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[Including the first Lines of Songs contained in the longer Poems]
Ave Maria ! maiden mild ! 180.
Away! our journey lies through dell and dingle
Ay! and I taught thee the word and the spell
Ay, Pedro, come you here with mask and lan-
our ancient crown, in these wild times,
Ay, sir, the clouted shoe hath ofttimes craft
in 't, 500.
Ay, this is he who wears the wreath of bays,
A CAT of yore — or else old Æsop lied, - 439.
A courtier extraordinary, who by diet, 496.
A grain of dust, 505.
A mightier wizard far than I, 457.
A mirthful man he was — the snows of age, 507.
A priest, ye cry, a priest ! - lame shepherds
A tale of sorrow, for your eyes may weep, 508,
A thousand winters dark have flown, 462.
A weary lot is thine, fair maid, 253.
A weary month has wandered o'er, 420.
Admire not that I gained the prize, 485.
Ah! County Guy, the hour is nigh, 472.
Ah! mark the matron well — and laugh not,
Ah, poor Louise! the livelong day, 481.
Alas! alas ! 456.
All is prepared — the chambers of the mine, 508.
All joy was bereft me the day that you left me,
All your ancient customs, 499.
Allen-a-Dale has no fagot for burning, 254.
Amid these aisles where once his precepts
An hour with thee! When earliest day, 480.
And art thou cold and lowly laid, 205.
And be he safe restored ere evening set, 494.
And did ye not hear of a mirth befell, 413.
And Need and Misery, Vice and Danger, bind,
And ne'er but once, my son, he says, 23.
And some for safety took the dreadful leap, 503.
And what though winter will pinch severe, 430.
And when Love's torch has set the heart in
And whither would you lead me then, 270.
And you shall deal the funeral dole, 464.
Anna-Marie, love, up is the sun, 452.
Approach the chamber, look upon his bed, 495.
Arouse thee, youth ! — it is no common call,
Arouse the tiger of Hyrcanian deserts, 495.
As lords their laborers' hire delay, 474.
As the worn war-horse, at the trumpet's sound,
As, to the Autumn breeze's bugle-sound, 494.
Ask thy heart, whose secret cell, 457.
Assist me, ye friends of Old Books and Old
At school I knew him - a sharp-witted youth,
Autumn departs — but still its mantle's fold,
Beggar! - the only freemen of your Common.
Behold the Tiber!' the vain Roman cried, 506
Between the foaming jaws of the white torrent,
Bid not thy fortune troll upon the wheels, 500.
Birds of omen dark and foul, 448.
Bold knights and fair dames, to my harp give
an ear, 19.
Bring the bowl which you boast, 480.
But follow, follow me, 418.
By pathless march, by greenwood tree, 480.
By this good light, a wench of matchless metal,
By ties mysterious linked, our fated race, 457.
Canny moment, lucky fit, 424.
Can she not speak, 502.
Cauld is my bed, Lord Archibald, 441.
Champion, famed for warlike toil, 465.
Chance will not do the work, 501.
Ch’m-maid ! - The Genman in the front parlor,
Come forth, old man - thy daughter's side, 505.
Come hither, young one
Mark me! Thou art
Come, let me have thy counsel, for I need it, 504.
Come, Lucy, while 't is morning hour, 287.
Complain not on me, child of clay, 457.
Contentions fierce, 503.
Credit me, friend, it hath been ever thus, 501.
Cry the wild war-note, let the champions pass,
Cursed be the gold and silver which persuade,
Daring youth ! for thee it is well, 456.
Dark Ahriman, whom Irak still, 477.
Dark are thy words and severe, 462.
Dark on their journey loured the gloomy day, Hail to thy cold and clouded beam, 239.
Happy thou art! then happy be, 494.
Dark shall be light, 425.
Hark! the bells summon and the bugle calls.
Dear John, - I some time ago wrote to inform 498.
Hark to the insult loud, the bitter sneer, 500.
