If this ballad tells of a fact, then the young Sir Hugh was beguiled

out of his life by the dark beautiful Jewess in the year 1255. The

story comes from a monastery, and it is historically certain that the

wealthiest Jews of Lincoln were in this year crucified on this charge.

True or false, what a clear, pellucid picture the ballad builds up in

the imagination--the ancient town; the boys at their game; the narrow,

gabled, cobbled streets; the evening gold on roof and wall; night;

lamentation; and the clanging of the bells.

421. "EDWARD."

The spelling of this ballad usually begins "Why dois your brand sae

dripp wie bluid," and so on. This spelling Professor Child thought

"affectedly antique." But since, as he says, mere antiquated "spelling

will not make an old ballad, so it will not _un_make one." And "Edward"

in any guise is "one of the noblest" of the popular ballads. Here it

is, then, in our own spelling for proof.

422. "I WILL SING."

The king in the third line is James the Sixth of Scotland and the First

of England--the king, according to the old waggery, "who never said a

foolish thing and never did a wise one." But see Green. The "wanton

laird of young Logie" is John Wemyss who plotted against him with the

Earl of Bothwell in 1592. His bold, crafty and merry young wife, May

Margaret, says Mr. Sidgwick, had one of these four delectable maiden

names--Vinstar, Weiksterne, Twynstoun, or Twinslace. It is dubious

which.

All ladies in those old days carried knives at their girdles. The one

in stanza 8 was clearly a wedding gift. And to judge from the ballads,

doughty uses they sometimes put them to.

423. "FAIR ANNIE."

In the margins of Mr. Nahum's copy of this ballad, two exquisite

damosels were painted in green, blue and amethyst on gold (as in a

monk's work), and between their fingers hung a linen napkin seemingly

broidered with pearls and in the midst of it a sleeping dove. Whatever

he may have meant by this, I confess that at first reading I fell

in love with both these ladies. My feelings for the "noble knight"

who ransomed fair Annie, then wearied of her, were different. It

was strange to find a noble knight so hard a gentleman, not so much

because he wearied of her (since to weary of one so true, intelligent

and tender was even more of a punishment than a misfortune) but most

particularly, with regard to his craving for "gowd and gear." He

reminds me of a similar piece of humanity described in three short

stanzas which were found by Mr. Macmath written on the fly-leaf of a

little volume printed at Edinburgh about 1670, and which _I_ found in

Child's Ballads:

"He steps full statly on the street,

He hads the charters of him sell,

In to his cloathing he is complete,

In Craford's mure he bears the bell....

"I wish I had died my own fair death,

In tender age, when I was young;

I would never [then] have broke my heart

For the love of any churl's son.

"Wo be to my parents all,

That lives so farr beyond the sea!

I might have lived a noble life,

And wedded in my own countrée."

425. "BUT THINK NA' YE MY HEART WAS SAIR?"

(line 21)

Down in yon garden sweet and gay

Where bonnie grows the lily,

I heard a fair maid sighing say,

"My wish be wi' sweet Willie!"

"Willie's rare, and Willie's fair,

And Willie's wondrous bonny;

And Willie hecht to marry me

Gin e'er he married ony.

"O gentle wind, that bloweth south

From where my Love repaireth,

Convey a kiss frae his dear mouth

And tell me how he fareth!

"O tell sweet Willie to come doun

And hear the mavis singing,

And see the birds on ilka bush

And leaves around them hinging.

"The lav'rock there, wi' her white breast

And gentle throat sae narrow;

There's sport eneuch for gentlemen

On Leader haughs and Yarrow.

"O Leader haughs are wide and braid

And Yarrow haughs are bonny;

There Willie hecht to marry me

If e'er he married ony.

"But Willie's gone, whom I thought on,

And does not hear the weeping

Draws many a tear frae's true love's e'e,

When other maids are sleeping.

"Yestreen I made my bed fu' braid,

The night I'll mak' it narrow,

For a' the lee-lang winter night

I lie twined o' my marrow.

"O came ye by yon water-side?

Pu'd you the rose or lily?

Or came you by yon meadow green,

Or saw you my sweet Willie?"

She sought him up, she sought him down,

She sought him braid and narrow;

Syne, in the cleaving of a crag,

She found him drowned in Yarrow!

_Hecht_ (line 6) means vowed; _haughs_ are water-meadows; and to be

twined o' one's marrow, is to be separated from one's loved one.

427. THE TWA SISTERS.

Here is another ballad--"The Water o Wearie's Well,"--of a similar

pattern. But in this the drowner of the King's daughters himself finds

a "watery grave":

There came a bird out o a bush,

On water for to dine,

An sighing sair, says the king's daughter,

"O wae's this heart o mine!"

He's taen a harp into his hand,

He's harped them all asleep,

Except it was the king's daughter,

Who one wink couldna get.

He's luppen on his berry-brown steed,

Taen 'er on behind himsell,

Then baith rede down to that water

That they ca Wearie's Well.

"Wide in, wide in, my lady fair,

No harm shall thee befall;

Oft times I've watered my steed

Wi the water o Wearie's Well."

The first step that she steppèd in,

She stepped to the knee;

And sighend says this lady fair,

"This water's nae for me."

"Wide in, wide in, my lady fair,

No harm shall thee befall;

Oft times I've watered my steed

Wi the water o Wearie's Well."

The next step that she stepped in,

She stepped to the middle;

"O," sighend says this lady fair,

"I've wat my gowden girdle."

"Wide in, wide in, my lady fair,

No harm shall thee befall;

Oft times have I watered my steed

Wi the water o Wearie's Well."

The next step that she steppèd in,

She stepped to the chin;

"O," sighend says this lady fair,

"They sud gar twa loves twin!"

"Seven king's daughters I've drownd there,

In the water o Wearie's Well,

And I'll make you the eight o them,

And ring the common bell."

"Since I am standing here," she says,

"This dowie death to die,

One kiss o your comely mouth

I'm sure wad comfort me."

He louted him oer his saddle bow,

To kiss her cheek and chin;

She's taen him in her arms twa,

And thrown him headlong in.

"Since seven king's daughters ye've drowned there,

In the water o Wearie's Well,

I'll make you bridegroom to them a',

An ring the bell mysell."

And aye she warsled, and aye she swam,

And she swam to dry lan;

She thankèd God most cheerfully

The dangers she oercame.

428. "SWEET WILLIAM AND MAY MARGARET."

_Hermione._ Come Sir, now I am for you againe:

Pray you sit by us, and tell's a Tale.

_Mamillius_ (her son). Merry, or sad, shal't bee?

_Hermione._ As merry as you will.

_Mamillius._ A sad Tale's best for Winter:

I have one of Sprights, and Goblins.

_Hermione._ Let's have that, good Sir.

Come-on, sit downe, come-on, and doe your best

To fright me with your Sprights: you're powrefull at it.

_Mamillius._ There was a man....

_Hermione._ Nay, come sit downe: then on.

_Mamillius._ Dwelt by a Churchyard:

I will tell it softly,

Yond Crickets shall not heare it.

_Hermione._ Come on then, and giv't me in mine eare....

_The Winter's Tale_

429. "THAT BIRK GREW FAIR ENEUGH." (stanza 6)

The strangest feature of these ballads is that the stories they tell,

the customs, beliefs, lore they refer to, may be found scattered up and

down all over the world. In Russia, for one small instance, the birk or

birch tree is honoured in this fashion: A little before Whitsuntide,

says Sir James Fraser in _The Golden Bough_, the young women, with

dancing and feasting, cut down a living birch-tree, deck it with bright

clothes or hang it with ribbons; then set it up as an honoured guest in

one of the village houses. On Whit Sunday itself they fling it, finery

and all, into a stream for a charm.

And now for England: "Thirty years ago," says Mrs. Wright, "it was

still customary in some west-Midland districts to decorate village

churches on Whit Sunday with sprigs of birch stuck in holes bored in

the tops of the pews. I can remember this being done by an old village

clerk in Herefordshire, but when he was gathered to his fathers in the

same profession, the custom died with him." How happy must he have been

then--as happy as for that one evening was the Wife of Usher's Well

herself--to lift his eyes upon a silver birch brushing with its green

tresses the very gates of Paradise!

433. "A SPANGLE HERE."

Dew sate on Julia's haire,

And spangled too,

Like leaves that laden are

With trembling dew:

Or glittered to my sight,

As when the Beames

Have their reflected light,

Daunc't by the Streames.

ROBERT HERRICK

If the daisies are not to shut their eyes until Julia shut hers, should

they not most assuredly wait also until "dear love Isabella," shut

_hers_? She was the bosom friend and aunt of Marjorie Fleming, Sir

Walter Scott's little friend, who was born in 1803, and who, having

written her few tim-tam-tot little rhymes, died in 1811. And here is

Isabel:

Here lies sweet Isabell in bed,

With a night-cap on her head;

Her skin is soft, her face is fair,

And she has very pretty hair;

She and I in bed lies nice,

And undisturbed by rats or mice;

She is disgusted with Mr. Worgan,

Though he plays upon the organ.

Her nails are neat, her teeth are white,

Her eyes are very, very bright;

In a conspicuous town she lives,

And to the poor her money gives;

Here ends sweet Isabella's story,

And may it be much to her glory.

434.

Bunyan's "Comparison" for this poem runs thus:

Our Gospel has had here a Summers day;

But in its Sun-shine we, like Fools, did play,

Or else fall out, and with each other wrangle,

And did instead of work not much but jangle.

And if our Sun seems angry, hides his face,

Shall it go down, shall Night possess this place?

Let not the voice of night-Birds us afflict,

And of our mis-spent Summer us convict.

437.

From the "Songs of Innocence"; and this is from the "Songs of

Experience":

When the voices of children are heard on the green

And whisp'rings are in the dale.

The days of my youth rise fresh in my mind,

My face turns green and pale.

Then come home, my children, the sun is gone down,

And the dews of night arise;

Your spring and your day are wasted in play,

And your winter and night in disguise.

For to grow old and look back on one's childhood, though in much it

is a happy thing, may be also a thing full of dread and regret. The

old poets never wearied of bidding youth gather its roses, seize its

fleeting moments. But not all roses are fresh and fragrant in the

keeping, and "lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds."

440. "AFTERWARDS."

Every fine poem says much in little. It packs into the fewest possible

words--by means of their sound, their sense, and their companionship--a

wide or rare experience. So, in particular, with such a poem as this.

It tells of a man thinking of the day when he shall have bidden goodbye

to a world whose every live and lovely thing--Spring, hawk, evening,

wintry skies--he has dearly loved. And if what it tells of is to be

seen as clearly and truly as if it were before one's very eyes, it

must be read intently--all one's imagination alert to gather up the

full virtue of the words, and to picture in the mind each fleeting and

living object in turn.

