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prisoned for nine months in Dublin, afterward edited the “Irishman," and in October, 1849, being implicated in an insurrectionary movement in Tipperary, fled to America. He was for three years connected with the New Orleans “Delta,” and died in that city in May, 1857.

Ode on the Centenary of Burns. Page 229. Miss CRAIG'S ode, which bore off the prize, offered by the directors of the Crystal Palace Company, from more than six hundred competitors, is one of the few prize poems which have possessed any poetical merit.

The Old Canoe. Page 247. All efforts to discover the authorship of this popular poem have been unavailing. It has been attributed to Albert Pike, but he disclaims it.

Revelry in India. Page 256. These lines are said to have been sung by a company of British officers stationed at a frontier post in India during a pestilence. It is also said that the author of them was the next victim.

The Countersign. Page 264. Concerning the authorship of “The Countersign,” we only know that it was written by a private in Company G of Stuart's Engineers, at Camp Lesley, near Washington, during the first year of the Rebellion. It seems too good to have been a first poem ; but it is to be feared that the chances of war made it the last, as it has never been claimed.

Sherman's March to the Sea. Page 265. Adjutant BYERS, Fifth Iowa Infantry, wrote this song while a prisoner at Columbia, S. C. General Sherman, to whom a copy of the lines was handed when he arrived at that place, so admired them that he sent for the author and attached him to his staff.

INDEX OF FIRST LINES.

PAGE.

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Accept, thou shrine of my dead saint
A cloud lay cradled near the setting sun
Afar in the desert I love to ride
Ah me! full sorely is my heart forlorn
A jolly fat friar loved liquor good store
Alas! how dismal is my tale.
Alas! the weary hours pass slow
A little elbow leans upon your knee
“All quiet along the Potomac,” they say
A monk, when his rites sacerdotal were o'er
And are ye sure the news is true ?
And there they sat, a popping corn
A supercilious nabob of the east

114
119

56
158
106
264
272
263
109

76
268
111

.

Backward, turn backward, O Time, in your flight
Behold this ruin! 'T is a skull
Busk ye, busk ye, my bonnie, bonnie bride
By Nebo's lonely mountain

224
201

52
249

the cup

Come a little nearer, Doctor,—thank you !-let me take

234
Come see the Dolphin's anchor forged; 't is at a white
heat now

146
Come to me, darling, I 'm lonely without thee

223

.

.

Dark lowers the night o'er the wide stormy main
Did you hear of the Widow Malone

94
153

England's sun was slowly setting, o'er the hills so far
away

253

Fair stood the wind for France
Far in a wild, unknown to public view
From the quickened womb of the primal gloom

10
37
177

Goe, soule, the bodie's guest

2

51

Hail, beauteous stranger of the grove!

87
Happy insect! ever blest
Happy the man who, void of cares and strife

32
Harness me down with your iron bands

204
Her suffering ended with the day

179
Hie

upon Hielands
How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood 115
Hol why dost thou shiver and shake

85
How little recks it where men lie

202

36

.

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I am dying, Egypt, dying
I am old and blind
I asked an aged man, with hoary hairs
I can not eat but little meat
I fill this cup to one made up
I gaed to spend a week in Fife
I have a son, a little son, a boy just five years old
I in these flowery meads would be
I loved thee long and dearly
I 'm often asked by plodding souls .
I 'm sittin' on the stile, Mary
In form and feature, face and limb
In good King Charles's golden days.
In slumbers of midnight the sailor-boy lay
In their ragged regimentals
I said to sorrow's awful storm
I sat with Doris, the shepherd maiden
It was the calm and silent night

217
252
90
18
138
142
139

23
190

78
155
269

71
131
220
116
221
180
65
123
152
226
248
103
186
258
265
267
232
68

INDEX TO FIRST LINES.

283

I weigh not fortune's frown or smile
I wish I were where Helen lies
I would not live alway, I ask not to stay

15
93
128

Last night among his fellow roughs
Life, I know not what thou art .
Like as the damask rose you see
Love me little, love me long
Love still has something of the sea

176
83
6

16

26

130
207
69

27

Methinks it is good to be here
Miss Flora McFlimsey, of Madison Square
Mourn, hapless Caledonia, mourn
My dear and only love, I pray
My life is like the summer rose
My mind to me a kingdom is
My prime of youth is but a frost of care
Mysterious Night! when our first parent knew .

118

1
9
99

Nearer, my God, to thee
Nigh to a grave that was newly made

199
175

181
125

44

O a dainty plant is the ivy green
O blithely shines the bonny sun
Of all the girls that are so smart
Oft has it been my lot to mark .
Old Grimes is dead; that good old man
On a lone barren isle, where the wild roaring billow
Only a baby small
Only waiting till the shadows
O say can you see, by the dawn's early light .
O the charge at Balaklava!
O then tell me, Shawn O'Ferrall
Our camp-fires shone bright on the mountain
Out of the clover and blue-eyed grass
Over the river they beckon to me
O waly, waly up the bank

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