Death distant ?- No, alas ! he's ever with us, Harp of the North, farewell! The hills grow
Death finds us mid our play-things — snatches Harp of the North ! that mouldering long hast
Deeds are done on earth, 506.
Hawk and osprey screamed for joy, 382.
Dim burns the once bright star of Avenel, 457. He came amongst them like a new-raised spirit,
Dinas Emlinn, lament; for the moment is nigh, 503.
He came — - but valor had so fired his eye, 429.
Dire was his thought who first in poison steeped, He is gone on the mountain, 177.
He strikes no coin, 't is true, but coins new
Donald Caird 's come again, 440.
Dust unto dust, 453.
He was a fellow in a peasant's garb, 502.
Dwellers of the mountain, rise, 461.
He was a man Versed in the world as pilot in
his compass, 498.
Emblem of England's ancient faith, 417.
He was a son of Egypt, as he told me, 503.
Enchantress, farewell, who so oft has decoyed He, whose heart for vengeance sued, 458.
Health to the chieftain from his clansman true!
Fair Brussels, thou art far behind, 363.
Hear what Highland Nora said, 427.
Fair is the damsel, passing fair, 506.
Heaven knows its time; the bullet has its billet
Far as the eye could reach no tree was seen, 494. 508.
Far in the bosom of the deep, 410.
Heir lyeth John o' ye Girnell, 429.
Fare thee well, thou Holly green ! 458.
Henry and King Pedro clasping, 487.
Farewell ! farewell ! the voice you hear, 464. Here come we to our close - for that which fol
Farewell, merry maidens, to song and to laugh, lows, 504.
Here has been such a stormy encounter, 492.
Farewell to Mackenneth, great Earl of the Here is a father now,
Here lies the volume thou hast boldly sought,
Farewell to Northmaven, 460.
Farewell to the land where the clouds love to Here lyes ane saint to prelates surly, 431.
Here's a weapon now, 507.
Fathoms deep beneath the wave, 461.
Here stand I tight and trim, 503.
Fearest thou to go with me? 456.
Here stands the victim there the proud be-
For all our men were very very merry, 473. trayer, 499.
For leagues along the watery way, 461.
Here we have one head, 506.
Forget thee! No! my worthy fere ! 481. Here, youth, thy foot unbrace, 507.
Fortune, my Foe, why dost thou frown on me? Hie
High deeds achieved of knightly fame, 449.
Fortune, you say, flies from us — She but circles, High feasting was there there — the gilded
Frederick leaves the land of France, 25.
High o'er the eastern steep the sun is beaming,
From heavy dreams fair Helen rose, 1.
From the brown crest of Newark its summons His talk was of another world - his bodements,
From thy Pomeranian throne, 380.
Hither we come, 487.
Hold fast thy truth, young soldier - Gentle
Gentle sir, You are our captive, 504.
Give me a morsel on the greensward rather, 497. How fares the man on whom good men would
Give us good voyage, gentle stream - we stun look, 501.
give way -I must and will have I asked of my harp, “Who hath injured thy
chords ?' 476.
Glowing with love, on fire for fame, 423.
I beseech you, - 494.
God protect brave Alexander, 428.
I climbed the dark brow of the mighty Hell.
Good even, good fair moon, good even to thee, vellyn, 38.
I do love these ancient ruins, 499.
Good evening, Sir Priest, and so late as you I fear the devil worst when gown and cassock,
Go sit old Cheviot's crest below, 25.
Iglance like the wildfire thro' country and town,
Hail to the Chief who in triumph advances ! I knew Anselmo. He was shrewd and prudent
I'll give thee, good fellow, a twelvemonth or
I'll walk on tiptoe; arm my eye with caution,
I'm Madge of the country, I'm Madge of the
I see thee yet, fair France thou favored land,
I strive like to the vessel in the tide-way, 499.
I was a wild and wayward boy, 267.
I was one, 506.
If you fail honor here, 492.
Il fares the bark with tackle riven, 383.
In awful ruins Ætna thunders nigh, 491.
In Madoc's tent the clarion sounds, 504.