As I write these lines I cannot refrain from suggesting how thankful we

should be to be living in a day when three great poets, who have been

long in the world, are adding to the riches of English poetry--Thomas

Hardy, Charles Doughty, and the Poet Laureate, Robert Bridges. It is

but a little while, too, since the death of that exquisite writer, and

lover of all things true and beautiful, Alice Meynell, and of W. H.

Hudson, who was no less a poet because he wrote not in verse but in

prose.

To compare the great things of one age with the great things of another

is an exceedingly difficult task (and to pit poet against poet, or

imagination against imagination, an exceedingly stupid one). But that

in Elizabeth's day England was indeed a "nest of singing birds" may

be realised by the fact that when Shakespeare was finishing his last

play, _The Tempest_, in the Spring, apparently, of 1611--when, that

is, he himself was aged 47 (and his Queen had been eight years dead),

Sir Walter Raleigh was 59, Anthony Munday 58, Samuel Daniel 49,

Michael Drayton 48, Thomas Campion 44, Thomas Dekker (?) 41, John Donne

and Ben Jonson were 38, John Fletcher was 32, Francis Beaumont 27,

William Drummond 26, John Ford 25, William Browne and Robert Herrick

20, Francis Quarles 19, George Herbert 18, Thomas Carew (?) 16, James

Shirley 15, and John Milton (and Sir John Suckling) were 2. It was

seven years before the birth of Richard Lovelace and Abraham Cowley,

ten before Marvell's, and eleven before Vaughan's. Edmund Spenser had

been twelve years dead, Sir Philip Sidney twenty-five--and Chaucer 211.

Two hundred and fifty years afterwards--in 1861--another great queen

was on the Throne, Victoria. It was the year in which the Prince

Consort died, and Edward, Prince of Wales, came of age. Nor was

England's garden silent then: for in that year William Barnes and

Cardinal Newman were 60, Edward Fitzgerald and Tennyson were 52, Robert

Browning 49, Charles Kingsley 42, Matthew Arnold 39, Coventry Patmore

38, William Allingham 37, Dante Gabriel Rossetti and George Meredith

were 33, Christina Rossetti was 31, William Morris 27, Algernon

Swinburne 24, Mr. Thomas Hardy was 21, Mr. Robert Bridges 17, Robert

Louis Stevenson 11, and Francis Thompson was 2. Other great writers, in

English, then alive were Carlyle, Thackeray, Dickens, Ruskin, Darwin

and Huxley; Emerson, Hawthorne, Longfellow and Walt Whitman. So the

strange flame of genius fitfully burns in this world. And 1611 knew as

little of 1861 as 1861 knew of 2111. (But would that 1923 could leave

to the future one-tenth part of such a legacy as did 1611--the English

Bible!)

But to return to Shakespeare. He was born in April 1564. About 1591

he wrote the first of his plays, _Love's Labour's Lost_. By 1611 he

had finished the last of them; 34 in all as they appear in the first

Folio, 37 as they now appear in the Canon. And apart from these, his

Poems. There followed a strange silence. On the 25th of March, 1616,

"in perfect health and memory (God be praised!)," he made his will.

On St. George's Day, 1616, he died. To reflect for a moment on that

brief lifetime, on that twenty years' work which is now a perennial

fountain of happiness, light and wisdom to the whole world, is to

marvel indeed. The life-giving secret of this supreme genius none can

tell. We know not even our own. But there is a story told by Thomas

Campbell: "It was predicted of a young man lately belonging to one of

our universities, that he would certainly become a prodigy because he

read sixteen hours a day. 'Ah, but,' said somebody, 'how many hours

a day does he _think_?' It might have been added, 'How many hours

does he feel?'" So of Shakespeare. As, then, said his old friends and

fellow-players, John Heminge and Henry Condell in their Preface to the

Folio: "Reade him, therefore; and againe, and againe: And if then you

doe not like him, surely you are in some manifest danger...."

441. "WITH SUCH A SKY."

It is a beauteous Evening, calm and free,

The holy time is quiet as a Nun

Breathless with adoration; the broad sun

Is sinking down in its tranquillity;

The gentleness of heaven broods o'er the Sea:

Listen! the mighty Being is awake,

And doth with his eternal motion make

A sound like thunder--everlastingly....

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

442. "SHEPHERDS ALL, AND MAIDENS FAIR, FOLD YOUR FLOCKS."

The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,

The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea,

The ploughman homeward plods his weary way,

And leaves the world to darkness and to me.

Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight,

And all the air a solemn stillness holds,

Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight.

And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds:...

These lines and the stanzas that follow them in the _Elegy in a Country

Churchyard_ are as familiar as any in English, and may be found in

almost every collection of poems. Here, "a figure on paper"--from a

letter to a friend written by the author of them, Thomas Gray, on

November 19, 1764, is a description--not of evening after the setting

of the sun--but of a sun-_rise_ as vivid as if one's own naked eye

had watched its "Levee":

I must not close my letter without giving you one principal event of

my history; which was, that (in the course of my late tour) I set out

one morning before five o'clock, the moon shining through a dark and

misty autumnal air, and got to the sea-coast time enough to be at the

Sun's Levee. I saw the clouds and dark vapours open gradually to right

and left, rolling over one another in great smoky wreathes, and the

tide (as it flowed gently in upon the sands) first whitening, then

slightly tinged with gold and blue; and all at once a little line of

unsufferable brightness that (before I can write these five words)

was grown to half an orb, and now to a whole one, too glorious to be

distinctly seen. It is very odd it makes no figure on paper; yet I

shall remember it, as long as the sun, or at least as long as I endure.

I wonder whether anybody ever saw it before? I hardly believe it."

So each day, one remembers, the sun rises, indeed is rising always

above _some_ watchful eye's horizon, and we come so to expect its

rising, and so to be assured of it, as though it were no less certain

than that twice two are four. But, in fact, it is only just certain

enough to prevent night from being a dreadful apprehension, and life

from becoming a mere routine. As Coleridge says in his _Table Talk_:

"Suppose Adam watching the sun sinking under the western horizon for

the first time; he is seized with gloom and terror, relieved by scarce

a ray of hope that he shall ever see the glorious light again. The next

evening, when it declines, his hopes are stronger, but still mixed with

fear; and even at the end of a thousand years, all that a man can feel

is a hope and an expectation so strong as to preclude anxiety."

... High among the lonely hills,

While I lay beside my sheep,

Rest came down and filled my soul,

From the everlasting deep.

Changeless march the stars above,

Changeless morn succeeds to even;

Still the everlasting hills

Changeless watch the changeless heaven....

CHARLES KINGSLEY

444. "THE CHILDREN ARE GOING TO BED."

Hush-a-ba, birdie, croon, croon,

Hush-a-ba, birdie, croon.

The Sheep are gane to the siller wood,

And the cows are gane to the broom, broom.

And it's braw milking the kye, kye,

It's braw milking the kye,

The birds are singing, the bells are ringing,

And the wild deer come galloping by, by.

And hush-a-ba, birdie, croon, croon,

Hush-a-ba, birdie, croon.

The Gaits are gane to the mountain hie,

And they'll no be hame till noon, noon.

This for the littlest ones, the cradle-creatures. But for the rest:

Boys and Girls, come out to play,

The Moon doth shine as bright as day;

Come with a whoop, come with a call,

Come with a goodwill or don't come at all;

Lose your supper and lose your sleep--

So come to your playmates in the street.

And if you should want actually to bring that Moon to earth, this is

how Quince managed it in _A Midsummer Night's Dream_:

THE REHEARSAL.

_Snout._ Doth the Moone shine that night wee play our

play?

_Bottom._ A Calender, a Calender, looke in the Almanack,

finde out Moone-shine, finde out Moone-shine.

_Quince._ Yes, it doth shine that night.

_Bottom._ Why then may you leave a casement of the great

chamber window (where we play) open, and

the Moone may shine in at the casement.

_Quince._ Ay, or else one must come in with a bush of

thorns and a lanthorne, and say he comes

to disfigure, or to present the person of

Moone-shine....

THE PLAY.

_Lysander._ Proceed, Moone.

_Moone._ All that I have to say, is to tell you, that the

Lanthorne is the Moone; I, the man in the

Moone; this thorne bush, my thorne bush;

and this dog, my dog....

And here is a stanza from a very old poem about that same "man in the

Moone":

Mon, in the mone, stond ant streit,

On is bot-forke is burthen he bereth:

Hit is muche wonder that he na down slyt,

For doute leste he valle he shoddreth ant shereth:

When the frost freseth muche chele he byd,

The thornes beth kene is hattren to-tereth;

Nis no wytht in the world that wot wen he syt,

Ne, bote hit bue the hegge, whet wedes he wereth.

which means, I gather, that

the Man in the Moon stands up there stark and still in her

silver, carrying his thornbush on his pitchfork. It's a marvel

he doesn't slide down; he's shuddering and shaking at the

thought of it. When the frost sharpens, he'll be frozen to his

marrow. The prickles stick out to tear his clothes; but nobody

in the world has seen him sit down, or knows apart from his

thornbush what he has on.

I see the Moon,

The Moon sees me;

God bless the sailors,

And bless me.

449. "THAT BUSY ARCHER." (line 4)

Though I am young and cannot tell

Either what Love or Death is well,

Yet I have heard they both bear darts

And both do aim at human hearts....

BEN JONSON

"ARE BEAUTIES THERE AS PROUD AS HERE THEY BE."

(line 11)

... The palace of her father the King, was on that side the Moon no

mortal sees, and of such an enchantment was her cold beauty that on

earth none resembles it. Yet all her flattery and pride was but to win

the idolatrous love of far-travelling Princes, or even of wanderers

of common blood; for the sake of that love and admiration only. And

many perished in those rock-bound deserts and parched and icy lunar

wildernesses on account of this proud damsel; before a strange fate

befell her....

Here, too, is a fragment (from a thirteenth century MS.), to be found

in _A Medieval Garner_:

"What shall we say of the ladies when they come to feasts? Each marks

well the other's head; they wear bosses like horned beasts, and if any

have no horns, she is a laughing stock for the rest. Their arms go

merrily when they come into the room; they display their kerchiefs of

silk and cambric, set on their buttons of coral and amber, and cease

not their babble so long as they are in the bower.... But however well

their attire be fashioned, when the feast is come, it pleases them

nought; so great is their envy now and so high grows their pride, that

the bailiff's daughter counterfeits the lady.'"

450. "SHE HATH NO AIR." (line 5)

--and that being so:

".... There will be no sounds on the moon.... Even a meteor shattering

itself to a violent end against the surface of the moon would make

no noise. Nor would it herald its coming by glowing into a 'shooting

star,' as it would on entering the earth's atmosphere. There will be

no floating dust, no scent, no twilight, no blue sky, no twinkling of

the stars. The sky will be always black and the stars will be clearly

visible by day as by night. The sun's wonderful corona, which no man on

earth, even by seizing every opportunity during eclipses, can hope to

see for more than two hours in all, in a long lifetime, will be visible

all day. So will the great red flames of the sun.... There will be no

life (since) for fourteen days there is continuous night, when the

temperature must sink away down towards the absolute cold of space.

