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Francis T. Palgrave, ed. (1824–1897). The Golden Treasury. 1875.

Index of First Lines

Absence, hear thou my protestation
A Chieftain to the Highlands bound
A flock of sheep that leisurely pass by
Ah, Chloris! could I now but sit
Ah! County Guy, the hour is nigh
All in the Downs the fleet was moor’d
All thoughts, all passions, all delights
And are ye sure the news is true?
And is this Yarrow?—this the stream
And thou art dead, as young and fair
And wilt thou leave me thus?
Ariel to Miranda:—Take
Art thou pale for weariness
Art thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers?
As it fell upon a day
As I was walking all alane
A slumber did my spirit seal
As slow our ship her foamy track
A sweet disorder in the dress
At the corner of Wood Street, when daylight appears
At the mid hour of night, when stars are weeping, I fly
Avenge, O Lord! Thy slaughter’d saints, whose bones
Awake, Æolian lyre, awake
Awake, awake, my Lyre!
A weary lot is thine, fair maid
A wet sheet and a flowing sea
A widow bird sate mourning for her Love
Bards of Passion and of Mirth
Beauty sat bathing by a spring
Behold her, single in the field
Being your slave, what should I do but tend
Beneath these fruit-tree boughs that shed
Best and brightest, come away
Bid me to live, and I will live
Blest pair of Sirens, pledges of Heaven’s joy
Blow, blow, thou winter wind
Bright Star! would I were steadfast as thou art
Call for the robin-redbreast and the wren
Calm was the day, and through the trembling air
Captain, or Colonel, or Knight in Arms
Care-charmer Sleep, son of the sable Night
Come away, come away, death
Come live with me and be my Love
Crabbed Age and Youth
Cupid and my Campaspe play’d
Curfew tolls the knell of parting day
Cyriack, whose grandsire, on the royal bench
Daughter of Jove, relentless power
Daughter to that good Earl, once President
Degenerate Douglas! O the unworthy lord!
Diaphenia like the daffadowndilly
Doth then the world go thus, doth all thus move?
Down in yon garden sweet and gay
Drink to me only with thine eyes
Duncan Gray cam’ here to woo
Earl March look’d on his dying child
Earth has not anything to show more fair
Eternal Spirit of the chainless Mind!
Ethereal Minstrel! Pilgrim of the sky!
Ever let the Fancy roam
Fair Daffodils, we weep to see
Fair pledges of a fruitful tree
Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing
Fear no more the heat o’ the sun
For ever, Fortune, wilt thou prove
Forget not yet the tried intent
Forward youth that would appear
Fountains mingle with the river
Four Seasons fill the measure of the year
From Harmony, from heavenly Harmony
From Stirling Castle we had seen
Full fathom five thy father lies
Gather ye rosebuds while ye may
Gem of the crimson-colour’d even
Glories of our blood and state
Go fetch to me a pint o’ wine
Go, lovely Rose!
Hail to thee, blithe spirit!
Happy the man whose wish and care
Happy those early days, when I
He is gone on the mountain
He that loves a rosy cheek
Hence, all you vain delights
Hence, loathèd Melancholy
Hence, vain deluding Joys
How delicious is the winning
How happy is he born and taught
How like a winter hath my absence been
How sleep the brave, who sink to rest
How sweet the answer Echo makes
How vainly men themselves amaze
I am monarch of all I survey
I arise from dreams of thee
I dream’d that as I wander’d by the way
If aught of oaten stop or pastoral song
If doughty deeds my lady please
I fear thy kisses, gentle maiden
If thou survive my well-contented day
If to be absent were to be
If women could be fair, and yet not fond
I have had playmates, I have had companions
I heard a thousand blended notes
I met a traveller from an antique land
I’m wearing awa’, Jean
In a drear-nighted December
In the downhill of life, when I find I’m declining
In the sweet shire of Cardigan
I remember, I remember
I saw wherein the shroud did lurk
It is a beauteous evening, calm and free
It is not Beauty I demand
It is not growing like a tree
I travell’d among unknown men
It was a lover and his lass
It was a summer evening
I’ve heard them lilting at our ewe-milking
I wander’d lonely as a cloud
I was thy neighbour once, thou rugged Pile!
