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INDEX OF FIRST LINES

PAGE

Again at Christmas did we weave

241

All along the valley, stream that flashest white
And Willy, my eldest-born, is gone, you say, little
Anne

Ask me no more: the moon may draw the sea
As sometimes in a dead man's face
A still small voice spake unto me

215

42

144

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224

60

At Flores in the Azores Sir Richard Grenville lay.

194

Banner of England, not for a season, O banner of

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Come not, when I am dead

Come, when no graver cares employ

Comrades, leave me here a little, while as yet 'tis

early morn

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Could we forget the widow'd hour

'Courage!' he said, and pointed toward the land

219

149

144

108

20

233

89-

Deep on the convent-roof the snows
Doors, where my heart was used to beat

142

226

Dosn't thou 'ear my 'erse's legs, as they canters
awaäy?

114

Dost thou look back on what hath been

236

Do we indeed desire the dead

234

Flow down, cold rivulet, to the sea

PAGE

143

Glory of warrior, glory of orator, glory of song
Go not, happy day

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Half a league, half a league

207

Hapless doom of woman happy in betrothing

144

235

170

231

75

He past; a soul of nobler tone
Her arms across her breast she laid
Her eyes are homes of silent prayer
He rose at dawn and, fired with hope
He tasted love with half his mind
How pure at heart and sound in head

I built my soul a lordly pleasure-house
I climb the hill from end to end

224

238

II

240

I come from haunts of coot and hern.

103

I dream'd there would be Spring no more
I envy not in any moods

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I had a vision when the night was late
I have led her home, my love, my only friend
I hear the noise about thy keel
In her ear he whispers gaily

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In Love, if Love be Love, if Love be ours.
In those sad words I took farewell

54

151

219

165 158

223

I read, before my eyelids dropt their shade.
I see the wealthy miller yet

3

179

Is it, then, regret for buried time

226

I was the chief of the race he had stricken my father dead.

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Late, late, so late! and dark the night and chill.
Like souls that balance joy and pain

157

138

Love thou thy land, with love far-brought

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My good blade carves the casques of men
My love has talk'd with rocks and trees

140

238

Now fades the last long streak of snow

Of old sat Freedom on the heights
Oh yet we trust that somehow good

225

190

235

O Lady Flora, let me speak

Old Yew, which graspest at the stones
O let the solid ground

.

O living will that shalt endure

O love, what hours were thine and mine
O mighty-mouth'd inventor of harmonies
Once more the gate behind me falls
On either side the river lie.

One writes, that Other friends remain

O plump head-waiter at The Cock

O that 'twere possible

O thou that after toil and storm.

Our doctor had call'd in another, I never had seen

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Peace; come away: the song of woe.

Revered, beloved-O you that hold
Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky

Risest thou thus, dim dawn, again
Rivulet crossing my ground

PAGE

79

227 146

243

105

133

170

134

228

124

154

232

38

223

I

242

239

148

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Sweet is true love tho' given in vain, in vain

159

Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean

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The plain was grassy, wild and bare
The rain had fallen, the Poet arose
There rolls the deep where grew the tree

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131

227

The splendour falls on castle walls
The time draws near the birth of Christ
The wind, that beats the mountain, blows
This truth came borne with bier and pall
Tho' truths in manhood darkly join
'Tis well; 'tis something; we may stand

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Turn, Fortune, turn thy wheel and lower the proud 158

103

230

187

215

232

221

Unwatch'd, the garden bough shall sway

Waäit till our Sally cooms in, fur thou mun a'
sights to tell.

Wailing, wailing, wailing, the wind over land and sea
We left behind the painted buoy

We were two daughters of one race
What does little birdie say

Wheer 'asta beän saw long and meä liggin' 'ere
aloän?.

When Lazarus left his charnel-cave
When rosy plumelets tuft the larch
With blackest moss the flower-plots
With one black shadow at its feet
With weary steps I loiter on

PAGE

241

118

48

76

164

145

IIO

231

225

159

161

222

You ask me, why, tho' ill at ease

190

You might have won the Poet's name.

132

You must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear.

31

Printed by R. & R. CLARK, LIMITED, Edinburgh.

UNIFORMLY printed in Pott 8vo., with Vignette Titles by Sir NOEL PATON, T. WOOLNER, W. HOLMAN HUNT, Sir J. E. MILLAIS, ARTHUR HUGHES, etc. Engraved on steel. Bound in extra cloth. Pott 8vo. 2s. 6d. net each.

The Golden Treasury of the best Songs and Lyrical Poems in the English Language. Selected and arranged, with Notes, by FRANCIS TURNER PALGRAVE.

The Golden Treasury of the best Songs and Lyrical Poems in the English Language. Selected and arranged, with Notes, by

FRANCIS TURNER PALGRAVE. Second Series.

**The Two Series, in cloth box. 5s. net.

Lyric Love. An Anthology. Edited by W. WATSON.

Poet's Walk. An Introduction to English Poetry. Chosen and arranged by MOWBRAY MORRIS.

The Children's Garland from the best Poets.

arranged by COVENTRY PATMORE.

Selected and

The Children's Treasury of Lyrical Poetry. Arranged by

F. T. PALGRAVE.

The Jest Book. The choicest Anecdotes and Sayings. Selected and arranged by MARK LEMON.

The Fairy Book; the best Popular Fairy Stories. Selected and rendered anew by the Author of "JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN."

A Book of Golden Thoughts. By HENRY ATTWELL, "Knight of the Order of the Oak Crown."

The Sunday Book of Poetry for the Young.

arranged by C. F. ALEXANDer.

Selected and

Golden Treasury Psalter. Student's Edition. The Golden Treasury Psalter. Being an Edition with Briefer Notes of the Psalms Chronologically arranged. By FOUR FRIENDS.

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