This will be followed without an instant of twilight by full daylight.

For another fourteen days the sun's rays will bear straight down, with

no diffusion or absorption of their heat, or light, on the way...."

This is a matter-of-fact fragment out of "The Outline of Science,"

edited by Professor J. Arthur Thompson; but it would not be easy to say

exactly how in its magical _effect_ on the mind it differs from poetry.

Indeed, there can hardly be a quicker journey to the comprehension of

scientific fact than by way of the imagination. Moonless mountainous

Hesper, the Evening Star, is an even lovelier thing to watch shining in

the fading rose and green of sunset when we realise that at her most

radiant--a radiance that casts an earthly shadow even--it is but a

slim crescent of the planet that we see, a planet, too, almost sister

in magnitude to the earth, but whose briefer year is of an ardour

that might be happiness to fiery sprite and salamander, but would be

unendurable to watery creatures like ourselves. Nor could language be

used more scientifically (concisely, pregnantly and exactly), than in

the words _moving_, _human_, _mask_, in the following sonnet by John

Keats--a sonnet written in mortal illness and in immortal sorrowfulness:

Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art--

Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night

And watching, with eternal lids apart,

Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,

The moving waters at their priestlike task

Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,

Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask

Of snow upon the mountains and the moors--

No--yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,

Pillowed upon my fair love's ripening breast,

To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,

Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,

Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,

And so live ever--or else swoon to death.

JOHN KEATS

455. "RIGHT GOOD IS REST."

Come, Sleep, and with thy sweet deceiving

Lock me in delight awhile;

Let some pleasing dreams beguile

All my fancies: that from thence

I may feel an influence

All my powers of care bereaving!

Though but a shadow, but a sliding,

Let me know some little joy!

We that suffer long annoy

Are contented with a thought

Through an idle fancy wrought:

O let my joys have some abiding!

JOHN FLETCHER

457. BEFORE SLEEPING.

I have pieced this rhyme together from well-known versions and

fragments. But the Angels?--

"And after that, I sawe iiij Angels stande on the iiij corners of the

erth holdynge the foure wyndes of the erth, that the wyndes shuld not

blowe on the erth, nether on the see, nether on eny tree."

The Revelation of S. John the Divine (1539).

"And I beheld, and I heard the voice of many angels round about the

throne and the beasts and the elders: and the number of them was ten

thousand times ten thousand, and thousands of thousands."

The Same (1611).

Of these Angels, having their fitting place among the

hierarchies--Seraphim, Cherubim, Thrones; Dominations, Virtues, Powers;

Principalities, Archangels, Angels--no names are given. But Michael

and Gabriel are archangels named in the Bible, and in the Apocrypha

and elsewhere, Raphael, Zadkiel, Uriel, Chamuel, Jophiel. These too;

steadfast or fallen: Samael, Semalion, Abdiel and gigantic Sandalphon,

Rahab, Prince of the Sea; Ridia, Prince of the Rain; Yurkemi, Prince of

the Hail; Af of Anger; Abaddona of Destruction; Lailah of Night. And in

_Paradise Lost_:

Now had night measured with her shadowy cone

Halfway up-hill this vast sublunar vault;

And from their ivory port the Cherubim

Forth issuing, at the accustomed hour, stood armed....

Then speak together Gabriel, Uzziel, Ithuriel, Zephon. And last--not

the most distant from mortal love--strangely-angelled Poe's

shrill-tongued Israfel:

In Heaven a spirit doth dwell

Whose heart-strings are a lute;

None sing so wildly well

As the angel Israfel,

And the giddy stars (so legends tell),

Ceasing their hymns, attend the spell

Of his voice, all mute....

Yes, Heaven is thine; but this

Is a world of sweets and sours;

Our flowers are merely--flowers,

And the shadow of thy perfect bliss

Is the sunshine of ours.

If I could dwell

Where Israfel

Hath dwelt, and he where I,

He might not sing so wildly well

A mortal melody,

While a bolder note than this might swell

From my lyre within the sky.

Oh speake againe bright angell, for thou art

As glorious to this night being ore my head,

As is a wingèd messenger of heaven

Unto the white upturned wondring eyes

Of mortalls that fall backe to gaze on him.

_Romeo and Juliet_

In paint and wood and words and stone Man has for centuries made

pictures and images for symbols of angelic might and beauty. But what

does he know of these Beings in themselves?--"That there are distinct

orders of Angels, assuredly I believe, but what they are I cannot

tell.... They are creatures that have not so much of a body as flesh

is, as froth is, as a vapour is, as a sigh is; and yet with a touch

they shall moulder a rock into less atoms than the sand that it stands

upon, and a millstone into smaller flour than it grinds. They are

creatures made, and yet not a minute older than when they were first

made, if they were made before all measures of time begun; nor, if

they were made in the beginning of time, and be now six thousand years

old, have they one wrinkle of age in their face, one sob of weariness

in their lungs. They are _primogeniti Dei_, God's eldest sons...."

JOHN DONNE

459.

This is the Song sung by his guardian Angel to a young sleeping Prince

who has been cheated of his inheritance. It was printed by Charles

Lamb in his _English Dramatic Poets_, from a Tragedy entitled _The

Conspiracy_, written by Henry Killigrew when he was seventeen.

460. THE LEGEND OF ST. MARK.

The relics of this Saint, who for his miracles was thought to be a

sorcerer, and was murdered by a mob, were interred in Alexandria.

Hundreds of years afterwards these relics were coveted by the Venetians

by reason of the story that the Saint had once visited their city and

had heard speak to him an angel: _Pax tibi, Marce. Hic requiescet

corpus tuum_. At length two Venetian merchants, having persuaded

the Alexandrians that the sacred bones lay in danger of the raiding

Saracens, travelled back with them to their own city, where they

were reinterred with solemn ceremony in St. Mark's. This church was

afterwards burned to the ground, and the relics were lost. A century

passed; a wondrously beautiful church had arisen from the ashes of

the old, and during the ceremony held in the faith that it would be

revealed where they lay hid, suddenly a light shone forth from one of

the great piers, there was a sound of falling masonry, and, lo, the

body of the Saint, with arm outstretched, as if at finger's touch he

had revealed his secret resting-place.

"DOVES OF SIAM, LIMA MICE, AND LEGLESS BIRDS OF PARADISE." (p.

470.)

What particular kinds of doves and mice Keats had in mind here I cannot

yet discover. But, according to Topsell, mice are of these kinds: the

short, small, fearful, peaceable, ridiculous, rustik, or country mouse,

the urbane or citty mouse, the greedy, wary, unhappy, harmefull, black,

obscene, little, whiner, biter, and earthly mouse. Mice, too, he says,

are "sometimes blackish, sometimes white, sometimes yellow, sometimes

broune and sometimes ashe colour. There are white mice amonge the

people of Savoy, and Dolphin in France, called alaubroges, which the

inhabitants of the country do beleev that they feede upon snow." Then,

again, "the field mouse, the farie, with a long snout; and the sleeper,

that is of a dun colour and will run on the edge of a sword and sleep

on the point."

What Topsell meant by "whiner" I am uncertain, but it may be he refers

to the mouse that sings. That is a habit quite distinct from the common

squeaking, shrilling and shrieking. It resembles the slow low trill of

a very distant and sleepy canary, but sweeter and more domestic, and

is as pleasant a thing to hear behind a wainscot, as it is to watch

the creatures gambolling. Why women are apt to fear these tiny beasts

is a mystery. But whatever mischief their ravagings may cause, may I

never live under a roof wherein (Cat or no Cat) there is no inch of

house-room for Mistress Mouse!

The fable that the Bird of Paradise is "legless" was set abroad by

travellers who had seen in old days its exquisite dismembered carcase

prepared for merchandise. It is hard to explain that Man, capable

of imagining a bird "whose fixed abode is the region of the air,"

sustaining itself "solely on dew," can also slaughter it and tie it up

in bundles for feminine finery. But so it is.

"AT VENICE...." (p. 471)

So Keats left--unfinished--this, one of the happiest of his poems.

There are others in this volume: but not the _Eve of St. Agnes_, or

_Hyperion_, or the odes, _to a Nightingale, on a Grecian Urn_, or the

strange _On Melancholy_. Nor are any of his Letters here--as full a

revelation of the powers and understanding of that rare mind, as the

poems are of his imagination.

466. "LOW IN THE SOUTH THE 'CROSS'."

We peoples of the Northern hemisphere, from the Chinese and Chaldaeans

until this last flitting hour have the joy of so many brilliant and

neighbouring stars in our night sky that for us it is now full of

stories, and thronged with constellations of our own fantasy and

naming. The Chair of Cassiopeia, for instance, is but a feigned passing

picture. Nevertheless, how pleasant it is to recognise it set zigzag

in the night. For this reason the peoples of the Southern hemisphere,

with their Crown and Net, their Phoenix and Peacock, hold dear the

Southern Cross. It marks their very home.

And, once more, let me repeat what Miss Taroone said to me: Learn the

common names of every thing you see, Simon; and especially of those

that please you most to remember: then give them names also of your own

making and choosing--if you can. Mr. Nahum has thousands upon thousands

of words and names in his mind and yet he often fails to understand

what I say to him. Nor does he always remember that though every snail

is a snail and a Hoddydoddy, and every toad is a toad and a Joey, and

every centipede is a centipede and a Maggie-monyfeet, each is just as

much only its own self as you, Simon, are You.

469. "ONCE A DREAM DID WEAVE A SHADE."

Full in the passage of the vale, above,

A sable, silent, solemn, forest stood,

Where nought but shadowy forms was seen to move,

As idless fancy'd in her dreaming mood;

And up the hills, on either side, a wood

Of blackening pines, ay waving to and fro,

Sent forth a sleepy horror thro' the blood;

And where this valley winded out, below,

The murmuring main was heard, and scarcely heard, to flow.

A pleasing land of drowsy-head it was,

Of Dreams that wave before the half-shut eye,

And of gay Castles in the clouds that pass,

For ever flushing round a summer sky....

JAMES THOMSON

470. "AWAKE, AWAKE!"

"I thank God for my happy dreams," wrote Sir Thomas Browne in the

_Religio Medici_, "as I do for my good rest.... And surely it is not a

melancholy conceit [or fancy] to think we are all asleep in this world,

and that the conceits of this life are as mere dreams to those of the

next as the phantasms of the night to the conceits of the day. There is

an equal delusion in both, and the one doth but seem to be the emblem

or picture of the other; we are somewhat more than ourselves in our

sleeps, and the slumber of the body seems to be but the waking of the

soul...."

