INDEX OF FIRST LINES

Ae fond kiss, and then we sever, 311.
Ah! what a weary race my feet have run, 178.
All in a garden, on a currant bush, 201.
All in the Downs the fleet was moored, 80.
And are ye sure the news is true, 230.
And did those feet in ancient time, 340.
As once-if not with light regard, 162.
A spacious hive, well stocked with bees, 14.
As some lone miser, visiting his store. 212.
Aumont went out, and stood in the hollow porch, 331.

Awake, Eolian lyre, awake, 187.

Awake, my St. John! leave all meaner things, 42.

Behold in awful march and dread array. 9.
Beneath the south side of a craigy bield, 87.
Beneath yon ruined abbey's moss-grown piles, 174.
Be this, you rural magistrates, your plan, 234.
Britons! this night presents a state distressed, 128.
But see! the fading many-coloured woods, 104.
By the blue taper's trembling light, 83.

Can I forget the dismal night that gave, 82.
Can I see another's woe, 325.

Christ the Lord is risen to-day, 141.

Close to those walls where Folly holds her throne, 71.
Come, gentle Spring, ethereal mildness, come, 101.
Come gie's a sang, Montgomery cried, 236.
Come, O thou Traveller unknown, 143.

Daughter of Jove, relentless power, 181.

Dear Chloe, how blubbered is that pretty face, 13.
Deem not devoid of elegance the sage, 177.
Dispersed through every copse or marshy plain, 127.]
Dubius is such a scrupulous good man, 258.
Duncan Gray cam here to woo, 311.

England, with all thy faults, love thee still, 262.
Evening! as slow thy placid shades descend, 276.
Exert thy voice, sweet harbinger of Spring, 74.

Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes, 303.
Forever running an enchanted round, 100.
Fresh from the dewy hill, the merry year, 319.
Fret not thyself, thou glittering child of pride, 226.
Fruitless is the attempt by dull obedience, 152.

Gemmed o'er their heads the mines of India gleam, 126.

Hail hieroglyphic state-machine, 7.
Hail, thrice hail!

Ye solitary seats, 159.
Hark! how all the welkin rings, 139.

Hark! 'tis the twanging horn! O'er yonder bridge, 264.
Ha! whare ye gaun, ye crowlin ferlie, 284.

Her cap, far whiter than the driven snow, 130.

Here lies our good Edmund, whose genius was such, 224.
Here on this verdant spot, where nature kind, 123.
His eyes, in gloomy socket taught to roll, 205.

How poor, how rich, how abject, how august, 117.
How sleep the brave who sink to rest, 160.

How would the sons of Troy, in arms renowned, 40.
H, thou return'st from Thames, whose Naiads long, 168.
Hush! my dear, lie still and slumber, 21.

I am nae poet, in a sense, 286.

If aught of oaten stop, or pastoral song, 161.

If clothed in black you tread the busy town, 79.

If Heaven the grateful liberty would give, 1.

I lang hae thought, my youthful friend, 295.

I love to rise in a summer morn, 337.

I'm wearin' awa', John, 346.

In each she marks her image full expressed, 72.

In evil long I took delight, 256.

In full-blown dignity see Wolsey stand, 198.

In man, the more we dive, the more we see, 119.
In such a night, when every louder wind, 75.
In vain, in vain-the all-compelling hour, 73.
In Virgine the sweltrie sun gan sheene, 242.
I rue the day, a rueful day I trow, 76.

I saw a Monk of Charlemaine, 342.

I see, I see, swift bursting through the shade, 244.

Is there a whim-inspired fool, 297.

Is there for honest poverty, 314.

Is this a holy thing to see, 335.

I've heard them lilting, at our ewe-milking, 204.
I wander through each chartered street, 338.

I was a stricken deer that left the herd, 264.

I went to the Garden of Love, 336.

I would not enter on my list of friends, 269.

Jesu, lover of my soul, 142.

John Anderson, my jo, John, 300.

Know then thyself, presume not God to scan, 49.

Last May a braw wooer cam down the lang glen, 315.
Life is a jest, and all things show it, 81.

Little fly, 334.

Little lamb, who made thee, 321.

Live ever here, Lorenzo? shocking thought! 117.
Lords, knights, and squires, the numerous band, 11.
Lovely, lasting peace of mind, 85.

My loved, my honoured, much respected friend, 287.
My mother bore me in the southern wild, 322.

Naught loves another as itself, 336.

Near some fair town I'd have a private seat, 1.
Nothing so true as what you once let fall, 53.
Not with more glories in th' ethereal plain, 32.
Now mirk December's dowie face, 232.
Now the golden Morn aloft, 196.

Now the storm begins to lower, 194.

Obscurest night involved the sky, 274.

O'er Cornwall's cliffs the tempest roared, 176.

O God, our help in ages past, 20.

O happy shades! to me unblest, 259.

Oh blind to truth, and God's whole scheme below, 49.

Oh for a lodge in some vast wilderness, 261.

Oh, happy he who never saw the face, 121.

O Mary, at thy window be, 277.

O mortal man, who livest here by toil, 110.
O, my luv is like a red, red rose, 301.

O Nature, whom the song aspires to scan, 125.

Once I remember well the day, 150.

On these white cliffs, that calm above the flood, 276.

O synge untoe mie roundelaie, 240.

O that those lips had language! Life has passed, 269.
Our mirthful age, to all extremes a prey, 148.

O, wert thou in the cauld blast, 316.

O, Willie brew'd a peck o' maut, 303.

O Winter! bar thine adamantine doors, 319.
O ye wha are sae guid yoursel', 298.

Pensive beneath a spreading oak I stood, 81.
Piping down the valleys wild, 320.
Pity religion has so seldom found, 257.
Pomposo, insolent and loud, 205.
Poor, little, pretty, fluttering thing, 13.

Rock of Ages, cleft for me, 235.
Ruin seize thee, ruthless king, 190.

Scenes that soothed or charmed me young, 260.
Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled, 313.

See yonder hallowed fane;-the pious work, 146.
Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 302.

Shut, shut the door, good John! fatigued, I said, 57.

Silent Nymph, with curious eye, 92.

Spare, generous victor, spare the slave, 12.

Stay your rude steps! whose throbbing breasts infold, 317.

Strong is the lion-like a coal, 210.

Such blessings Nature pours, 114.

Sweet Auburn! loveliest village of the plain, 214.

Sweet dreams, form a shade, 322.

Sweet stream, that winds through yonder glade, 259.

The boddynge flourettes bloshes atte the lyghte, 238.

The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, 183.

The daughters of [the] Seraphim led round their sunny flocks, 326.