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Oh, long the weary vigils since you left me-
Oh, many are the poets that are sown, .
Oh, miserable comfort! Loss is loss,

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Oh! nature's noblest gift- my gray goose-quill,
Oh! never did a mighty truth prevail,

Oh! not in strange portentous way,

O hour of all hours, the most blessed upon earth,
Oh! say can you see by the dawn's early light,
Oh, the broom, the yellow broom!

Oh, the earth and the air!.

Oh, the green things growing,

Oh! there are looks and tones that dart,

Oh, the soul-haunting shadows,

Oh! the world gives little of love or light,

Oh, to be back in the cool summer shadow,
Oh! watch you well by daylight,

Oh! welcome,

Oh, what shall I do, dear,

Oh! when 'tis summer weather,

"Oh, where hae ye been, my ain Johnnie

Oh, who Cabul's sweet region may behold,

Oh! who shall lightly say that Fame,

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Oh! why should the spirit of mortal be proud?
Oh, yet we trust that, somehow, good,
Oh! yield not, thou sad one, to sighs,
O lassie ayont the hill!

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Old friends and dear! it were ungentle rhyme,
Old house, how desolate thy life!

Old neighbor, for how many a year,

O Liberty, thou goddess heavenly bright,

O Love Divine, that stoopedst to share,

O lovely Mary Donnelly, it's you I love the best!
O loving God of Nature!

"O Mary, go and call the cattle home,

O may I join the choir invisible,

O Memory! thou fond deceiver,

O mystic, mighty flower whose frail white leaves,

One adequate support,

Once, in the flight of ages past,

Once, looking from a window on a land,
Once on a time the days of the week,

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Once on my mother's breast, a child, I crept,
Once upon a midnight dreary,

One by one the sands are flowing,

One more unfortunate,

One reads to me Macaulay's "Lays,""

One summer day, when birds flew high,

One sweetly solemn thought,.

One word is too often profaned,

On Linden, when the sun was low,

Only waiting till the shadows,

On the cross-beam under the Old South bell,

On the eighth day of March it was, some people say,

On the Rialto Bridge we stand;

On the Righi Kulm we stood,

On what foundations stands the warrior's pride,

Open the gates of the Temple;

O pilgrim, comes the night so fast?

O popular applause! what heart of man,

O Science, whose footsteps wander,

Lover,
Macdonald,

H. H. Brownell,
Hiram Rich,

Spofford,

Shelley,
Campbell,
Hageman,
Spofford,
Mace,
Willis,
Lover,
Howells,
Holland,

706

. 562

814

R. B. Lytton,

751

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Baillie,

27

Clemmer,

129

Bowles,

51

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Tennyson,

574

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Addison,

3

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O sleep! it is a gentle thing,.

O sovereign Master! stern and splendid power,

O still, white face of perfect peace,
O tenderly the haughty day,

O the generations old,

O the splendor of the city,

O Thou, by Nature taught,

O Thou, great Friend to all the sons of men,

O Thou, who dry'st the mourner's tear!

O Time! who know'st a lenient hand to lay,.

O treacherous conscience! while she seems to sleep,

O trifling tasks so often done,

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting,
Our Fatherland! and would'st thou know,

Our funeral tears from different causes rise,

Our God is all we boast below,

Our life is nothing but a winter's day;

Our life is twofold! Sleep hath its own world,

Our old brown homestead reared its walls,
Our old colonial town is new with May:
Our revels now are ended; these our actors,
Out of the clover and blue-eyed grass,
Out of the deeps of heaven,

Out of the focal and foremost fire,

Out of the thousand verses you have writ,
Outside the mad sea ravens for its prey
Out upon it! I have loved,

Over my window the ivy climbs,

O weathercock on the village spire,

O winter, wilt thou never, never go?.

O world,'

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E. B. Browning,

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Aiken,

797

A. Fields,

225

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O ye tears! O ye tears! that have long refused to flow, Mackay,

O ye uncrowned but kingly kings,

O youth of the world,

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Bunner.

Larcom,

Shakespeare,

Montgomery,

Saxe,
Benjamin,
Dobson,.
Boker,
Newman,
F. Smith,

Jackson,
Jonson,

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See you yonder castle stately?

Restless forms of living light,
Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
Rivers that roll most musical in song,

Sacred and secret hand!

Sad is our youth, for it is ever going,
Sad is the thought of sunniest days,
Saint Augustine! well hast thou said,
Sauntering hither on listless wings,
Say over again and yet once over again,
Say, why are beanties praised and honored most,
Say why was man so eminently raised,
Say, ye opprest by some fantastic woes,
Scarce had the earliest ray from Chinon's towers,
Scorn not the sonnet. Critic, you have frowned,
Sea-king's daughter from over the sea,
Seated one day at the organ,

See how the orient dew,.

.

Seek not to walk by borrowed light,

Send down Thy winged angel, God!

September waves his golden-rod,

Serve God and be cheerful. The motto,.

Seven women loved him. When the wrinkled pall,

She did not sigh for death, nor make sad moan,

She dwelt among the untrodden ways,

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She had lost many children now,

Landon,.

326

"She is dead!" they said to him, .

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She is not fair to outward view,.

H. Coleridge,

134

She is the east just ready for the sun,

Redden, .

848

She might have known it in the earlier spring,

Bunner,.

808

She's gone to dwell in heaven, my lassie,

She's empty: hark! she sounds: there's nothing there, Quarles,

She sitteth there a mourner, .

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She walks in beauty, like the night,

Byron,

93

She was a phantom of delight,

Wordsworth,

674

She was not white nor brown,

E. B. Browning.

67

Shut in a close and dreary sleep,

S. M. B. Piatt,

420

Shut, shut the door, good John!