The Door of Death is made of gold,

That Mortal Eyes cannot behold;

But, when the Mortal Eyes are closed,

And cold and pale the Limbs reposed,

The Soul awakes; and, wondering sees

In her mild Hand the golden Keys:

The Grave is Heaven's golden Gate,

And rich and poor around it wait;

O Shepherdess of England's Fold,

Behold this Gate of Pearl and Gold!...

I give you the end of a golden string;

Only wind it into a ball,

It will lead you in at Heaven's gate,

Built in Jerusalem's wall.

WILLIAM BLAKE

473. "DOES THE ROAD WIND UP-HILL ALL THE WAY."

"Gentle herdsman, tell to me,

Of courtesy I thee pray,

Unto the town of Walsingham

Which is the right and ready way."

"Unto the town of Walsingham

The way is hard for to be gone;

And very crooked are those paths,

For you to find out all alone...."

Not so Babylon:

How many Miles to Babylon?

_Three score and ten._

Can I get there by candle-light?

_Ay: and back again._

477.

This poem for its full beauty must be read very slowly. Eve in long

memory is musing within herself, hardly able to utter the words,

because of her grief and sorrow, and of the heavy sighs between them.

"DEATH IS THE FRUIT."

I am Eve, great Adam's wife,

'Tis I that outraged Jesus of old;

'Tis I that robbed my children of Heaven,

By rights 'tis I that should have gone upon the Cross....

There would be no ice in any place,

There would be no glistening windy winter,

There would be no hell, there would be no sorrow,

There would be no fear, if it were not for me.

TR. KUNO MEYER

"THE KIND HART'S TEARS WERE FALLING." (stanza 7)

To day my Lord of Amiens, and my selfe,

Did steale behinde him as he lay along

Under an oake, whose anticke roote peepes out

Upon the brooke that brawles along this wood.

To the which place a poore sequestred Stag

That from the Hunter's aime had tane a hurt,

Did come to languish; and indeed my Lord

The wretched annimall heaved forth such groanes

That their discharge did stretch his leatherne coat

Almost to bursting, and the big round teares

Coursed one another downe his innocent nose

In pitteous chase....

_As You Like It_

483. "THIS IS THE KEY."

And so--like the mediaeval traveller who had made a complete circuit

of the world without knowing it--we have come back to the place which

we started from. "The Elephant," says Topsell, in his _Historie of

Foure-footed Beastes_, "is delighted above measure with sweet savours,

ointments, and smelling flowers, for which cause their Keeper will in

the summer time lead them into the meadows of flowers, where they of

themselves will by the quickness of their smelling, choose out and

gather the sweetest flowers, and put them into a basket if their Keeper

have any....

(Having sought) out water (wherewith) to wash themselves, (they will)

of their own accord return back again to the basket of flowers, which,

if they find not, they will bray and call for them. Afterward, being

led into their stable, they will not eat meat until they take off their

flowers and dress the brims of their manger therewith, and likewise

strew their room or standing place, pleasing themselves with their

meat, because of the savour of the flowers stuck about their cratch."

Mr. Nahum himself, it seems to me, might have written that. What was

his _Other Worlde_ but such "a Basket of Flowers": the forthshowing

in formal beauty--in this world's soil, and beneath ministering rain,

sunshine and dew--of the imaginations of men? Even Miss Taroone could

have uttered a secret word or two in the great ear of the Elephants at

their cratch: and were there not in her garden at Thrae flowers beyond

telling?--William Blake's:

First ere the morning breaks joy opens in the flowery bosoms,

Joy even to tears.... First the Wild Thyme

And Meadow-sweet downy and soft waving among the reeds

Light springing on the air lead the sweet Dance: they wake

The Honeysuckle sleeping on the Oak: the flaunting beauty

Revels along upon the wind: the White-thorn, lovely May,

Opens her many lovely eyes: listening the Rose still sleeps:

None dare to wake her: soon she bursts her crimson curtained bed,

And comes forth in the majesty of beauty: every Flower,

The Pink, the Jessamine, the Wall-flower, the Carnation,

The Jonquil, the mild Lilly opes her heavens: every Tree

And Flower and Herb soon fill the air with an innumerable Dance.

Yet all in order sweet and lovely....

_And so, Farewell._

[Illustration]

AND SO FAREWELL

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

For the use of copyright poems in this volume I have to thank--and most

gratefully I do so--the following authors and publishers:--Mr. Martin

Armstrong (and Mr. Martin Seeker); Mr. Lascelles Abercrombie (and Mr.

John Lane); Mr. Edmund Blunden (and Mr. Cobden Sanderson); Mr. H. H.

Bashford (Messrs. Harrap & Company and Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin, &

Company); Mrs. Bunston de Bary; Mr. Laurence Binyon (and Messrs. Elkin

Matthews); Mr. Hilaire Belloc (and Messrs. Duckworth & Company); Mr.

Robert Bridges (and Mr. John Murray); Mr. Gordon Bottomley; Mr. Padraic

Colum (Messrs. Maunsell & Roberts Ltd., and Messrs. the Macmillan

Company); Mr. William H. Davies (Mr. Jonathan Cape and Mr. Alfred A.

Knopf); the executors of the late Lord de Tabley; Mr. C. M. Doughty;

Mr. Edward L. Davison (and Messrs. G. Bell & Sons); Mr. Charles Dalmon

(and Messrs. Methuen & Company); Mr. John Drinkwater (Messrs. Sidgwick

& Jackson, and Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin & Company); Mr. Vivian Locke

Ellis; Mr. Robert Frost (and Messrs. Harcourt, Brace & Company); Mr.

John Freeman; Miss Eleanor Farjeon (Messrs. Selwyn & Blount, Messrs.

J. M. Dent & Sons, and Messrs. E. P. Dutton & Company); Mrs. Furse

(and Messrs. Constable & Company); Mr. Robert Graves; the Viscountess

Grey; Mr. Edmund Gosse; Mr. Wilfrid Gibson (Messrs. Elkin Mathews, and

Messrs. Macmillan & Company); Mr. Crosbie Garstin (and Messrs. Sidgwick

& Jackson); Mr. Thomas Hardy (and Messrs. Macmillan & Company); Mr.

Ralph Hodgson (and Messrs. Macmillan & Company); Miss Gwen John; Mr.

Rudyard Kipling (Messrs. Macmillan & Company, and Messrs. Doubleday,

Page & Company); Mr. Sidney Royse Lysaght (and Messrs. Macmillan &

Company); Mr. Harold Monro; Mr. John Masefield; Mrs. Manning-Sanders

(and Messrs. the Hogarth Tress); Mr. T. Sturge Moore (and Mr. Grant

Richards); Miss Charlotte Mew (Mr. Harold Monro and Messrs. the

Macmillan Company); Miss Viola Meynell; Sir Henry Newbolt; Mr. Alfred

Noyes (and Messrs. William Blackwood & Sons); Mr. Seumas O'Sullivan

(Messrs. Maunsell & Roberts); Mr. Conal O'Riordan; Mr. F. J. Patmore;

Miss Madeleine Caron Rock; Miss Lizette Woodworth Reese (and Mr. Thomas

B. Mosher); Mr. James Stephens (Messrs. Maunsell & Roberts and Messrs,

the Macmillan Company); Mr. Siegfried Sassoon; Miss Edith Sitwell (and

Mr. B. H. Blackwell); Mr. Edward Shanks (and Messrs. Collins, Sons

& Company); Mr. J. C. Squire (and Messrs. Hodder & Stoughton); Mrs.

Katharine Tynan Hinkson; Mr. Herbert Trench; Mr. Walter J. Turner (and

Messrs. Sidgwick & Jackson); Miss Elinor Wylie (and Messrs. Harcourt,

Brace & Company); Mr. Francis Brett Young (and Messrs. W. Collins, Sons

& Company); Mr. W. B. Yeats (Messrs. T. Fisher Unwin and Messrs. the

Macmillan Company).

It is, too, a happy privilege to have been permitted to include poems

by Mrs. Webb, Mr. Eric Batterham, Mr. Gilbert Sheldon, Mr. Bernard

Sleigh, Miss Elizabeth Ramal, and Mr. Colin Francis which have not

hitherto appeared in any other published collection.

My most grateful thanks are due also to Mr. Edward Marsh (Messrs.

Sidgwick & Jackson and Messrs. Dodd, Mead & Company) for two poems by

Rupert Brooke; to Mr. Clement Shorter for six poems by Emily Bronte,

and a poem by Dora Sigerson Shorter; to Sir Henry Newbolt for seven

poems by Mary Coleridge; to Mr. Cobden-Sanderson for three poems by

John Clare; to Mr. John Murray and to the executors of Canon Dixon for

two poems; to Mrs. Flecker (and Mr. Martin Seeker) for two poems by

James Elroy Flecker; to Lady Gomme for rhymes from "Traditional Games";

to the Viscountess Grey for poems from "The White Wallet"; to Miss

Antonie Meyer (and Messrs. Constable & Company) for six translations

by Kuno Meyer; to Mrs. Meynell herself and to Mr. Wilfrid Meynell (and

Messrs. Burns & Oates) for three poems; to Mr. William Meredith and to

Messrs. Constable & Company for two poems by George Meredith; to Mrs.

Sharp for one poem by "Fiona Macleod" (William Sharp); to Miss Morris,

Mr. S. C. Cockerill (and Messrs. Longmans, Green & Company) for two

poems by William Morris; to Mrs. Owen for a poem by Wilfred Owen; to

Mrs. C. Patmore (and Messrs. G. Bell & Sons, Ltd.) for two poems by

Coventry Patmore; to Messrs. Macmillan & Company for eight poems by

Christina Rossetti; to Mr. Lloyd Osbourne (Messrs. Chatto & Windus

and Messrs. Charles Scribner's Sons) for four poems by Robert Louis

Stevenson; to Mr. William Heinemann for a poem by Algernon Charles

Swinburne; to Miss E. Margaret Courtney Boyd for a poem by William Bell

Scott; to Mrs. Thomas (and Messrs. Selwyn & Blount) for seven poems by

Edward Thomas; to Mr. Wilfrid Meynell (and Messrs. Burns & Oates) for

three poems by Francis Thompson; to Messrs. P. J. and A. E. Dobell for

quotations from the writings of Thomas Traherne.

For permission to use prose extracts, etc., which for the most part

have already been referred to on pages 497-668. I am gratefully

indebted to Dr. Blackman for his translation on Page 593; to Mr. Basil

Blackwell for first grateful sight of Bunyan's "Book for Boys and

Girls"; to Mrs. Child Sargent, Mr. George Lyman Kittredge and Messrs.

