0, where will be the birds that sing
O why should the spirit of mortal be proud ? .

203
122

The blackbird is singing on Michigan's shore
The chill November day was done
The despot’s heel is on thy shore
The dews of summer night did fall
The dule 's i' this bonnet o' mine
The glories of our birth and state
The groves of Blarney, they look so charming
The maid, and thereby hangs a tale
The moon had climbed the highest hill
The muffled drum's sad roll has beat
The Muse, disgusted at an age and cline
The nautilus and the ammonite
The Orient day was fresh and fair
There is a happy land
There 's a grim one-horse hearse in a jolly round trot
There sat an old man on a rock
The scene was more beautiful far to the eye
The tears I shed must ever fall
The tree of deepest root is found
This winter weather, it waxeth cold
'T is midnight's holy hour,—and silence now
'T was a jolly old pedagogue, long ago
T was in heaven pronounced, and 'twas muttered in

hell.

127
270
259

72
191
24
92
24
89
197

44
218
164
157
189
239
122
99
80
13
135
226

a

109

INDEX OF FIRST LINES.

285

'T was the night before Chrislmas, when all through
the house

102
'T was when the wan leaf frae the birk tree was fa'in' 105
Two worlds there are. To one our eyes we strain 243
Two Yankee wags, one summer day

158

246
229
256

86

95
117
240
182
84

Wee Willie Winkie rins through the town
We hail this morn
We meet ’neath the sounding rafter
What constitutes a state
What dreaming drone was ever blest
When a' ither bairnies are hushed to their hame
When another life is added
Whence come those shrieks so wild and shrill
When shall we three meet again ?
When the humid showers gather over all the starry

spheres
When the lessons and tasks are all ended
When the sheep are in the fauld, and a' the kye at

hame
Where the rocks are gray, and the shore is steep
Who fears to speak of Ninety-Eight?
Why thus longing, thus for ever sighing
Wild was the night, yet a wilder might
Willy's rare, and Willy 's fair
With deep affection

244
274

88
247
195
206
151

8
149

26

Ye gentlemen of England
“You have heard,” said a youth to his sweetheart,

who stood
You knew—who knew not Astrophel ?
You lay a wreath on murdered Lincoln's bier

124