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Since all that is not heaven must fade,

Keble,

316

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Some feelings are to mortals given,

Some flowers are withered, and some joys have died;
Some fretful tempers wince at every touch,
Some great misfortune to portend,

Some men employ their health, an ugly trick,
Some sigh for this and that,
Something so human hearted,

Sometime, when all life's lessons have been learned,
Somewhere on this earthly planet,

Somewhere-somewhere a happy clime there is,
Somewhere 'tis told that in an Eastern land,
So prone our hearts to whisper what we wish,
Soul of my soul impart,

Sound asleep! no sigh can reach,

Speak tenderly! "For he is dead," we say,
Spinner of the silken snare,.

Spirit that breathest through my lattice, thou,
Stand, thou great bulwark of man's liberty!
Stand up, erect! Thou hast the form, .
Stay, stay at home, my heart, and rest,.
Stay wherever you will,

Stay yet a little longer in the sky,

Still I behold him, every thought employed,
Still sits the school-house by the road,

Still to be neat, still to be drest,

Stoop to my window, thou beautiful dove!

Strive not to say the whole! the poet in his art,
Strive yet I do not promise,

Strong Son of God, immortal Love,

Sum up at night, what thou hast done by day
Sun of the moral world! effulgent source,

Sun of the sleepless! melancholy star!
Sunshine and silence on the Col de Balm!
Suppose the dreaded messenger of death,
Supreme, all-wise, eternal Potentate!
Supreme among a race of gods he stands,
Sweet and low, sweet and low,

Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright,
Sweeter than voices in the scented hay,
Sweetest, sweetest Heliotrope!
Sweet falsehoods, fare ye well!.
Sweet is the scene when virtue dies,
Sweet sylvan lake, in memory's gold,

Sweet winter roses, stainless as the snow,

Take the dead Christ to my chamber,
Taste the sweetness of delaying,
Teach me, my God and King,

Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean,
Tears wash away the atoms in the eye,.

Tell me not, sweet, I am unkind,

M. R. Smith,
Timrod,.
Saxe,.

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Scott,.
Jackson,
Cowper,.
Swift,
Cowper,.
Hood,
Ticknor,

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Mace,

361

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Tell me, thou star, whose wings of light,
Tell me, ye winged winds,.

Shelley,.

492

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Tell the fainting soul in the weary form,
Tender-handed stroke a nettle,.
That precious, priceless gift, a soul,
That season which all other men regret,
That son of Italy who tried to blow,

That which her slender waist confined, .
The age is gone o'er, .

The angels come, the angels go,

The angels kiss her while she sleeps,
The apples are ripe in the orchard,
The artist who this idol wrought,.

The banker, well known,

The bard has sung, God never formed a soul,
The beast was sturdy, large, and tall,
The beautiful color the color of gold!
The bird, let loose in eastern skies,

Hill,
Symonds,
Simms,
M. Arnold,
Waller,.
R. B. Lytton,
J. J. Pitt,
A. T. De Vere,
Winter,.
Shelley,.
R. B. Lytton,
Brooks,
S. Butler,
F. Smith,
Moore,

Barker,

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The birds are mute, the bloom is filed,
The blessed damozel leaned out,

The blessings which the weak and poor can scatter,
The blind at an easel, the palsied with a graver,
The branches arch and shape a pleasant bower,
The breaking waves dashed high,

The bubbling brook doth leap when I come by,
The castled crag of Drachenfels,

.

The chamber where the good man meets his fate,
The chrysalid with rapture stirs ;
The circle formed, we sit in silent state,
The conference-meeting through at last,
The crimson sunset faded into gray,
The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
The curtain of the dark,

The day and night are symbols of creation,
The day is quenched, and the sun is fled,
The dead leaves, their rich mosaics, .
The doors are all wide open; at the gate,
The dove did lend me wings,

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The eagle nestles near the sun!

The emphatic speaker dearly loves to oppose,
The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew,
The fateful hour, when death stood by,
The fisherman wades in the surges; .
The fountains mingle with the river,

The fresh May morning's earliest light,
The frugal snail with forecast of repose,

The garlands fade that Spring so lately wove,
The glories of our birth and state,

The grave but ends the struggle!

The hand that wore thee smooth is cold,
The harp at Nature's advent, strung,

The heart, they say, is wiser than the schools!

The honey-bee that wanders all day long,
The hours on the old piazza,.

The human heart cannot sustain,

Their preciousness in absence is proved,
The isles of Greece, the isles of Greece!

The kdly words that rise within the heart,
The little gate was reached at last,
The lost days of my life until to-day,
The loving poor! So envy calls,

The maid who binds her warrior's sash,
The matron at her mirror,

The mellow year is hasting to its close
The midges dance aboon the burn;

The more we live, more brief appear,

The Moth's kiss, first!

Then before all they stand, -the holy vow,
Then gently sean your brother man, .
Then, lo! the sainted Monitor is born,
The night-wind sweeps its viewless lyre,
The night has a thousand eyes, .

The palace with its splendid dome,

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The pilgrim and stranger, who, through the day,
The Pilgrim Fathers-where are they?
The pines were dark on Ramoth hill,

The place seemed new and strange as death,

The place where soon I think to lie,

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The rain is o'er. How dense and bright,

The rain, the desolate rain!

The rapid years drag by, and bring not here,

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Crabbe,
Fawcett,
Bourdillon,
G. Houghton,.
E. H. Whittier,
Pierpont,
J. G. Whittier,
E. B. Browning,
Landor,.
Trowbridge,
R. B. Lytton,
Cowper,

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