George G. Harrap & Company for selections from "English and Scottish

Popular Ballads"; to Mr. G. G. Coulton; to Dr. Courtenay Dunn and to

Messrs. Sampson Low, Marston & Company; to Messrs. J. M. Dent & Sons

for a quotation from "A Hind in Richmond Park" by W. H. Hudson; to

Mr. Tickner Edwardes (and Messrs. Methuen & Company); to Lady Gomme;

to Messrs. Longman for a quotation from "The Diary of Master William

Silence"; to Miss Emma Phipson (and Messrs. Kegan Paul, Trench,

Trubner & Company); to Mr. H. M. Tomlinson; to Professor J. Arthur

Thompson (and Messrs. George Newnes); to Mrs. Wright; to Mr. W. B.

Yeats; and to Mr. Filson Young. Also to the Clarendon Press, and to the

Hakluyt Society.

And I would ask forgiveness of any one whose rights I may have

inadvertently overlooked.

For generous help, counsel and kindness, in the preparation of this

book it is a happiness to express my gratitude to many friends--to

Miss Naomi Royde Smith, Mr. Martin Freeman, Mr. J. W. Haines, Mr.

Gilbert Sheldon, Mr. Frank Morley, Mr. Forrest Reid, and to Mr. James

MacLehose; and, last, to my niece, Miss Lucy Rowley, to whom it owes

more than words can say.

[Illustration]

INDEXES

INDEX OF AUTHORS

[_Poems by writers whose names are unknown will be found marked with

an asterisk in the Index of Poems. In the following Index the names of

writers still living are similarly denoted._]

