The world forsaken, all its busy cares

The world is too much with us; late and soon
They, who have seen the noble Roman's scorn
This height a ministering angel might select
"This land of rainbows spanning glens whose walls
Tho' searching damps and many an envious flaw
Those old credulities, to nature dear

Though I beheld at first with blank surprise
Though joy attend thee orient at the birth.
Though many suns have risen and set

Though the torrents from their fountains

Thou look'st upon me, and dost fondly think

Thou sacred pile! whose turrets rise.
Three years she grew in sun and shower
Thy functions are ethereal

'Tis gone; with old belief and dream

PAGE

335

198

327

165

375
294

326

204

382

457

91

404

290

109

184

174

275

506

'Tis said, fantastic ocean doth enfold
To a good man of most dear memory

To appease the Gods; or public thanks to yield.
To barren heath, and quaking fen
"To every Form of being is assigned"
Too frail to keep the lofty vow
Toussaint, the most unhappy man of men !
Tradition, be thou mute! Oblivion, throw
Troubled long with warring notions
Two voices are there; one is of the sea

Up to the throne of God is borne
Up! up! my friend, and quit your books
Up with me! up with me into the clouds !
Uttered by whom, or how inspired, designed

Vallombrosa! I longed in thy shadiest wood
"Vallombrosa-I longed in thy shadiest wood

Well may'st thou halt, and gaze with brightening eye!
Well sang the bard, who called the grave, in strains

193

377

We pay a high and holy debt

505

We saw, but surely, in the motley crowd

413

We talked with open heart and tongue

435

We walked along, while bright and red

433

What aim had they, the pair of monks, in size

335

What aspect bore the man who roved or fled

352

What beast of chase hath broken from the cover?

301

What heavenly smiles! O Lady mine

44

What he, who 'mid the kindred throng

250

PAGE

"What is good for a bootless bene?"

"What know we of the blest above

446

284

278

287

What lovelier home could gentle fancy choose?
What though the Italian pencil wrought not here
What, you are stepping westward?"

Yea"
Whence that low voice? A whisper from the heart
When first, descending from the moorlands
When here with Carthage Rome to conflict came
When I have borne in memory what has tamed
When Ruth was left half desolate

"When soothing darkness spreads
When summer came

When, to the attractions of the busy world
Where are they now, those wanton boys?
Where be the noisy followers of the game
Where towers are crushed, and unforbidden weeds
Where will they stop, those breathing powers
While flowing rivers yield a blameless sport
While the poor gather round, till the end of time
Who is the happy warrior? Who is he

Who swerves from innocence, who makes divorce
Why cast ye back upon the Gallic shore
Why should we weep or mourn, angelic boy

Why, William, on that old grey stone
Within our happy castle there dwelt one
Within the mind strong fancies work.
With little here to do or see
With nodding plumes, and lightly drest

46

.

With sacrifice before the rising morn

Ye Apennines! with all your fertile vales
Ye lime-trees, ranged before this hallowed urn
Ye sacred nurseries of blooming youth!
Yes, it was the mountain echo

Ye Storms, resound the praises of your King!
Ye trees! whose slender roots entwine
Ye vales and hills whose beauty hither drew

221

359
510

330

266

117

625

528

72

116

308

342

178

196

386

444

363
308

504

421

38

161

82

293

151

315

472

202

150

270

339

511

THE END

Printed by R. & R. CLARK, LIMITED, Edinburgh.