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Daughter of Jove, relentless power
Daughter to that good earl, once President
Degenerate Douglas ! O the unworthy lord
Diaphenia like the daffadowndilly .
Doth then the world go thus, doth all thus move
Down in yon garden sweet and gay
Drink to me only with thine eyes
Duncan Gray cam here to woo



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Earl March look'd on his dying child
Earth has not anything to show more fair
Eternal Spirit of the chainless Mind
Ethereal minstrel ! pilgrim of the sky
Ever let the Fancy roam

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Fair Daffodils, we weep to see
Fair pledges of a fruitful tree
Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing
Fear no more the heat o' the sun
For ever, Fortune, wilt thou prove
Forget not yet the tried intent
Four Seasons All the measure of the year
From Harmony, from heavenly Harmony
From Stirling Castle we had seen
Full fathom five thy father lies .

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Gather ye rose-buds while ye may.
Gem of the crimson-colour'd Even
Go fetch to me a pint o' wine
Go, lovely Rose

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Hail to thee, blithe Spirit
Happy the man, whose wish and care
Happy those early days, when I
He that loves a rosy cheek
He is gone on the mountain
Hence, all you vain delights.
Hence, loathéd Melancholy
Hence, vain deluding Joys
How delicious is the winning
How happy is he born and taught.
How like a winter hath my absence been
How sleep the Brave who sink to rest
How sweet the answer Echo makes
How vainly men themselves amaze

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I am monarch of all I survey
I arise from dreams of Thee
I dream'd that as I wander'd by the way
If aught of oaten stop or pastoral song
If doughty deeds my lady please
I fear thy kisses, gentle maiden.

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If Thou survive my well-contented day.
If to be absent were to be
If women could be fair, and yet not fond
I have had playmates, I have had companions
I heard a thousand blended notes.
I met a traveller

from an antique land
I'm wearing awa', Jean.
In a drear-nighted December
In the downhill of life, when I find I'm declining
In the sweet

shire of Cardigan
I remember, I remember
I saw where in the shroud did lurk
It is a beauteous evening, calm and free.
It is not Beauty I demand
It is not growing like a tree
I travell’d among unknown men
It was a lover and his lass
It was a summer evening .
I've heard them lilting at our ewe-milking
I wander'd lonely as a cloud.
I was thy neighbour once, thou rugged Pile
I wish I were where Helen lies.


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John Anderson my jo, John
Lawrence, of virtuous father virtuous son.
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Life! I know not what thou art
Life of Life! Thy lips enkindle.
Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore.
Like to the clear in highest sphere
Love not me for comely grace
Lo! where the rosy-bosom'd Hours
Many a green isle needs must be
Mary! I want a lyre with other strings
Milton ! thou shouldst be living at this hour
Mine be a cot beside the hill
Mortality, behold and fear
Most sweet it is with unuplifted eyes.
Much have I travell'd in the realms of gold.
Music, when soft voices die
My days among the Dead are past .
My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My heart leaps up when I behold
My Love in her attire doth shew her wit
My lute, be as thou wert when thou didst grow
My thoughts hold mortal strife
My true-love hath my heart, and I have his
No longer mourn for me when I am dead
Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note
Not, Celia, that I juster am

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Now the golden Morn aloft
Now the last day of many days.
O blithe new-eomer! I have heard.
O Brignall banks are wild and fair.
Of all the girls that are so smart
Of a' the airts the wind can blaw
Of Nelson and the North
O Friend ! I know not which way I must look
Of this fair volume which we World do name.
Oft in the stilly night
O if thou knew'st how thou thyself dost harm
O listen, listen, ladies gay
O lovers' eyes are sharp to see
O Mary, at thy window be
O me! what eyes hath love put in my head.
O Mistress mine, where are you roaming
O my Luve's like a red, red rose
On a day, alack the day
On a Poet's lips I slept
Once did She hold the gorgeous East in fee
One more Unfortunate
O never say that I was false of heart
One word is too often profaned
On Linden, when the sun was low.
O saw ye bonnie Lesley
O say what is that thing call'd Light
O snatch'd away in beauty's bloom
O talk not to me of a name great in story.
Our bugles sang truce, for the night-cloud had loword.
Over the mountains
O waly waly up the bank
O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms
O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being
O World ! O Life! O Time.