*Abercrombie, Lascelles, 154, 636

Allingham, William (1824-1889), 122, 520

*Armstrong, Martin 102

Aubrey, John (1626-1697), 568, 601

Augustine, St. (d. 604), 606

Barnes, William (1801-1886), 272, 280, 282, 461, 540, 581, 594

Barnfield, Richard (1574-1627), 107

*Bashford, H. H., 80

*Batterham, Eric N., 259

Beaumont, Francis (1584-1616), 269, 599

Beddoes, Thomas Lovell (1803-1849), 380, 449, 624

*Belloc, Hilaire, 200

Best, Charles (fl. 1602), 354

*Binyon, Laurence, 197, 212

Blake, William (1757-1827), 22, 23, 42, 66, 66, 93, 98, 112, 140,

161, 167, 198, 373, 450, 452, 453, 475, 476, 477, 507, 535,

545, 652, 666, 668

Blunden, Edmund, 79

*Bottomley, Gordon, 410

Breton, Nicholas (1545?-1626?), 146

*Bridges, Robert, 234, 274, 462, 475, 504

Brontë, Emily (1818-1848), 225, 229, 277, 284, 449, 454

Brooke, Rupert (1887-1915), 172, 263

Browne, Sir Thomas (1605-1682), 665

Browne, William (1591-1643?), 151, 604

Bryant, William Cullen (1794-1878), 113

Buckhurst, Lord (1536-1608), 115

Bunyan, John (1628-1688), 111, 211, 451, 558, 582, 652

Burns, Robert (1759-1796), 50, 187

Burton, Robert (1577-1640), 548, 613

Byron, Lord (1788-1824), 464

Callanan, Jeremiah John (1795-1829), 354

Campbell, Thomas (1777-1844), 89, 180, 571

Campion, Thomas (1567-1619), 150, 189, 482, 595, 628

Carbery, Ethna (d. 1902), 313

Carew, Thomas (1595?-1639?), 152

Cartwright, William (1611-1643), 101

Cellini, Benvenuto (1500-1571), 613

Chapman, George (1559?-1634), 635

Charles I. (1600-1649), 467

Chatterton, Thomas (1752-1770), 266

Chaucer, Geoffrey (1340?-1400), 14, 511, 544

Clare, John (1793-1864), 78, 207, 517

Cleland, William (1661?-1689), 376

Coleridge, Mary (1861-1907), 52, 106, 192, 318, 355, 367, 463

Coleridge, Samuel Taylor (1772-1834), 24, 270, 331, 335, 337, 373,

383, 405, 514, 516, 548, 611, 620, 625, 638

*Colum, Padraic, 52

Constable, Henry (1562-1613), 351

Corbet, Richard (1582-1635), 553

Cornish, William (fl. 1510), 17

Cowley, Abraham (1618-1667), 564

Cowper, William (1731-1800), 41, 49

Cunningham, Allan (1784-1842), 181, 239

*Dalmon, Charles, 205, 355

Daniel, Samuel (1562-1619), 162

Darley, George (1795-1846), 643

Davenant, Sir William (1606-1668), 6, 596

*Davidson, Edward L., 172

*Davies, William H., 7, 38, 95, 145, 254, 402

Davies, Sir John (1569-1626), 566

Davison, Francis (fl. 1602), 81

*De Bary, Anna Bunston, 159

Dekker, Thomas (1570?-1641?), 253, 281

De Tabley, Lord (1835-1895), 364

Dixon, Richard Watson (1833-1900), 222, 224

Dobell, Sydney (1824-1874), 33, 44, 316

Donne, John (1573-1631), 628, 663

*Doughty, Charles M., 132

Drayton, Michael (1563-1631), 548, 557

*Drinkwater, John, 256, 298

Drummond, William (1585-1649), 162, 252, 585

Dunbar, William (1465?-1530?), 525

Elliot, Jean (1727-1805), 188

*Ellis, Vivian Locke, 369

Emerson, R. W. (1803-1882), 562

Farjeon, Eleanor, 120, 175, 236, 459, 465

Ferguson, Sir Samuel (1810-1886), 125

Flecker, James Elroy (1884-1915), 40, 382

Fleming, Margaret (1803-1811), 652

Fletcher, John (1579-1625), 360, 440, 457, 596, 599, 661

*Francis, Colin, 375

*Freeman, John, 39, 173

*Frost, Robert, 26, 587

*Furse, Margaret Cecilia, 563

*Garstin, Crosbie, 474

*Gibson, Wilfrid, 403, 415

Gifford, Humphrey (fl. 1580), 168

Goldsmith, Oliver (1728-1774), 626

Googe, Barnabe (1540-1594), 91

*Gosse, Edmund, 318

Graves, John Woodcock (1795-1886), 139

*Graves, Robert, 109, 230, 407

Gray, Thomas (1716-1771), 655

Greene, Robert (1560-1592), 503

*Grey, Viscountess, 121

Hamilton, John (1761-1814), 233

*Hardy, Thomas, 10, 26, 175, 176, 177, 273, 298, 455, 570

Hawes, Stephen (d. 1523?), 600

Hayman, Robert (d. 1631?), 189

Hemans, Felicia (1793-1835), 48

Herbert, George (1593-1633), 16, 451, 483

Herrick, Robert (1591-1674), 150, 208, 215, 219, 271, 292, 450,

507, 510, 651

Heywood, Thomas (d. 1650?), 7

*Hodgson, Ralph, 110, 151, 454, 485

Hogg, James (1770-1835), 141

Hood, Thomas (1799-1845), 25, 295, 299, 361, 405, 583

Howe, Julia Ward (1819-1910), 170

Howitt, Mary (1799-1888), 94

Hudson, W. H. (1862-1923), 521

Hume, Alexander (1560?-1609), 144

*John, Gwen, 239

Jonson, Ben (1573?-1637), 252, 319, 352, 462, 568, 658

Keats, John (1795-1821), 107, 129, 220, 231, 256, 283, 380, 468,

527, 545, 660

Killigrew, Henry (1613-1700), 467

King, Henry (1592-1669), 273

Kingsley, Charles (1819-1875), 225, 656

*Kipling, Rudyard, 297

Kirk, Robert (1641?-1692), 615

Landor, Walter Savage (1775-1864), 365, 597, 604

Lindsay, Lady Anne (1750-1825), 362

Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth (1807-1882), 32, 533

Lovelace, Sir Richard (1618-1658), 535

Lydgate, John (1370?-1451?), 191, 503

Lyly, John (1554?-1606), 15

*Lysaght, Sidney Royse, 53

MacGillivray, W. (1796-1852), 104

Macleod, Fiona (William Sharp) (1855-1905), 423

Macneill, Hector (1746-1818), 35

Mahony, Francis ("Father Prout") (1804-1866), 210

Mangan, James Clarence (1803-1849), 181

*Manning-Sanders, Ruth, 111, 340

Maplet, John (d. 1592), 639

Marriot, John (1780-1825), 270

Marvell, Andrew (1621-1678), 98, 149, 381

*Masefield, John, 27, 56

Mandeville, Sir John (d. 1372), 534, 561, 629

Meredith, George (1828-1909), 332, 638

*Mew, Charlotte, 309

Meyer, Kuno (Tr.), 70, 97, 193, 205, 231, 585, 667

Meynell, Alice (d. 1923) 214, 464, 472

Meynell, Viola, 409

Milton, John (1608-1674), 11, 130, 213, 632

*Monro, Harold, 9, 124

Montgomerie, Alexander (1556?-1610?), 4

*Moore, T. Sturge, 144

More, Sir Thomas (1478-1535), 603

Morris, William (1834-1896), 465, 481

Munday, Anthony (1553-1633), 81

Nash, Thomas (1567-1601), 15, 261

*Newbolt, Sir Henry, 51, 178, 214

North, Sir Thomas (1535?-1601), 574

*Noyes, Alfred, 151

Odoric, Friar (1286-1331), 636, 641

O'Keefe, John (1747-1833), 579

*O'Riordan, Conal, 605

*O'Sullivan, Seumas, 197

Overbury, Sir Thomas (1581-1613), 529

Owen, Wilfred (1893-1918), 173

Patmore, Coventry (1823-1896), 473, 566

*Patmore, F. J., 541

Peacock, Thomas Love (1785-1866), 205, 268, 552

Pepys, Samuel (1633-1703), 505

Poe, Edgar Allan (1809-1849), 59, 320, 338, 365, 662

Pope, Alexander (1688-1744), 271

Plotinus (205?-270?), 507

Polo, Marco (1254-1323), 642

Raleigh, Sir Walter (1552?-1618), 600

*Ramal, Elizabeth, 608

Ramsay, Allan (1686-1758), 623

Ravenscroft, Thomas (1592?-1635?), 120

*Reese, Lizette Woodworth, 277

Rhodes, Hugh (fl. 1555), 592

*Rock, Madeline Caron, 265

Rossetti, Christina (1830-1894), 251, 279, 280, 352, 368, 472, 483, 487

Rossetti, Dante Gabriel (1828-1882), 643

Rowlands, Richard (1565-1630?), 22

Rowley, William (1585?-1642?), 374

*Sassoon, Siegfried, 171

Scott, Reginald (1538?-1599), 613

Scott, Alexander (1525?-1584?), 360

Scott, Sir Walter (1771-1832), 174, 185, 279, 330, 357

Scott, William Bell (1811-1890), 324

Shakespeare, William (1564-1616), 6, 74, 119, 121, 131, 143, 199,

209, 224, 246, 247, 267, 361, 499, 505, 506, 510, 522, 530,

533, 540, 553, 554, 579, 585, 610, 633, 643, 650, 655, 657,

662, 667

*Shanks, Edward, 331

Sharp, William (Fiona Macleod) (1855-1905), 423

*Sheldon, Gilbert, 404

Shelley, Percy Bysshe (1792-1822), 8, 155, 156, 209, 223, 227,

252, 254, 258, 341, 353, 404, 458, 464, 530, 542, 546, 621

Shorter, Dora Sigerson (d. 1918), 275

Sidney, Sir Philip (1554-1586), 352, 463, 500, 597, 601, 602

*Sitwell, Edith, 198

Skelton, John (1460?-1529), 37

*Sleigh, Bernard, 549

Southwell, Robert (1561?-1595), 242, 259

Spenser, Edmund (1552?-1599), 153, 190, 339, 491, 567

*Squire, J. C., 379, 422

Steele, Sir Richard (1672-1729), 519

*Stephens, James, 61, 96, 157

Stevenson, Robert Louis (1850-1894), 28, 31, 40, 54, 615

Suckling, Sir John (1609-1642), 580

Surrey, Earl of (1517?-1547), 472

Swinburne, Algernon Charles (1837-1909), 358

Temple, Sir William (1628-1699), 578

Tennyson, Alfred, Lord (1809-1892), 105, 108, 122, 226, 314, 582, 630

Thomas, Edward (1878-1917), 53, 102, 113, 460, 474, 521, 557

Thomas the Rhymer (1220?-1297?), 550

Thompson, Francis (1859-1907), 262, 285, 637

Thomson, James (1700-1748), 665

*Tomlinson, H. M., 569

Topsell (d. 1638?), 537

Traherne, Thomas (1636?-1674), 160, 564

Trench, Herbert (1865-1923), 171

Trevisa, John de (1326-1412), 537

Turberville, George (1540?-1610?), 584

*Turner, Walter J., 295, 375, 408

*Tynan, Katharine, 49

Vaughan, Henry (1622-1695), 283, 557

Vautor, Thomas (fl. 1619), 104

Walton, Izaac (1593-1683), 505, 543

Watts, Isaac (1674-1748), 5

*Webb, Mary, 10, 106, 141

Webster, John (1610-1682), 264, 267, 268

Wedderburn, John (1500?-1556), 597

Whitman, Walt (1819-1892), 179

Wither, George (1588-1667), 202

*Woods, Margaret L., 539

Wordsworth, Dorothy (1771-1855), 220

Wordsworth, William (1770-1850), 103, 221, 234, 237, 276, 456, 655

Wotton, Sir Henry (1568-1639), 16

*Wright, Elizabeth M., 532, 559

*Wylie, Elinor, 236

*Yeats, W. B., 296, 312, 608

*Young, Filson, 632

*Young, Francis Brett, 92

INDEX OF POEMS

[_An asterisk denotes that the name of the author of the poem is

unknown._]

