f the crimson-colour'd Even
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, loathed 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 where in 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

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
Lo! where the rosy-bosom'd Hours

Many a green isle needs must be
Mary! I want a lyre with other strings
Milton! thou shouldst be living at this hour
Mine be a cot beside the hill
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 th