In some breasts passion lies concealed and silent,
In the bonny cells of Bedlam, 441.
In the wide pile, by others heeded not, 493.
In the wild storm The seaman hews his mast
In yon lone vale his early youth was bred, 495.
Indifferent, but indifferent pshaw ! he doth
it not, 496.
Is this thy castle, Baldwin ? Melancholy, 495.
It chanced that Cupid on a season, 423.
- it wrings me in my parting hour, 504.
It is and is not — 't is the thing I sought for,
It is not texts will do it - Church artillery, 497.
It is the bonny butcher lad, 441.
It is a time of danger, not of revel, 498.
It's up Glembarchan's braes I gåed, 414.
It was a little naughty page, 9.
It was an English ladye bright, 76.
It was Dunois, the young and brave, was bound
for Palestine, 423.
Many a fathom dark and deep, 456.
Many great ones Would part with half their
March, march, Ettrick and Teviotdale, 453.
Marry, come up, sir, with your gentle blood,
Measurers of good and evil, 483.
Menseful maiden ne'er should rise, 465.
Merrily swim we, the moon shines bright, 453.
Merry it is in the good greenwood, 184.
Mid these wild scenes Enchantment waves her
Mortal warp and mortal woof, 456.
Mother darksome, Mother dread, 462.
Must we then sheath our still victorious sword,
My hawk is tired of perch and hood, 206.
My hounds may a' rin masterless, 493.
My tongue pads slowly under this new language,
My wayward fate I needs must plain, 404.
Nay, dally not with time, the wise man's trea-
Nay, hear me, brother-I am elder, wiser, 497.
Nay, let me have the friends who eat my vict-
Nearest of blood should still be next in love,
Necessity — thou best of peace-makers, 502.
Night and morning were at meeting, 421.
No human quality is so well wove, 503.
No, sir, I will not pledge - I'm one of those,
Norman saw on English oak, 450.
Not faster yonder rowers' might, 164.
Not serve two masters ? — Here's a youth will
try it, 498.
Not the wild billow, when it breaks its barrier,
November's hail-cloud drifts away, 449.
November's sky is chill and drear, 88.
Now, all ye ladies of fair Scotland, 504.
Now' bid the steeple rock - she comes, she
Now, by Our Lady, Sheriff, 't is hard reckoning,
Now choose thee, gallant, betwixt wealth and
Now fare thee well, my master, if true service,
Now God be good to me in this wild pilgrimage,
Now, hoist the anchor, mates — and let the sails,
Now let us sit in conclave. That these weeds,
Now on my faith this gear is all entangled, 497.
Now Scot and English are agreed, 500.
O ay! the Monks, the Monks, they did the
mischief ! 495.
O, Brignall banks are wild and fair, 250,
O, dread was the time, and more dreadful the
O for a draught of power to steep, 506.
O for a giance of that gay Muse's eye, 431.
Joy to the victors, the sons of old Aspen, 10.
Late, when the autumn evening fell, 414.
Law, take thy victim ! - May she find the
Let the proud salmon gorge the feathered hook,
Let those go see who will - I like it not, 493.
Life ebbs from such old age, unmarked and si-
Life hath its May, and all is mirthful then, 497.
Life, with you, Glows in the brain and dances
in the arteries, 492.
Lives there a strain whose sounds of mounting
Look not thou on beauty's charming, 448.
Look on my girdle - on this thread of gold, 457.
Look round thee, young Astolpho : Here's the
Lord William was born in gilded bower, 377.
Loud o'er my head though awful thunders roll,
Love wakes and weeps, 464.
Lo! where he lies embalmed in gore, 506.
Macleod's wizard flag from the gray castle sal-
Maiden whose sorrows wail the Living Dead,
O for the voice of that wild horn, 438.
O hone a rie'! O hone a rie'! 11.
O, hush thee, my babie, thy sire was a knight,
O, I do know him – 't is the mouldy lemon, 500.
O, lady, twine no wreath for me, 266.
O listen, listen, ladies gay! 78.
O, lovers' eyes are sharp to see, 401.
