EVER let the Fancy roam,

FAIR Isabel, poor simple Isabel!

Fame, like a wayward girl, will still be coy

ii 177

Fanatics have their dreams, wherewith they weave ii 131
Four seasons fill the measure of the year;
Fresh morning gusts have blown away all fear.
Full many a dreary hour have I past,

GIVE me a golden pen, and let me lean

Gloucester, no more.

ii 158

i

38

i 62

I will behold that Bou-

Glory and loveliness have pass'd away;
Go no further; not a step more; thou art
God of the golden bow,

Good Kosciusko, thy great name alone
Great spirits now on earth are sojourning;
Grievously are we tantalised one and all-

HAD I a man's fair form, then might my sighs. i

Hadst thou liv'd in days of old,

Happy, happy glowing fire!

Happy is England! I could be content

i

64

Hast thou from the caves of Golconda, a gem
Haydon! forgive me that I cannot speak.
Hearken, thou craggy ocean pyramid !
Hence Burgundy, Claret, and Port,
Here all the summer could I stay,
High-mindedness, and jealousy for good, .
How fever'd is the man, who cannot look
How many bards gild the lapses of time! .
Hush, hush! tread softly! hush, hush my dear !

I had a dove and the sweet dove died;

I CRY your mercy-pity-love !—aye, love!

PAGE

ii 236

ii 195

I stood tip-toe upon a little hill,

i 5

If by dull rhymes our English must be chained,
If shame can on a soldier s vein-swoll'n front

ii 232

ii 321

ii 176

In a drear-nighted December,

In the wide sea there lives a forlorn wretch,
In thy western halls of gold

It keeps eternal whisperings around

JUST at the self-same beat of Time's wide wings ii 113

KEEN, fitful gusts are whisp'ring here and there i 59
King of the stormy sea!

Lo! I must tell a tale of chivalry;

Love in a hut, with water and a crust,

i 197

MANY the wonders I this day have seen :
Mortal that thou may'st understand aright,
Mother of Hermes! and still youthful Maia !
Much have I travell'd in the realms of gold,
Muse of my native land! loftiest Muse!
My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My spirit is too weak-mortality

NATURE withheld Cassandra in the skies,

ii 211

No more advices, no more cautioning;

ii 260

PAGE

No, no, go not to Lethe, neither twist,

ii 97

No! those days are gone away,

ii 93

Now, Ludolph! Now, Auranthe! Daughter

ii 275

fair!

Now we may lift our bruised vizors up,

ii 323

Now Morning from her orient chamber came,
Not Aladdin magian

Nymph of the downward smile and sidelong
glance,

i 56

O CHATTERTON! how very sad thy fate!.
O for enough life to support me on

ii 152

ii 303

O Goddess: hear these tuneless numbers,

ii 84

wrung.

O soft embalmer of the still midnight,

O golden tongued Romance, with serene lute!
O my poor boy! my son! my son! my
Ludolph!

206

i 130
ii 181

O Solitude! if I must with thee dwell,

O Sorrow,.

O sovereign power of love! O grief! O balm !
O that a week could be an age, and we
O that the earth were empty, as when Cain
O thou whose face hath felt the winter's wind,
O thou whose mighty palace roof doth hang
were I one of the Olympian twelve,

O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,

Oft have you seen a swan superbly frowning,
Oh! how I love on a fair summer's eve,
Oh! I am frighten'd with most hateful

One morn before me were three figures seen,
Over the Hill and over the Dale,

PAGE
ii 218

ii 189

PENSIVE they sit, and roll their languid eyes,
Physician Nature! let my spirit blood!

ii 232

ii 216

READ me a lesson, Muse, and speak it loud

ii 208

ST. AGNES' Eve—Ah, bitter chill it was!
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Shed no tear-O shed no tear !

Small busy flames play through the fresh laid
coals,

So I am safe emerged from these broils!
Son of the old moon-mountains African!
Souls of Poets dead and gone,

Spenser ! a jealous honourer of thine,
Spirit here that reignest!.

Standing aloof in giant ignorance,

Still very sick, my Lord; but now I went.
Sweet are the pleasures that to verse belong,

ii 241

ii 179

ii 92

ii 152

ii 175

ii 171

ii 295

i 35

The stranger lighted from his steed,

THE church bells toll'd a melancholy round,
The day is gone, and all its sweets are gone!
The poetry of earth is never dead:

ii 194

ii 192

The sun, with his great eye,

The town, the churchyard, and the setting sun, .
There are who lord it o'er their fellow-men

There is a charm in footing slow across a silent

plain,

There was a naughty Boy,

Think not of it, sweet one, so ;-

This mortal body of a thousand days

This pleasant tale is like a little copse:
Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness,
Thus in alternate uproar and sad peace,

Time's sea hath been five years at its slow ebb,
'Tis the witching hour of night,

To-night I'll have my friar-let me think
To one who has been long in city pent,

UNFELT, unheard, unseen,

Upon a Sabbath-day it fell;

Upon a time, before the faery broods

PAGE

ii 204

ii 198

ii 163

ii 203

ii 160

ii 82

ii 126

ii 195

ii 209

WAS ever such a night?

.

Welcome joy, and welcome sorrow,
Well, well, I know what ugly jeopardy
What can I do to drive away
What is more gentle than a wind in summer?
What though for showing truth to flatter'd state,
What though while the wonders of nature ex-
ploring,

When by my solitary hearth I sit,

When I have fears that I may cease to be
When wedding fiddles are a-playing,
Where be you going, you Devon maid?
Where is my noble herald?

Where's the Poet? show him, show him,