on beauty's charming

Lord, when I quit this earthly stage

Lord, with what care hast thou begirt us round
Loud is the vale, the voice is up
Love is a sickness full of woes

Low-anchored cloud

Lo, when the Lord made North and South

Lo, where she comes along with portly pace

Macbeth is ripe for shaking

Man, thee behooveth oft to have this in mind'
Man wants but little here below

Men have done brave deeds

Merciful Heaven!

.

Merry it is in the good green wood

Methought I heard a voice say, "Sleep no more".

Methinks it is good to be here

Milton, thou shouldst be living at this hour
Mine eyes have seen the glory

Mine honesty and I begin to square

Most potent, grave, and reverend signiors

Motions and means, on land and sea at war
Mournfully, sing mournfully.

Mourn, hills and groves of Attica

Much have I travelled in the realms of gold
My dear and only love, I pray

My gentle Puck, come hither

My God, I heard this day

My liege, I did deny no prisoners.

My lord, you told me you would tell the rest

My mind to me a kingdom is.

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun

My mother, when I learned that thou wast dead
Mysterious night! when our first parent knew

Naked on parents' knees, a new-born child.
Nature is made better by no mean
Nay, you wrong her, my friend

Needy knife-grinder, whither are you going?
Night is fair Virtue's immemorial friend
No abbey's gloom, nor dark cathedral stoops
No! is my answer from this cold bleak ridge
No man is lord of any thing

No more, no more, Oh! never more on me
Northward he turneth through a little door
No screw, no piecer can.

No splendor 'neath the sky's proud dome
Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note
Not mine own fears nor the prophetic soul
Nonght loves another like itself

November chill blaws loud wi' angry sugh
Now deeper roll the maddening drums
Now haud your tongue.

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CANNING.
YOUNG

BYRON
KEATS
HERRICK
PATMORE.

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Now ponder well, you parents dear
Now wol I turn unto my tale agen

O Brignall Banks are wild and fair

O dark, dark, dark, amid the blaze of noon O dear, dear Jeanie Morrison!

O divine star of heaven

O draw me, Father, after thee

O'er the glad waters of the dark blue sea O'er western tides the fair spring day

Of a' the airts the wind can blaw

Of all the rides since the birth of time

Of Nelson and the North

O for my sake do you with fortune chide
Often trifling with a privilege

Oft in the stilly night

Of truth, of grandeur, beauty, love, and hope

Oft when returning with her loaded bill

O heavens, if you do love old men

O heard ye yon pibroch sound sad in the gale?
Oh, go not yet, my love

Oh, have ye na heard o' the fause Sakelde

Oh, how much more doth beauty beauteous seem.
Oh, lovely Mary Donnelly, it's you I love the best
O how canst thou renounce the boundless store
O how feeble is man's power.

Oh, weel may the boatie row

OI have passed a miserable night

O joy hast thou a face

O keeper of the sacred key

O listen, listen, ladies gay

Old wine to drink

O Lord, in me there lieth nought

O messenger, art thou the king, or 1?.

O my luve's like a red, red rose.
Once git a smell o' musk into a draw
Once more, Cesario

Once we built our fortress where you see
On the mountain peak.

O never rudely will I blame his faith

One day, nigh weary of the irksome way
On Linden, when the sun was low

O Proserpina.

Or if the soul of proper kind.

Orpheus with his lute made trees

O Sacred Providence, who from end to end

O than the fairest day thrice fairer night
O that last day in Lucknow fort

O that we now had here

O the days are gone when beauty bright

O then what soul was his, when, on the tops

O then I see Queen Mab hath been with you

O thou goddess

O thou who in the heavens dost dwell

O thou that swing'st upon the waving ear O! 'tis wondrous much

Our boat to the waves go free

Our brethren of New England use

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501

2-9

SHAKSPEARE .

521

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Our bugles sang truce; for the night cloud had lowered CAMPBELL

Our revels now are ended

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BURNS

SCOTT

ANONYMOUS. POPE.

SCOTT

482

336

354

271

450

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Praise to God, immortal praise.

Queen Bonduca, I do not grieve your fortune

MRS. BARBAULD.

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– Oh, my

sire!

Sweep ho! Sweep ho!

Sweet country life, to such unknown

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 increaseth 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 untamable 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.

Stern daughter of the voice of God,
Still to be neat, still to be drest

Sven Vonved binds his sword to his side.

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

Sweet scented flower, who art wont to bloom.

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BEN JONSON

196

SHAKSPEARE.

HERBERT

LOVELACE

SHAKSPEARE

444

181

63

441

HERRICK.

190

WORDSWORTH

42

DRAYTON

130

D. A. WASSON

198

E. WALLER

73

SCOTT

415

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