I go, sweet friends! yet think of me
It was a summer evening

I would not be

I never cast a flower away

I saw him on the battle eve

I made a mountain brook my guide
I will not call thee fair, Mary

I'll tell thee the hour I love the best

Is she not beautiful? reposing there
I look'd upon his brow-no sign

I climbed the dark brow of the mighty Helvellyn
I loved thee, daughter of my heart

I do not love thee 1-no! I do not love thee!

I bid thee to my mystic feast

I would I were the light fern growing

. 246

I see a city of the East

. 247

In a brave old house dwells Magdalene

. 261

I looked on the field where the battle was spread

. 293

Look on that flower-the daughter of the vale

. 130

Leave me, oh! leave me !-unto all below

. 298

My sweet one, my sweet one, the tears were in my

eyes

. 205

xviii

TABLE OF FIRST LINES.

My baby my poor little one! thou'st come a winter

flower

Mournfully, sing mournfully

"My birthday"-what a different sound Memorial frail of youthful years

My mother's grave, my mother's grave

Noble spirit! hast thou fled

Oh! where is love?

O earliest singer! O care-charming bird !
O were my love a bee

Page.

Oh, beautiful is youth'

Oh! how could fancy crown with thee.
O thou vast Ocean! ever-sounding sea!
Our task is done!-on Gunga's breast
Oh it is pleasant with a heart at ease
O let me give my heart away
Oh, weep no more, sweet mother

Of Nelson and the North

Oh, the days are gone when beauty bright
Oh! lightly, lightly tread

O, breathe no more that simple air

O think it not strange that my soul is shaken

Pansies, lilies, kingcups, daisies

30

39

48

76

80

. 95

104

. 157

. 180

. 181

. 209

244

. 332

. 341

194

Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean-roll!

. 46

River, that rollest by the ancient walls

. 288

Remember me, when summer friends surround thee. 319

Summer is with us in its pomp and power

. 21

Sister, thou art fled!

32

38

Spirit that breathest through my lattice, thou

Shall the harp then be silent, when he who first gave 69

Syren of sullen woods and fading hues
Sing-who sings

So ends Childe Harold his last pilgrimage!
Slumber lie soft on thy beautiful eye!.

Page.

'Tis past! we've learned to live apart

26

The night wind moans around me: there's a mood

The way was long, the wind was cold.

54

. 109

There was a sound of a revelry by night
There was a soft enchantment in her eye
There's a white stone placed upon yonder tomb
There is no memory of his fate.

"Twas a lovely thought to mark the hours
The thought of early death was in my heart
Thine is a strain to read among the hills
The boy stood on the burning deck

"Twas the battle field, and the cold pale moon

. 122

. 141

. 150 155

. 158 . 160

. 172

. 175

The moon is up, and yet it is not night

. 187

The Moslem star was on the wane
There is an evening twilight of the heart
"Tis time this heart should be unmoved
There be none of beauty's daughters
The spirit's land!-where is that land
Two solemn voices, in a funeral strain
The baron is feasting in lighted hall
There is a mystic thread of life.
Thou hast a charmed cup, O Fame!

. 227

. 230

. 233

. 240

. 242

. 250

. 253

. 258

272

There's not a joy the world can give like that it takes

away.

. 278

They tell me, gentle lady, that they deck thee for a bride

. 283

'Tis night, 'tis night! the hour of hours.

. 286

The willow shade is on the ground

. 290

The leaf floats by upon the stream

. 296

The fountains mingle with the river

The masters of the earth have died

. 308

. 327

Page.

Thou art not silent !-oracles are thine

. 330

They are flown

The pilgrim fathers-where are they?
There is a sweetness in woman's decay

Tears on thy bridal morning! tears, my love!
The sun went down in beauty-not a cloud
The bride is dead! the bride is dead! .

Under what beechen shade, or silent oak

When the voices are gone

We have been friends together

What hid'st thou in thy treasure-caves and cells

Whither, 'midst falling dew

Where shall we make her grave?

. 124

What know we of the glorious sights which bless an

When the tree of love is budding first

When last I gazed, fair Tivoli

Welcome! thrice welcome to my heart, sweet har

276

. 279

Yes! this is death, but in its fairest form

. 329

THE

HARP OF THE WILDERNESS.

TO AN ABSENT ONE.

MISS JEWSBURY.

Oh! 'tis the curse of absence, that our love
Becomes too sad, too tender, too profound,
For all our far off friends.

Wilson.

SUMMER is with us in its pomp and power,
Placing the green crown on the forest trees,
And woodland music, like a gushing shower
Mingled with flower-scents, floats upon the breeze;
Summer is with us brightening every brow,
And thrilling every heart,-but where art thou?

Thou being formed of love, and song, and smiles, Linked by thy genius to the stars of heaven, Yet linked again by woman's gentle wiles,

To lowlier blessings that to earth are given; The tremulous blossom, the sweet-laden bee, And the lone streamlet-they too emblem thee.

A