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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 lie

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 happed 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

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HERRICK.
BROWNING
BURNS
BYRON.

TENNYSON

SCOTT

123

232

180

126

462

514

BYRON

283

SHAKSPEARE

511

SHAKSPEARE

265

SHELLEY

46

3

355

147

276

LOWELL

235

BEN JONSON

433

CHAUCER

60

SHAKSPEARE

62

WORDSWORTH

223

101

384

BURNS

518

LONGFELLOW

280

LONGFELLOW

11

TENNYSON

381

MILTON.

187

W. CONGREVE

133

WORDSWORTH

33

PATMORE

59

SCOTT

411

N. P. WILLIS

57

BYRON.

277

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John Anderson, my jo, John

John Brown in Kansas settled like a steadfast
Just for a handful of silver he left us

King Ferdinand alone did stand one day upon the hill LOCKHART'S SPANISH BAL-

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Life and thought have gone away
Life, I know not what thou art

Life may be given in many ways
Light-winged smoke! Icarian bird

Like a poet hidden

Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore.

Like to the clear in highest sphere.

Lithe and listen, gentlemen."

Little I ask, my wants are few

Little was King Laurin

Lochiel, Lochiel, beware of the day
"Lo," quoth he, "Cast up thine eye"
Lo! on his far resounding path

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 cry, "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's 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 inade 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 the lord of any thing.

No more, no more, Oh! never more on me
Northward he turneth through a little door
No screw, no piercer 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
Nought loves another as itself

November chill blaws lond wi' angry sugh
Now deeper roll the maddening drums
Now hand your tongue

Now is the time for mirth

Now is the winter of our discontent.

Now Nature hangs her mantle green

Now overhead a rainbow bursting through

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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

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O-I 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 I?

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
Oh 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

Othon 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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289

SHAKSPEARE

521

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BUTLER

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

Our revels now are ended

Out upon it: I have loved

Out upon time, who will leave no more

O waly, waly, my gay goss-hawk

O waly, waly, up the bank

Oye wha are sae guid yoursel

Passion o' me! cried Sir Richard Tyrone.
Peace to all such

Pibroch of Donuil Dhu

Pleased we remember our august abodes
Praise to God, immortal praise .

Queen Bonduca, I do not grieve your fortune

Rambling along the marshes

Stern daughter of the voice of God

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Rabia, sick upon her bed

Rashly, And praised be rashness for it

Reason thus with life

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Remove yon skull from out the scattered heaps.

Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky.

BYRON
TENNYSON

Rise up, rise up, Xarifa! lay the golden cushion down LOCKHART

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 encreaseth rage

Silent, O Moyle, be the roar of thy water
Since I am coming to that holy room
Since our country our God—Oh, my
Since the sun

Sing, and let your song be new

Sing, O Goddess, the wrath, the ontamable 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

Still to be neat, still to be drest

Svend 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

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Sweet scented flower, who art wont to bloom

Take along with thee

Take, O take those lips away.

Teach me, my God and King

Tell me not, sweet, I am unkind.

Tell me where is fancy bred

Tell us, thou clear and heavenly tongue

Thanks for the lessons of this spot

That instrument ne'er heard.

That regal soul I reverence in whose eyes

That which her slender waist confined

The Abbot on the threshold stood

The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold.

The barge she sat in, like a burnished throne.

T. H. BAYLY

SHAKSPEARE

BEN JONSON
SHAKSPEARE
SPENSER
WHITTIER
SHAKSPEARE
KEATS

TENNYSON
BEN JONSON

MISS S. H. PALFREY
J. J. G. WILKINSON

WORDSWORTH

BEN JONSON

E. S. H.

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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 færy beam upon you

The feathered songster 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

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BRYANT

HERBERT

147

WORDSWORTH

191

BYRON.

42

BYRON

310

GEORGE WITHER

96

BURNS

95

SIR T. BROWNE

185

The night is past and shines the sun

J. T. TROWBRIDGE
BYRON

48

284

150

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The Lord descended from above

The melancholy days are come
The merry world did on a day

The minstrels played their Christmas tune
The moon is up, and yet it is not night
The Moorish king rides up and down
The muse doth tell me where to borrow

The muse, nae poet ever fand her
The night is come like to the day

The night is made for cooling shade.

The old man said, "Take thou this shield, my son" S. G. W

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

BEN JONSON
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

There is an island on a river lying

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods
There is a stream, I name not its name
There is a tide in the affairs of men

There is a Yew-tree, pride of Lorton Vale
There like a rich and golden pyramid
"There is no God,” the wicked saith
There's a flag hangs over my threshold
There where death's brief pang was quickest.
There was a boy; ye knew him well, ye cliffs
There was a king that much might

There was a laughing devil in his sneer
There was a sound of revelry by night

There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream.

Ther is right at the West side of Itaille

The sea rolls vaguely, and the stars are dumb
The shadow on the dial's face

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