0, low shone the sun on the fair lake of Toro,
O Maid of Isla from the cliff, 467.
O, open the door, some pity to show, 400.
0, sadly shines the morning sun, 504.
O, say not, my love, with that mortified air, 404.
O sleep ye sound, Sir James,' she said, 440.
0, tell me, Harper, wherefore flow, 409.
0, thus it was: he loved him dear, 506.
O, who rides by night thro' the woodland so
wild ? 8.
0, will you hear a knightly tale of old Bohemian
O, will ye hear a mirthful bourd ? 29.
Of all the birds on bush or tree, 459.
Of yore, in old England, it was not thought
Oh, I'm come to the Low Country, 481.
Oh! young Lochinvar is come out of the west,
Oh! you would be a vestal maid, I warrant,
On Ettrick Forest's mountains dun, 467.
On Hallow-Mass Eve, ere you boune ye to rest,
Once again, — but how changed since my wan-
derings began, 425.
One thing is certain in our Northern land, 505.
Our counsels waver like the unsteady bark, 503.
Our vicar still preaches that Peter and Poule,
Our work is over over now,
Over the mountains and under the waves, 500.
Painters show Cupid blind — hath Hymen eyes ?
Parental love, my friend, has power o'er wisdom,
Pibroch of Donuil Dhu, 427.
Plain as her native dignity of mind, 447.
Poor sinners whoin the snake deceives, 467.
Proud Maisie is in the wood, 441.
Quake to your foundations deep, 310.
Rash adventurer, bear thee back, 306.
Rash thy deed, 456.
Red glows the forge in Striguil's bounds, 399.
Remorse - she ne'er forsakes us ! 492.
Rescue or none, Sir Knight, I am your captive,
Ring out the merry bells, the bride approaches,
Rove not from pole to pole - the man lives here,
See the treasures Merlin piled, 307.
See yonder woman, whom our swains revere,
She does no work by halves, yon raving ocean,
"She may be fair,' he sang, ' but yet,' 383.
Since here we are set in array round the table,
Sir, stay at home and take an old man's counsel,
So sung the old bard in the grief of his heart,
So, while the Goose, of whom the fable told,
Soft spread the southern summer night, 420.
Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er, 162.
Soldier, wake! the day is peeping, 476.
Sometimes he thinks that Heaven this vision
Son of a witch, 480.
Son of Honor, theme of story, 309.
Sound, sound the clarion, fill the fife! 493.
Speak not of niceness, when there's chance of
Staffa sprung from high Macdonald, 410.
Stern eagle of the far Northwest, 459.
Stern was the law which bade its votaries leave,
Still in his dead hand clenched remain the
Still though the headlong cavalier, 504.
Strange ape of man! who loathes thee while he
scorns thee, 508.
Summer eve is gone and past, 264.
Sweet shone the sun on the fair lake of Toro,
Take these flowers which, purple waving, 8.
Take thou no scorn, 453.
Tell me not of it, friend — when the young
Tell me not of it - I could ne'er abide, 507.
That day of wrath, that dreadful day, 80.
That's right, friend - drive the gaitlings back,
The ashes here of murdered kings, 506.
The Baron of Smaylho'me rose with day, 14.
The bleakest rock upon the loneliest heath, 493.
The course of human life is changeful still, 502.
The deadliest snakes are those which, twined
'mongst flowers, 506.
The Druid Urien had daughters seven, 388.
The forest of Glenmore is drear,
The hearth in hall was black and dead, 494.
The heath this night must be my bed, 179.
The herring loves the merry moon-light, 429.
The hottest horse will oft be cool, 495.
The knight's to the mountain, 414.
The last of our steers on the board has been
The Lord Abbot had a soul, 492.
The Minstrel came once more to view, 203.
The monk must arise when the matins ring, 448.
The moon is in her summer glow, 231.
The moon 's on the lake and the mist's on the
The news has flown frae mouth to mouth, 469.
Saint Magnus control thee, 464.
Say not my art is fraud -- all live by seeming,