Oh! it is sweet, amid the waste of years Oh joyously, triumphantly, sweet sounds! ye swell and float Page 325 22 Oh! yet one smile, though dark may lour O think it not strange that my soul is shaken Prince William's bark swept on So ends Childe Harold his last Pilgrimage Speak low!-the place is holy to the breath 33 255 130 25 61 97 Tears on thy bridal morning! Tears, my love That happy gleam of vernal eyes The bride is dead! the bride is dead The moon shines bright 135 The nest of the dove is rifled 254 The Northern Star sailed o'er the Bar 160 The pilgrim fathers-where are they The sun went down in beauty-not a cloud 208 58 18 280 259 73 52 109 217 261 222 137 They grew in beauty, side by side They tell me, gentle lady, that they deck thee for Thine is a strain to read among the hills 165 'Tis night, and in darkness;-the visions of youth 113 'Tis said she once was beautiful;-and still 31 'Tis time this heart should be unmoved 203 Toil on! toil on! ye ephemeral train 188 Too proud of heart to tell the grief 'Twas on a sultry summer noon 'Twixt Wit and Wisdom, Beauty sat 246 144 312 When night sits on the earth We break the glass, whose sacred wine What hid'st thou in thy treasure-caves and cells When the dying flame of day When the summer harvest was gather'd in Page Where are now the dreaming flowers 228 Where is the Sea?-I languish here 299 Whose imp art thou, with dimpled cheek Will then no pitying sword its succour lend Ye dear companions of my silent hours 225 Ye field flowers! the gardens eclipse you, 'tis true 142 Ye tell me 'tis the opening hour 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, BRITISH LIBRAR |