pp. 324 121

"Come, let us fight, my boy!" said one

Come, Sleep! but mind ye! if you come without

Death, in approaching, brings me sleep so sound
Death of the year! wilt thou be also mine,
Death stands above me, whispering low
Death, tho' I see him not, is near

Deem me not sad and sorrowful.

Deep forests hide the stoutest oaks;

Derwent! Winander! sweetest of all sounds
Descend, ye Muses, one and all, .
Deserted in our utmost need

Did I then ask of you why one so wise
Dishonour'd thou hast been, but not debased
Dispenser of wide-wasting woe
Disturbers of the earth! who make

Do and permit whate'er you will.
Doctor'd by Bacon and Montaigne
Does it become a girl so wise,

Does your voice never fail you in singing a song
Dolcino was pursued with fire and sword,

Dost thou not often gasp with long-drawn sighs
"Do you remember me? or are you proud ?"
Dull is my verse: not even thou

153

156

79

268

II

232

246

171

222

5

132

172

292

178

194 270

122

234

345

Fair Love! and Fairer Hope! we play'd together,
Fair maiden! when I look at thee

Faithfullest of a faithful race,

Fast fall the leaves: this never says

Fate! I have askt few things of thee,.

"Fear God!" says Percival: and when you hear
Fear not my frequent verse may raise
Few poets beckon to the calmly good,
Fill me the beaker!

Firmer the tree when winter whirls the leaves;
First-born of all creation! yet unsung!
First bring me Raffael, who alone hath seen
Flatter me not with idle tales of youth,
Flies have alighted on the shanks of Pan,
Flowers may enjoy their own pure dreams of bliss.
Flow, precious tears! thus shall my rival know
Forget thee? when? Thou biddest me? dost thou
Forster! you who never wore

240

Friends! hear the words my wandering thoughts would say,
From heaven descend two gifts alone;

286

20

Forster! whose zeal hath seiz'd each written page
Friend Jonathan, for friend thou art,

From immemorial time

From leaves unopen'd yet, those eyes she lifts,

From yonder wood mark blue-eyed Eve proceed:
From you, Ianthe, little troubles pass

G.

Gale of the night our fathers call'd thee, bird!
Genius and Virtue! dismal was the dearth

Germany! thou art indeed to the bard his Hercynian forest

God scatters beauty as he scatters flowers

God's laws declare

God's servant, Milton's friend! what higher praise

Gone! thou too, Nancy! why should Heaven remove
Go on, go on, and love away

Go then to Italy; but mind
Graceful Acacia! slender, brittle,
Gracefully shy is yon Gazelle :
Graver songs I fain would sing: .
Grief is unquiet, and no less
Guyon! thy praises few dare sing,

Happy the man for whom arose that sigh,

Hare! thou art sleeping where the sun strikes hot

Hark! 'tis the laugh of Spring: she comes,

Hasten, O hasten, poet mine

Hast thou forgotten, thou more vile

Have I not seen thee, little hoof, before

Have I, this moment, led thee from the beach

Hearts must not sink at seeing Law lie dead;
Hereditary honours who confers?

Here, ever since you went abroad,

Here lies our honest friend Sam Parr,

Here stands a civil man, John Hickes,

Here, where precipitate Spring, with one light bound
Heron! of grave career! whose lordly croaks
He says, My reign is peace, so slays

He who hath piled these verses o'er thy head
He whom the Fates forbid to dwell

He who sees rising from some open down
High names, immortal names, have women borne ;
History lies wide open: the first page

How calm, how bland, appears the moon above us!
How calm, O life, is thy decline!

How gladsome yet how calm are ye

How many ages did the planets roll

How many voices gaily sing

How often, wherr life's summer day
How soon, alas, the hours are over,
Humble flower! the gift of Rose !
Humblest among the vernal train,

Hungarians! raise your laurel'd brows again,

I.

I am not learned in such lore divine; .
Ianthe! you are call'd to cross the sea!
Iberians, Belgians, Gauls! ye rage in vain,
I can not tell, not I, why she
I can not very plainly tell.
I come to visit thee again

I dare not trust my pen, it trembles so,
Idle and light are many things you see
Idol of youths and virgins, Moore !
I do not think that praises ever

I draw with trembling hand my doubtful lot;
I entreat you, Alfred Tennyson,

I fear a little girl I know;

If flowers could make their wishes vocal, they

If hatred of the calm and good, .

If in the summer-time, O guest, .
If mutable is she I love,

If that old hermit laid to rest

If you are not a poet you may live

If you no longer love me,

If you please we'll hear another.

If, when a man has thrown himself on flowers,
If wits and poets, two or three,

I have but little wit, all they

I held her hand, the pledge of bliss

I hope indeed ere long

I know not whether I am proud,

I leave, and unreluctant, the repast:

I leave for you to disunite.

I leave thee, beauteous Italy! no more

I leave the table: take my place,

I leave with unreverted eye the towers

I love to hear that men are bound

I love to wander, both in deed and thought,

"I'm half in love," he who with smiles hath said,

I may not add to youth's brief days,

In age the memory, as the eye itself,
In brighter days the Dorian Muse

In Clementina's artless mein
Incline, O Mary, from thy throne
In Czartoryski I commend .
Indweller of a peaceful vale,
In early spring, ere roses took

I near the back of Life's dim stage

I never knew but one who died for love,

Ipsley! when hurried by malignant fate

I rais'd my eyes to Pallas, and she laught.
Ireland never was contented

I remember the time ere his temples were grey,

I sadden while I view again

I saw the arrow quit the bow

I saw upon his pulpit-perch

I see in you not greatly more
Is it no dream that I am he
Is it not better at an early hour.
It is deplorable to fear an enemy,
It is not envy, it is fear

It often comes into my head

It often happens a bad pun .

I told ye, since the prophet Milton's day
It seems, whenever we are idle,

It was a dream (ah! what is not a dream ?)

It was no dull tho' lonely strand

I value not the proud and stern .
I've never seen a book of late
I very much indeed approve
I wander o'er the sandy heath
I was not young when first I met
I well remember one departed now,
"I will invite that merry priest."
I will not call her fair,

I will not, dare not, look behind,
I wonder not that Youth remains
I would give something, O Apollo !
I would invoke you once again, .