TEXT NOTES

*Adam lay i-bowndyn 489

Adieu! farewell earth's bliss! 261 _596_

*A dis, a dis, a green grass 203

After the blast of lightning from the east 173

Afterwards 455

Ah! County Guy, the hour is nigh 330

Ah! sad wer we as we did peäce 272 _604_

Ah, what avails the sceptred race? 365

Alas, the moon should ever beam 295

Alice, dear, what ails you? 230

A little lonely child am I 423 _645_

A little Saint best fits a little Shrine 510

*All in this pleasant evening, together come are we 12 _501_

All looks be pale, hearts cold as stone 189 _574_

All my stars forsake me 464

All the flowers of the spring 268 _599_

*All under the leaves and the leaves of life 489

Amo, amas 579

*An' Charlie he's my darling 186

Ancient Mariner, The Rime of the 383

And as for me, thogh that I can but lyte 14 _502_

And in the midst of all, a fountaine stood 153 _564_

And like a dying lady, lean and pale 464

And now all nature seemed in love 16 _504_

And then I pressed the shell 61

And there were spring-faced cherubs that did sleep 408 _643_

Angel spirits of sleep 475

Annabel Lee 59

*Annan Water's wading deep 329 _614_

A piper in the streets to-day 197

Are they shadows that we see? 162

A Rose, as fair as ever saw the North 151

Art thou gone in haste? 374 _629_

Art thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers? 253

As I in hoary winter's night 242

As it fell upon a day 107 _543_

*As I walked out one night 571

*As I was going by Charing Cross 188

*As I was walking all alane 109

*As I was wa'king all alone 293

As I wer readen ov a stwone 280 _605_

Ask me no more 152 _562_

*A sparhawk proud did hold in wicked jail 108 _543_

A sunny shaft did I behold 373 _628_

*As we dance round a-ring-a-ring 12

At common dawn there is a voice of bird 369

At the corner of Wood Street 103 _540_

Auld Robin Gray 362

Autumn 223

*A vision that appeared to me 70 _527_

Awake, awake, my little Boy! 477 _605_

A weary lot is thine, fair maid 185

A widow bird sat mourning for her love 252

*A wife was sitting at her reel ae night 618

*Ay me, alas, heigh ho, heigh ho! 91 _534_

Before my face the picture hangs 259 _594_

Behold her, single in the field 221

Bells have wide mouths and tongues 211 _582_

Beneath our feet, the shuddering bogs 318 _610_

Bermudas 381

Best and brightest, come away! 155

Be thou at peace this night 172

*Bingo 89

Birds, The 112

Blow, blow, thou winter winde 247

Blows the wind to-day 54 _522_

*Bonny Barbara Allan 356

Break, break, break 226

Brief, on a flying night 214

Bright star, would I were stedfast 660

*Bring us in good ale 69

*Bring us in no browne bred 69 _526_

*Brown Robyn 420

*Buckee, Buckee, biddy Bene 292

Burning Babe, The 242

By Saint Mary, my lady 37 _518_

By the Moone we sport and play 120 _547_

Call for the robin-redbreast and the wren 267

Call me no more, O gentle stream 51

*Cam' ye by the salmon fishers? 35

Cauld blows the wind frae north to south 233

Changeling, The 309

Cherrie Ripe, Ripe, Ripe, I cry 150

Cherry and pear are white 173

Child and the Mariner, The 402

Chimney Sweeper, The 42

Christabel 335

Christmas at Sea 31

Christ of His gentleness 109

Cities drowned in olden time 214

Close thine eyes and sleep secure 467

*Cold cold! 231 _586_

Cold in the earth 277

Come, Sleep 605

*Come to me, grief, for ever 269 _601_

Come to me in the silence of the night 472

Come unto these yellow sands 119 _546_

Come wary one, come slender feet 111 _544_

Coronach, The 174

Crystal Cabinet, The 373

*Dalyaunce 28

Dark is the stair, and humid the old walls 212

Dear, dear, dear 104

Dear God, through Thy all-powerful hand 605

Death stands above me 597

Departe, departe, departe 360 _627_

Dew sate on Julia's haire 651

Diaphenia, like the daffadowndilly 351 _624_

Does the road wind up-hill all the way? 483 _666_

*Down in yonder meadow 349

*Down in yon garden 647

Do you remember an Inn 200 _580_

Dreams, The Land of 477

D'ye ken John Peel with his coat so gray? 139 _556_

Eagle, The 108

*Earl of Mar's Daughter, The 307

Easter 16

*Edward 430

Egypt's might is tumbled down 367

Encinctured with a twine of leaves 337

*English Gentleman, The 67

Eve of Saint Mark, The 468

Even such is Time 600

Eve, with her basket 485

*Faht's in there? 293 _607_

*Fair Annie 434

Fairies 122

Fairies Feast, The 132

Fall, leaves, fall; die, flowers, away 225

Feare no more the heate o' th' Sun 267 _599_

*Fine knacks for ladies! 74

Flowers of the Forest, The 188

Follow thy fair sun, unhappy shadow 482

*Four and twenty bonny boys 428 _646_

*Four men stood by the grave of a man 191 _574_

From noise of Scare-fires rest ye free 215

Full fathom five 643

Gane were but the winter cauld 239 _587_

Garden, The 149

*Garden, The 492

Get up, our Anna dear, from the weary spinning 125 _549_

*Gilderoy was a bonnie boy 82 _532_

Golden slumbers kiss your eyes 281 _605_

*Golden Vanity, The 418

Gone were but the Winter 251

Good-Morrow to the Day so fair 208

*Green Broom 147

Hallo my Fancy 376

Hame, hame, hame, hame, fain wad I be 181

Hark! now everything is still 264 _597_

Haunted Palace, The 338

Hay, nou the day dauis 4 _497_

Hearke, hearke, the Larke at Heaven's gate sings 6

Hear, sweet spirit, hear the spell 331

He came and took me by the hand 151

He clasps the crag with crooked hands 108

He gave us all a good-bye cheerily 178

He is gone on the mountain 174

He is the lonely greatness of the world 265 _598_

*Helen of Kirkconnell 438

Helen, thy beauty is to me 365 _627_

Here a little child I stand 507

*Here comes a lusty wooer 346 _622_

Here lies a little bird 102

Here lies sweet Isabell 652

Here she lies, a pretty bud 271 _604_

Here she was wont to go, and here, and here! 352 _624_

*Here we bring new water 4

*Here we come a piping 11

Here where the fields lie lonely and untended 53

Her Eyes the Glow-worme lend thee 292

He sees them pass 259 _594_

*He that lies at the stock 466

*Hey, nonny no! 200 _580_

*Hey! now the day dawns 4 _497_

*Hey, Wully wine, and How, Wully wine 348 _623_

*Hie upon Hielands 43 _519_

His eyes are quickened so with grief 407

His stature was not very tall 503

Hohenlinden 180

Holy Thursday 66

Home, home, from the horizon far and clear 472

Home no more home to me, whither must I wander? 28

Ho, sailor of the sea! 33

How like an Angel came I down! 160 _454_

How lovely is the sound of oars at night 331

How many times do I love thee, dear? 624

How see you Echo? 121

How should I your true love know 361

How strange it is to wake and watch 473

How sweet I roamed from field to field! 161

*Hugh, Sir 428

*I and my white Pangur 97 _536_

I'd a dream to-night 282 _606_

*I'd oft heard tell of this Sledburn fair 75

I dreamed that, as I wandered by the way 8 _499_

I dreamt a Dream! what can it mean? 475

I dug, beneath the cypress shade 268

If I had but two little wings 24 _510_

If I should ever by chance grow rich 521

I found her out there 273 _604_

If souls should only shine as bright 594

If there were dreams to sell 449

I got me flowers to straw thy way 16 _506_

I had a dove and the sweet dove died 107

I had a little bird 44 _519_

*I had a little nut tree 198

*I have a yong suster 58

I have beene all day looking after 319 _610_

I have seen old ships sail like swans asleep 382 _635_

*I have twelfe oxen that be faire and brown 148 _559_

I hear a sudden cry of pain! 96

I heard a soldier sing some trifle 171 _568_

I know a little garden-close 481

I know that all beneath the moon decays 585

*I'll sing you a good old song 67 _525_

I Loved a lass, a fair one 202 _580_

I love to rise in a summer morn 140

I met a traveller from an antique land 404

I met the Love-Talker one eve in the glen 313

Immortal Imogen crowned queen above 299

In a drear-nighted December 231 _585_

I never shall love the snow again 274

In May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes 562

In melancholic fancy 376 _629_

In somer when the shawes be sheyne 143 _556_

In the greenest of our valleys 338 _621_

In the third-class seat sat the journeying-boy 26

In the wild October night-time 177 _570_

Into the scented woods we'll go 10

Invitation to Jane, The 155

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan 405 _641_

I remember, I remember 25 _511_

Irish harper and his dog, The 89

I saw a frieze on whitest marble drawn 408 _643_

*I saw a peacock with a fiery tail 294 _607_

I saw with open eyes 110

I see in his last preached and printed Booke 270 _602_

*I sing of a maiden 21 _510_

*It fell upon a Wodensday 420 _644_

It is an ancient Mariner 383 _635_

It was a' for our rightfu' king 187

*It was a jolly bed in sooth 501

It was a Lover and his lasse 199 _579_

*It was in and about the Martinmas time 356 _626_

*It was intill a pleasant time 307

It was many and many a year ago 59 _523_

It was not in the winter 361

I've heard them lilting at our ewe-milking 188 _573_

I went out to the hazel wood 296 _608_

*I will sing, if ye will hearken 432 _646_

*I wish I were where Helen lies 438

I would not be the Moon, the sickly thing 463 _659_

Jarring the air with rumour cool 154

John Peel 139

Keith of Ravelston 316

Kubla Khan 405

La Belle Dame sans Merci 129

Laid in my quiet bed, in study as I were 472

*Laird of Logie, The 432

*Lavender's blue, dilly dilly, lavender's green 148 _560_

Lawne as white as driven Snow 74 _529_

Lay a garland on my hearse 360

Leave Taking, A 358

Leave me, O Love 597

Let us go hence, my songs 358

Let us walk in the white snow 236 _587_

Life of Life 353 _625_

Light the lamps up, Lamplighter 459 _657_

Little Black Boy, The 22

Little Fly 535

Little Lamb, who made thee? 93

*London Bridge is broken down 65 _524_

London Snow 234

Lonely, save for a few faint stars, the sky 197 _575_

Long ago I went to Rome 563

Look how the pale Queen of the silent night 354 _625_

Lord Rameses of Egypt sighed 256 _593_

Love bade me welcome; yet my soul drew back 483

*Love me not for comely grace 366

Lucy Gray 237

*Lully, lullay, lully, lullay 491

Lydia is gone this many a year 277

*Lyke-Wake Dirge, A 264

Mad Maid's Song, The 208

Mariana 314

*Mary's gone a milking 71 _529_

*Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John 466 _661_

*May Song 12

*Mermaid, The 423

Messmates 178

Midnight was come, when every vital thing 115

Mine eyes have seen the glory 170 _567_

Mortality, behold and fear! 269 _600_

Most souls, 'tis true, but peep out once an age 271

Much have I travelled in the realms of gold 380

Music, when soft voices die 209 _582_

*My clothing was once of the linsey woolsey fine 90 _533_

*My hand is weary with writing 558

My heart is like a singing bird 352 _624_

*My love he built me a bonnie bower 439 _647_

My love lies in the gates of foam 364

*My Luve's in Germany 184

My master hath a garden 492

*My mistress frowns when she should play 199 _576_

*My mistress is as fair as fine 351

My mother bore me in the southern wild 22

*My plaid awa', my plaid awa' 292

My true-love hath my heart, and I have his 352

*Nay, Ivy, nay 245 _590_

Night-Piece, The 292

*Not full twelve years 596

Not soon shall I forget 49

*Now milkmaids' pails are deckt with flowers 71 _528_

Now some may drink old vintage wine 205 _581_

Now the bright morning Star, Dayes harbinger 11 _500_

Now the hungry Lyon rores 131 _553_

*Now wolde I faine some merthės make 366 _628_

Nurse's Song, The 453

Nymph Complaining, The 98

Nymph, nymph, what are your beads? 124

*O Allison Gross, that lives in yon towr 426 _646_

*O Bessie Bell and Mary Gray 523

Ode to the West Wind 227

O'Driscoll drove with a song 312

*Of all the birds that I do know 100 _538_

*O for a Booke and a shadie nooke 147 _558_

Of this fair volume which we World do name 162 _565_

Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray 237

Oh! call my brother back to me 48

*Oh! dear! what can the matter be? 75 _530_

Oh! poverty is a weary thing 94 _536_

Oh, sweet content 254

Oh the falling Snow! 236

*Oh, where are you going to, my pretty little dear? 206 _581_

O, I hae come from far away 324 _613_

Old Ships, The 382

O many a day have I made good ale in the glen 354

O Mary, go and call the cattle home 225

O Mother, lay your hand on my brow 40

O my dark Rosaleen 181 _572_

On a starred night Prince Lucifer uprose 332

Once a dream did weave a shade 476 _665_

*Once I was a monarch's daughter 105

Once musing as I sat 91 _535_

Once upon a midnight dreary 320 _611_

Once when the sun of the year was beginning to fall 26 _512_

*One Friday morn when we set sail 421

*One king's daughter said to anither 57 _523_

One without looks in to-night 298 _608_

On first looking into Chapman's Homer 380

On Linden, when the sun was low 180

*On the first day of Christmas 589

On the green banks of Shannon 89

O sing unto my roundelay 266

O Sorrow 256

O that those lips had language! 41

O the evening's for the fair, bonny lassie O! 207

O Thou, who plumed with strong desire 341 _621_

O, to have a little house 52

Our King and Queen the Lord God Blesse 568

Our King went up upon a hill high 191 _574_

Out in the dark over the snow 474

Over the bleak and barren snow 375

*O whare are ye gaun? 334 _618_

O, what can ail thee, knight at arms 129

O what if the fowler my blackbird has taken? 355

*O wha will shoe my bonny foot? 519

*O where were ye, my milk-white steed 309 _609_

O, wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being 227

Oh yes, my dear 565

Pack, clouds, away, and welcome day! 7

Pedlar's Song, The 74

Pleasure it is 17 _507_

*Poacher, The Lincolnshire 204

*Poor old Horse 90

Prayer unsaid, and Mass unsung 330

Prepare, prepare the iron helm of War 167

Proud Maisie is in the wood 357

Queen and huntress, chaste and fair 462

*Queen of Elfland, The 127

Question, The 8

*Quo' the Tweed to the Till 425