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Pack, clouds, away, and welcome day
Phoebus, arise.
Pibroch of Donuil Dhu.
Poor Soul, the centre of my sinful earth
Proud Maisie is in the wood


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Queen and Huntress, chaste and fair
Rarely, rarely, comest thou
Ruin seize thee, ruthless King
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day.
Shall I, wasting in despair
She dwelt among the untrodden ways
She is not fair to outward view .
She walks in beauty, like the night

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She was a phantom of delight
Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea
Since there's no help, come let us kiss and part
Sleep on, and dream of Heaven awhile
Souls of Poets dead and gone
Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king
Star that bringest home the bee
Stern Daughter of the voice of God
Surprized by joy-impatient as the wind
Sweet, be not proud of those two eyes
Sweet Highland Girl, a very shower
Sweet stream, that winds through yonder glade
Swiftly walk over the western wave

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Take ( take those lips away
Tax not the royal Saint with vain expense
Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind
Tell me where is Fancy bred .
That time of year thou may'st in me behold
That which her slender waist confined
The curfew tolls the knell of parting day
The forward youth that would appear.
The fountains mingle with the river
The glories of our blood and state
The last and greatest Herald of Heaven's King
The lovely lass o' Inverness
The merchant, to secure his treasure :
The more we live, more brief appear
The poplars are fell’d, farewell to the shade
There be none of Beauty's daughters .
There is a flower, the Lesser Celandine
There is a garden in her face.
There's not a joy the world can give like that it takes away
There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream
The sun is warm, the sky is clear
The sun upon the lake is low
The twentieth year is well nigh past
The World is too much with us ; late and soon
The World's a bubble, and the Life of Man
They that have power to hurt, and will do none
This is the month, and this the happy morn
This Life, which seems so fair
Three years she grew in sun and shower
Thy braes were bonny, Yarrow stream
Thy hue, dear pledge, is pure and bright
Tinely blossom, Infant fair
Tired with all these, for restful death I cry
Toll for the Brave
To me, fair Friend, you never can be old
'Twas at the royal feast for Persia won
'Twas on a lofty vase's side
Two Voices are there, one is of the Sea

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Under the greenwood tree



Verse, a breeze 'mid blossoms straying
Victorious men of earth, no more

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Waken, lords and ladies gay .
Wee, sleekit, cow'rin', tim'rous beastie
Were I as base as is the lowly plain
We talk'd with open heart, and tongue
We walk'd along, while bright and red
We watch'd her breathing thro' the night
Whenas in silks my Julia goes
When Britain first at Heaven's command
When first the fiery-mantled Sun
When God at first made Man
When he who adores thee has left but the name
When icicles hang by the wall
When I consider how my light is spent
When I have borne in memory what has tamed
When I have fears that I may cease to be
When I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced
When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes
When in the chronicle of wasted time
When lovely woman stoops to folly
When Love with unconfinéd wings
When maidens such as Hester die .
When Music, heavenly maid, was young
When Ruth was left half desolate
When the lamp is shatter'd
When the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye at hame
When to the sessions of sweet silent thought
When we two parted
Where art thou, my beloved Son
Where shall the lover rest.
Where the remote Bermudas ride
While that the sun with his beams hot
Whoe'er she be
Why art thou silent ! Is thy love a plant
Why, Damon, with the forward day
Why so pade and wan, fond lover
Why weep ye by the tide, ladie
With little here to do or see .

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Ye banks and braes and streams around
Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon
Ye distant spires, ye antique towers
Ye Mariners of England
Yes, there is holy pleasure in thine eye
Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more
You meaner beauties of the night


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2. Clay, Sons, and Taylor, Printers

September, 1872.

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