INDEX OF FIRST LINES Across the lonely beach we flit, "Ahoy! and O-ho! and it's who's for the ferry?" A lake and a fairy boat. "And I too sing the song of all creation, And Naomi said unto her daughters-in-law, A widow bird sate mourning for her love Breathes there the man, with soul so dead, PAGE 177 92 73 62 14 126 35 54 197 104 200 Come, bring with a noise, 190 Come listen to me, you gallants so free, 131 Did you hear of the curate who mounted his mare, 119 Does the road wind up-hill all the way? "Give us a song!" the soldiers cried, God makes sech nights, all white an' still. God rest ye, merry gentlemen! 102 210 217 189 22 146 Hark! I hear the tramp of thousands, Have you heard of the wonderful one-hoss shay, Heap high the farmer's wintry hoard!. Her eyes the glow worme lend thee, Her hair was tawny with gold, her eyes with purple were dark, PAGE 16 201 194 114 139 40 69 207 81 100 In the hush of the autumn night In the ranks of the Austrian you found him, I saw him once before, I shot an arrow into the air, Is there, for honest poverty, 137 169 198 21 208 Lead, kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom, 'Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam, Mowers, weary and brown and blithe, 15 93 My boat is on the shore, . My Love dwelt in a Northern land. Now Robin Hood is to Nottingham gone, O blithe newcomer ! I have heard, O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done, O Columbia, the gem of the ocean, O good Lord Judge, and sweet Lord Judge, Oh, say, can you see, by the dawn's early light, "Oh, where hae ye been, Lord Randal, my son?. On either side the river lie On the loch-sides of Appin, Out where the sky and the sky-blue sea Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky, Tell me not, in mournful numbers, The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, . The consul's brow was sad, . The crafty Nix, more false than fair. The frugal snail, with forecast of repose, Then I tuned my harp, The Northern Star There came an elf knight out of a bush, There was a jovial beggar, The spacious firmament on high, They shot him dead on the Nine-Stone Rig, This I beheld, or dreamed it in a dream: Three fishers went sailing out into the West, . Toll for the brave! True Thomas lay on yon grassy bank, Under the wide and starry sky, Were half the power that fills the world with terror, What is so rare as a day in June? When all the world is young, lad, Where lies the land to which the ship would go? Whither, 'midst falling dew, "Why weep ye by the tide, ladie? You know, we French stormed Ratisbon: You spotted snakes with double tongue, |