*Quoth John to Joan 350 _623_

Rarely, rarely, comest thou 254

Raven, The 320

Recollection, The 156

Remember me when I am gone away 280

*Remember us poor Mayers all 13

Reverie of Poor Susan, The 103

Rich in the waning light she sat 39

Riding through Ruwu swamp, about sunrise 92 _536_

Rosaleen, Dark 181

Rose Aylmer 365

*Rosy apple, lemon, or pear 36 _516_

*Round about, round about 119

Sabrina fair 130 _551_

Sands of Dee, The 225

Schoolboy, The 140

Seamen, three! What men be ye? 205

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness 220 _583_

Secret was the garden 285

*Seven lang years I hae served the King 347

*Seynt Stevene was a clerk 240 _587_

Shed no tear--O shed no tear! 283

*She is so proper and so pure 38 _518_

Shepherds all, and Maidens fair 457 _655_

Shut not so soon; the dull-eyed night 450 _651_

Shy in their herding dwell the fallow deer 298

Sick Child, The 40

Silent are the woods 27

Silent is the house, all are laid asleep 284

*Silly Sweetheart, say not nay 345

*Sir Patrick Spence 425

*Sister, awake! close not your eyes 11 _501_

*Skip it and trip it 575

Sleep on, my Love, in thy cold bed 273

Slow, slow, fresh fount, keep time with my salt tears 252 _592_

Sluggard, The 5

Soldiers, For 168

Solitary Reaper, The 221

Some folks as can afford 159

Somewhere, somewhen I've seen 403 _639_

Sorrow 256

So through the darkness and the cold we flew 234

So, we'll go no more a-roving 464

Sparrow, The Dead 101

Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king 15 _503_

Stepping Westward 456

Stop, Christian passer-by! 270 _604_

Stupidity Street 110

Swans, The Two 299

Sweet bird that shunn'st the noise of folly 213

Sweet Content 253

Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright 451

Sweet Stay-at-Home, sweet Well-content 38 _518_

Sweet Suffolk Owl, so trimly dight 104 _540_

*Sweet William and May Margaret 443

Swiftly walk o'er the western wave 458

Tell me not of joy 101 _538_

Tell me where is fancie bred 209

That houses forme within was rude and strong 339

That wind, I used to hear it swelling 229

The aïr to gi'e your cheäks a hue 581

The ample heaven of fabrik sure 144 _557_

*The cheerful arn he blaws in the marn 138

The cleanly rush of the mountain air 56

The clouds have left the sky 462

The crooked paths go every way 157

The days are cold, the nights are long 220 _583_

The Door of Death 666

The Dragon that our Seas did raise his Crest 189 _573_

The evening sun was sinking down 449

The feathers of the willow 224

*The fort over against the oak-wood 193 _575_

The four sails of the mill 144 _556_

The fresh air moves like water round a boat 9

The gipsies lit their fires by the chalk-pit gate anew 79

The heaving roses of the hedge are stirred 222

*The Holly and the Ivy 243 _589_

The hunt is up, the hunt is up 137 _555_

The King of China's daughter 198

*The king sits in Dumferling toune 425 _645_

*The king's young dochter 576

The lake lay blue below the hill 106 _542_

The lark now leaves his watery nest 6 _498_

*The love that I hae chosen 363

The maiden caught me in the wild 373

The man of life upright 595

*The miller's mill-dog lay at the mill-door 89 _533_

*The moon's my constant mistress 291 _606_

The murmur of the mourning ghost 316

The myrtle bush grew shady 192

The night will never stay 465

The poplars are felled; farewell to the shade 49 _520_

*There came a bird out o a bush 649

*There came a ghost to Margret's door 443 _650_

*There cam' Seven Egyptians on a day 531

The red flame flowers bloom and die 474 _664_

There grew a goodly tree him faire beside 491

There is a Garden in her face 150 _561_

*There is a Lady sweet and kind 366 _628_

There is a silence where hath been no sound 405 _641_

*The reivers they stole Fair Annie 434 _646_

*There lived a wife at Usher's Well 445 _651_

There's no smoke in the chimney 52

*There was a gallant ship and a gallant ship was she 418 _644_

*There was a knicht riding frae the east 333 _615_

There was an Indian, who had known no change 379 _631_

*There was an old man lived out in the wood 147

There was no song nor shout of joy 422

*There were three gipsies a-come to my door 79 _531_

*There were twa brethren in the north 55 _523_

*There were twa sisters sat in a bowr 441 _649_

The sea would flow no longer 409

These hearts were woven of human joys and cares 172 _568_

The sheets were frozen hard 31

The smothering dark engulfs relentlessly 239

The snow falls deep; the forest lies alone 78

The snow had fallen many nights and days 410

The splendour falls on castle walls 122

The sun descending in the west 452

The Sun does arise 23

The trees of the elder lands 404 _640_

The twilight is sad and cloudy 32

The wanton Troopers riding by 98 _538_

The warm sun is failing, the bleak wind is wailing 223

*The wind doth blow to-day, my love 359 _626_

The wind's on the wold 465 _660_

They are all gone into the world of light! 283

They shut the road through the woods 297

They stole her from the well 549

*This ae nighte, this ae nighte 264 _598_

This city and this country 66 _525_

*This is the Key of the Kingdom 3 { _497_

{ _667_

This is the weather the cuckoo likes 10

This Life, which seems so fair 252 _592_

This sailor knows of wondrous lands afar 402 _638_

Thou Fair-haired Angel of the Evening 450

Though three men dwell on Flannan Isle 415

Thou hast come from the old city 340

Thou simple Bird what mak'st thou here to play? 111

Time, you old gipsy man 454

'Tis the middle of night 335 _620_

'Tis the voice of a sluggard; I heard him complain 5 _498_

To-day a rude brief recitative 179 _571_

Toll no bell for me, dear Father, dear Mother 309 _609_

*Tom o' Bedlam 291

*Tom Pearse, Tom Pearse, lend me your gray mare 76 _531_

To sea, to sea! The calm is o'er 380 _632_

*To yon fause stream 423

Trafalgar 177

*True Thomas lay oer yond grassy bank 127 _550_

Turnstile, The 272

*Twa Corbies, The 109

*Twa Sisters, The 441

'Twas on a Holy Thursday 66

Two Swans, The 299

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright 98 _538_

Underneath an old oak tree 611

Under the after-sunset sky 113

Under the greenewood tree 143

Upon a dark ball spun in Time 295

Upon a Sabbath-day it fell 468 _663_

Upon my lap my sovereign sits 22

Up the airy mountain 122 _548_

Up, Timothy, up with your staff and away! 276

*Wae's me, wae's me 332 _615_

Wake, all the dead! 596

War Song, A 167

Was it the sound of a footfall I heard? 608

Waterfowl, To a 113

Water Lady, The 295

*We are three Brethren come from Spain 346

We be the King's men, hale and hearty 175 _570_

Weep no more, nor sigh, nor groan 440

Weep, weep, ye woodmen! 81 _532_

Weep you no more, sad fountain 282

*Wee Wee Man, The 293

*Welcome, fayre chylde, what is thy name? 28 _512_

We wandered to the Pine Forest 156

We were young, we were merry 318

Whar hae ye been a' day, my boy Tammy? 35 _516_

What bird so sings, yet so does wail? 15 _503_

What, hast thou run thy Race? Art going down? 451 _652_

What if some little paine the passage have 190

What is there hid in the heart of a rose 151 _561_

What is this life if, full of care 145

What noise of viols is so sweet 81

What shall I your true-love tell 262 _596_

What wondrous life is this I lead! 149

What, you are stepping westward? 456 _655_

When cats run home and light is come 105 _541_

When I am dead, my dearest 279 _605_

When I crept over the hill, broken with tears 275

When I did wake this morn from sleep 7

When I sailed out of Baltimore 95

When Isicles hang by the wall 246 _591_

*When I was bound apprentice 204

When I was but thirteen or so 375 _629_

When men were all asleep the snow came flying 234 _586_

When my mother died I was very young 42

When night is o'er the wood 541

When once the sun sinks in the west 454

When she sleeps 263

When that I was and a little tinie boy 224 _584_

When the cock begins to crow 553

When the green woods laugh with the voice of joy 198 _576_

When the lamp is shattered 258

When the Present has latched its postern 455 _653_

When these old woods were young 53 _521_

When the sheep are in the fauld 362

When the voices of children are heard on the green 453 _652_

When the words rustle no more 40

When we lay where Budmouth Beach is 176 _570_

Where are you going, Master mine? 355

Where are your Oranges? 175 _569_

Where do the gipsies come from? 80 _532_

Where on the wrinkled stream the willows lean 106 _542_

Where shall the lover rest 279

Where the Bee sucks, there suck I 121

Where the pools are bright and deep 141

Where the remote Bermudas ride 381 _633_

Where thou dwellest, in what Grove 112

While I sit at the door 487 _666_

While Morpheus thus does gently lay 467 _663_

Whither, midst falling dew? 113

Who calls? Who calls? Who? 120 _548_

Who can live in heart so glad 146

Who feasts tonight? 132 _554_

Who'll walk the fields with us to town? 141

*Who's at my window? 597

Whose Woods these are I think I know 587

*Who--Who--the bride will be? 105

*Why does your brand so drop wi' blood 430 _646_

Why do you lie with your legs ungainly huddled 171

*Widdecombe Fair 76

*Wife of Usher's Well, The 445

Will you come? 460

Witch's Ballad, The 324

With blackest moss the flower-plots 314 _609_

With deep affection and recollection 210 _582_

With how sad steps, O Moon 463

*Wolcum be thu, hevene kyng 244 _589_

World of Light, The 283

*Wraggle Taggle Gipsies, The 79

Wull ye come in eärly Spring 461

Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon 50

Ye buds of Brutus' land, courageous youths 168 _566_

Ye have been fresh and green 219

Yes, I remember Adlestrop 102

*Yet if His Majesty our sovereign lord 484

Young Love lies sleeping 368 _628_

PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY ROBERT MACLEHOSE AND CO. LTD.

THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, GLASGOW

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Hedgehogs

[2] Starling

[3] Know but little

[4] Give

[5] Birds

[6] Such

[7] Sorrow

[8] Run quickly, hasten away

[9] Float

[10] Whips, mills, or beats

[11] Refresh; make sweet

[12] Truly, in sooth

[13] Mateless and matchless

[14] Chose

[15] Keep

[16] Young

[17] Call

[18] Heedlessness

[19] Natural

[20] Nimbly

[21] Stick out

[22] Squiggle

[23] Toy or trap

[24] More

[25] Make grimaces

[26] Falsehood

[27] Learning

[28] Yea, sirs

[29] Air, tune, stave

[30] Willow rind

[31] Pears

[32] Feast or fast

[33] Gown or coat-tail

[34] Where

[35] Going

[36] Who's

[37] From

[38] Dale or hollow

[39] Knoll or hillock

[40] Goods and chattels

[41] If

[42] Clothes

[43] Sweet-smelling

[44] Cat-mint

[45] Gillyflower

[46] Empty

[47] Weeping

[48] Every

[49] Stole

[50] Had been

[51] Wrestle

[52] If

[53] Must not

[54] Dare not

[55] Dug. delved

[56] Her death-throes

[57] Bran

[58] Hairs

[59] Yeast

[60] Duck's

[61] Bracken

[62] To

[63] Such two

[64] Scarce

[65] Makes

[66] If

[67] Safely

[68] Lustily

[69] _Cave!_

[70] Pretty dear

[71] Green-walled ditch

[72] Thatch: mend

[73] Briar: wild-wood

[74] Distaff

[75] When the woods are fresh and fair

[76] It

[77] Small birds'

[78] Polished

[79] Which soon

[80] O'er meadow, moor and stream

[81] Herbs, wild flowers

[82] Stir

[83] A bank between ploughlands

[84] More

[85] Preens

[86] Stay

[87] Might

[88] This

[89] Risk, hazard, dare.

[90] Dainty; luxurious.

[91] Dirge, lament

[92] Vast hill-hollow

[93] Danger or defeat

[94] When the half-muffled City Bells rang in commemoration of the

Bell-Ringers who fell in the war, the bells of St. Clement Danes could

not take part owing to a defect in the framework.

[95] For a moment

[96] Game

[97] Cowering

[98] Glen

[99] Wee bit lassikin

[100] No linnets

[101] Freezing

[102] Worse

[103] Burn

[104] Him

[105] Together

[106] Loved

[107] Are here

[108] Custom

[109] Chilblain

[110] Forester

[111] Them

[112] Hast thou

[113] Cries

[114] Skim

[115] Apples

[116] Once

[117] Locks

[118] Skin

[119] Set

[120] Grow

[121] Elf

[122] Made one

[123] May

[124] Where's

[125] Dove

[126] Trappings

[127] Make

[128] Hold

[129] Bought

[130] The green margin of a river

[131] Wild and lively

[132] Furious

[133] Carousers

[134] Brawling

[135] Cobbler

[136] Spellbound

[137] Chose

[138] Witching

[139] Dust: reek

[140] Road

[141] Nearest

[142] Dove

[143] Asked

[144] Ere

[145] Bold

[146] Than

[147] Worse

[148] Why, sure

[149] Peat for school fire

[150] Who owns

[151] Vessel, ship

[152] Bands

[153] Ere

[154] Slowly, softly

[155] Cows

[156] Husband

[157] Weep

[158] Much

[159] Praises

[160] Good reason why

[161] More

[162] Pool

[163] Leaping

[164] Crooked, awry

[165] Spell

[166] Charmed and cozened

[167] Laughed

[168] Foul

[169] Right loth

[170] Wet

[171] But long ere

[172] If

[173] Hand-bag

[174] Birch-wood

[175] The young wife

[176] Skirts of bright green

[177] Must not

[178] This

[179] High

[180] Hair-comb

[181] Save

[182] The one

[183] Raiders

[184] Gold and silver

[185] Alone

[186] To the gate is gone

[187] Halls

[188] If

[189] One

[190] The twain

[191] Makes her weep

[192] Such lament

[193] Shall not lose

[194] Seized his all

[195] More

[196] Everything

[197] Within

[198] And dashed her backwards into the waves

[199] And I'll make

[200] You shall have

[201] It parted me and my world's mate

[202] Great

[203] If you will stand

[204] Every

[205] Likewise

[206] Visions

[207] Canopy over dais

[208] Mate

[209] Bed

[210] Told

[211] First and foremost

[212] Cap-nets of silk or of gold

[213] Bird

Transcriber's Note:

1. All original spelling has been retained.

2. Possible printing and spelling errors have been silently corrected.

3. Words in hyphenated and non-hyphenated forms have been retained.

4. Superscripts are shown as ^x.