Oh! it is sweet, amid the waste of years Oh joyously, triumphantly, sweet sounds! ye swell and float O, holy spirit! oft when eve Page 325 22 20 Oh! yet one smile, though dark may lour 329 107 158 O think it not strange that my soul is shaken 251 65 190 38 295 Prince William's bark swept on Remember me, when summer friends surround thee Rest from thy griefs! thou art sleeping uow She leant upon her harp, and thousands look'd So ends Childe Harold his last Pilgrimage 130 25 Speak low-the place is holy to the breath 61 97 Tears on thy bridal morning! Tears, my love 358 TABLE OF FIRST LINES. That happy gleam of vernal eyes The bride is dead! the bride is dead The brook is purling on its way The castle clock had toll'd midnight The nest of the dove is rifled The Northern Star sailed o'er the Bar 222 157 285 336 The Rhine! the Rhine!-May on thy flowing river 261 288 261 303 1 277 They grew in beauty, side by side They tell me, gentle lady, that they deck thee for a bride 256 Thou, to whose power reluctantly we bend 'Tis home where'er the heart is 'Tis night, and in darkness;—the visions of youth 'Tis said she once was beautiful;—and still 'Tis time this heart should be unmoved Toil on toil on! ye ephemeral train Up with thy thin transparent sail Voice of the mighty deep . We break the glass, whose sacred wine What hid'st thou in thy treasure-caves and cells When night sits on the earth 9 When the dying flame of day 266 When the summer harvest was gather'd in 123 TABLE OF FIRST LINES. Page Where are now the dreaming flowers 228 Where is the Sea?-I languish here 299 Whose imp art thou, with dimpled cheek Why hast thou bound around, with silver rim Will then no pitying sword its succour lend Ye dear companions of my silent hours 335 101 54 92 262 291 520 225 Ye field flowers! the gardens eclipse you, 'tis true 142 193 Yes, I am rich in all excuse to mourn 328 Yes! bury me deep in the infinite sea 226 Yes! this is death! but in its fairest form PRINTED BY C. WHITTINGHAM, |