I wish I were where Helen lies
John Anderson, my jo, John
Last and greatest herald of Heaven’s King
Lawrence, of virtuous father virtuous son
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Life! I know not what thou art
Life of Life! thy lips enkindle
Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore
Like to the clear in highest sphere
Love not me for comely grace
Lovely lass o’ Inverness
Lo! where the rosy-bosom’d Hours
Many a green isle needs must be
Mary! I want a lyre with other strings
Merchant, to secure his treasure
Milton! thou shouldst be living at this hour
Mine be a cot beside the hill
More we live, more brief appear
Mortality, behold and fear
Most sweet it is with unuplifted eyes
Much have I travell’d in the realms of gold
Music, when soft voices die
My days among the dead are past
My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My heart leaps up when I behold
My Love in her attire doth show her wit
My lute, be as thou wert when thou didst grow
My thoughts hold mortal strife
My true-love hath my heart, and I have his
No longer mourn for me when I am dead
Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note
Not, Celia, that I juster am
Now the golden Morn aloft
Now the last day of many days
O blithe new-comer! I have heard
O Brignall banks are wild and fair
Of all the girls that are so smart
Of a’ the airts the wind can blaw
Of Nelson and the North
O Friend! I know not which way I must look
Of this fair volume which we World do name
Oft in the stilly night
O if thou knew’st how thou thyself dost harm
Oh, lovers’ eyes are sharp to see
Oh, snatch’d away in beauty’s bloom!
O listen, listen, ladies gay!
O Mary, at thy window be
O me! what eyes hath Love put in my head
O mistress mine, where are you roaming?
O my Luve’s like a red, red rose
On a day, alack the day!
On a Poet’s lips I slept
Once did she hold the gorgeous East in fee
One more Unfortunate
One word is too often profaned
O never say that I was false of heart
On Linden, when the sun was low
O saw ye bonnie Lesley
O say what is that thing call’d Light
O talk not to me of a name great in story
Our bugles sang truce, for the night-cloud had lower’d
Over the mountains
O waly waly up the bank
O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms
O Wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn’s being
O World! O Life! O Time!
Pack, clouds, away, and welcome day
Phoebus, arise!
Pibroch of Donuil Dhu
Poor Soul, the centre of my sinful earth
Poplars are fell’d! farewell to the shade
Proud Maisie is in the wood
Queen and Huntress, chaste and fair
Rarely, rarely, comest thou
Ruin seize thee, ruthless King!
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Shall I, wasting in despair
She dwelt among the untrodden ways
She is not fair to outward view
She walks in beauty, like the night
She was a Phantom of delight
Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea
Since there’s no help, come let us kiss and part
Sleep on, and dream of heaven awhile
Souls of poets dead and gone
Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year’s pleasant king
Star that bringest home the bee
Stern Daughter of the Voice of God!
Sun is warm, the sky is clear
Sun upon the lake is low
Surprised by joy—impatient as the wind
Sweet, be not proud of those two eyes
Sweet Highland Girl, a very shower
Sweet stream, that winds through yonder glade
Swiftly walk over the western wave
Take, O take those lips away
Tax not the royal Saint with vain expense
Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind
Tell me where is Fancy bred
That time of year thou may’st in me behold
That which her slender waist confined
There be none of Beauty’s daughters
There is a flower, the lesser celandine
There is a garden in her face
There’s not a joy the world can give like that it takes away
There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream
They that have power to hurt, and will do none
This is the month, and this the happy morn
This life, which seems so fair
Three years she grew in sun and shower
Thy braes were bonnie, Yarrow stream
Thy hue, dear pledge, is pure and bright
Timely blossom, Infant fair
Tired with all these, for restful death I cry
Toll for the brave
To me, fair Friend, you never can be old
Twas at the royal feast for Persia won
Twas on a lofty vase’s side
Twentieth year is well-nigh past
Two Voices are there: one is of the Sea
Under the greenwood tree
Verse, a breeze ‘mid blossoms straying
Victorious men of earth, no more
Waken, lords and ladies gay
Wee, sleekit, cow’rin’, tim’rous beastie
Were I as base as is the lowly plain
We talk’d with open heart, and tongue
We walk’d along, while bright and red
We watch’d her breathing thro’ the night
Whenas in silks my Julia goes
When Britain first at Heaven’s command
When first the fiery-mantled Sun
When God at first made Man
When he who adores thee has left but the name
When icicles hang by the wall
When I consider how my light is spent
When I have borne in memory what has tamed
When I have fears that I may cease to be
When I have seen by Time’s fell hand defaced
When in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes
When in the chronicle of wasted time
When lovely woman stoops to folly
When Love with unconfinèd wings
When maidens such as Hester die
When Music, heavenly maid, was young
When Ruth was left half desolate
When the lamp is shatter’d
When the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye at hame
When to the sessions of sweet silent thought
When we two parted
Where art thou, my beloved son
Where shall the lover rest
Where the remote Bermudas ride
While that the sun with his beams hot
Whoe’er she be
Why art thou silent? Is thy love a plant
Why so pale and wan, fond lover?
Why weep ye by the tide, ladie?
Why, Damon, with the forward day
With little here to do or see
World is too much with us; late and soon
World’s a bubble, and the life of man
Ye banks and braes and streams around
Ye banks and braes o’ bonnie Doon
Ye distant spires, ye antique towers
Ye Mariners of England
Yes, there is holy pleasure in thine eye!
Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more
You meaner beauties of the night