O for a kindling touch from that pure flame
Now we are tired of boisterous joy
Now when the primrose makes a splendid show
Nuns fret now at their convent's narrow room
Oak of Guernica! Tree of holier power
O blithe New-comer! I have heard
O dearer far than light and life are dear
O'er the wide earth, on mountain and on plain
O'erweening Statesmen have full long relied
O flower of all that springs from gentle blood
Of mortal parents is the Hero born
O for a dirge! But why complain
O for the help of Angels to complete
O Friend! I know not which way I must look
Oft have I caught, upon a fitful breeze
Oft have I seen, ere Time had ploughed my cheek
Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray
Oh what a Wreck! how changed in mien and speech
Oh! what's the matter? what's the matter.
'Oh Lord, our Lord! how wondrously,' (quoth she)
O Moon! if e'er I joyed when thy soft light.
O mountain Stream! the Shepherd and his Cot
Once did She hold the gorgeous east in fee
Once I could hail (howe'er serene the sky)
Once in a lonely hamlet I sojourned
Once more the Church is seized with sudden fear
Once on the top of Tynwald's formal mound.
One might believe that natural miseries.
One morning (raw it was and wet-
One who was suffering tumult in his soul
On his morning rounds the Master
O Nightingale! thou surely art.
On, loitering Muse-the swift Stream chides us-on
'On Man, on Nature, and on Human Life
On Nature's invitation do I come.
O now that the genius of Bewick were mine
On to Iona!-What can she afford
Open your gates, ye everlasting Piles
O Thou who movest onward with a mind
O thou! whose fancies from afar are brought
Our bodily life, some plead, that life the shrine
Our walk was far among the ancient trees
Outstretching flameward his upbraided hand.
Pansies, lilies, kingcups, daisies
Part fenced by man, part by a rugged steep
Pastor and Patriot !-at whose bidding rise
Patriots informed with Apostolic light
Pause, courteous Spirit!-Baldi supplicates
Pause, Traveller! whosoe'er thou be
Pelion and Ossa flourish side by side
Reluctant call it was; the rite delayed
'Rest, rest, perturbed Earth.
'People! your chains are severing link by link
Perhaps some needful service of the State
Pleasures newly found are sweet .
Portentous change when History can appear
Praised be the Art whose subtle power could stay.
Praised be the Rivers, from their mountain springs
Prejudged by foes determined not to spare
Presentiments! they judge not right
Prompt transformation works the novel Lore.
Proud were ye, Mountains, when, in times of old
Pure element of waters! wheresoe'er
Queen of the Stars! so gentle, so benign
Ranging the heights of Scawfell or Black-comb
Rapt above earth by power of one fair face
Realms quake by turns: proud Arbitress of grace
Record we too, with just and faithful pen
Redoubted King, of courage leonine
Return, Content! for fondly I pursued
Rise!-they have risen: of brave Aneurin ask
Rotha, my Spiritual Child! this head was grey
Rude is this Edifice, and Thou hast seen
'Sacred Religion! mother of form and fear'.
Sad thoughts, avaunt !-partake we their blithe cheer
Said red-ribboned Evans
Said Secrecy to Cowardice and Fraud .
Scattering, like birds escaped the fowler's net
Scorn not the Sonnet; Critic, you have frowned
Screams round the Arch-druid's brow the seamew-white
Seek who will delight in fable
See the Condemned alone within his cell
See what gay wild flowers deck this earth-built Cot
See, where his difficult way that Old Man wins
Serene, and fitted to embrace
Serving no haughty Muse, my hands have here
Seven Daughters had Lord Archibald
Shade of Caractacus, if spirits love
Shame on this faithless heart; that could allow
She dwelt among the untrodden ways
She had a tall man's height or more
She was a Phantom of delight
She wept.-Life's purple tide began to flow
Shout, for a mighty Victory is won
Show me the noblest Youth of present time
Shun not this Rite, neglected, yea abhorred
Since risen from ocean, ocean to defy
Six months to six years added he remained
Six thousand veterans practised in war's game
Small service is true service while it lasts
Smile of the Moon!-for so I name
So fair, so sweet, withal so sensitive
Soft as a cloud is yon blue Ridge-the Mere.
Sole listener, Duddon ! to the breeze that played
'Son of my buried Son, while thus thy hand.
Soon did the Almighty Giver of all rest.
Spade! with which Wilkinson hath tilled his lands
Stay, bold Adventurer; rest awhile thy limbs
Stay, little cheerful Robin! stay
Stay near me-do not take thy flight
Stern Daughter of the Voice of God
Strange fits of passion have I known
Stranger! this hillock of mis-shapen stones
Stretched on the dying Mother's lap, lies dead
Such age how beautiful! O Lady bright
Such fruitless questions may not long beguile
Surprised by joy-impatient as the Wind
Sweet Flower, belike one day to have
Sweet Highland Girl, a very shower
" Sweet is the holiness of Youth'-so felt
Sweet was the walk along the narrow lane
Swiftly turn the murmuring wheel
Sylph was it? or a Bird more bright
The confidence of Youth our only Art
The Crescent-moon, the Star of Love
The Danish Conqueror, on his royal chair
The days are cold, the nights are long
The dew was falling fast, the stars began to blink
The doubt to which a wavering hope had clung
The embowering rose, the acacia, and the pine
The encircling ground, in native turf arrayed.
The fairest, brightest, hues of ether fade
The feudal Keep, the bastions of Cohorn
The fields which with covetous spirit we sold
The floods are roused, and will not soon be weary
The forest huge of ancient Caledon
The formal World relaxes her cold chain
The gallant Youth, who may have gained
The gentlest Poet, with free thoughts endowed
The gentlest Shade that walked Elysian plains
The glory of evening was spread through the west.
The God of Love-ah, benedicite
The imperial Consort of the Fairy-king.
The imperial Stature, the colossal stride
The Kirk of Ulpha to the pilgrim's eye
The Knight had ridden down from Wensley Moor
The Land we from our fathers had in trust
The leaves that rustled on this oak-crowned hill
The linnet's warble, sinking towards a close
The little hedgerow birds
The lovely Nan (submissive, but more meek
The Lovers took within this ancient grove
The martial courage of a day is vain
The massy Ways, carried across these heights
The Minstrels played their Christmas tune
The most alluring clouds that mount the sky.
The old inventive Poets, had they seen.
The oppression of the tumult-wrath and scorn
The peace which others seek they find.
The pibroch's note, discountenanced or mute
The post-boy drove with fierce career
The power of Armies is a visible thing
The prayers I make will then be sweet indeed
The rains at length have ceas'd, the winds still'd
There are no colours in the fairest sky
There is a bondage worse, far worse, to bear.
There is a change-and I am poor
There is a Flower, the lesser Ĉelandine.
There is a little unpretending Rill.
There is an Eminence,-of these our
There never breathed a man who, when his life
'There!' said a stripling, pointing with meet pride
There's George Fisher, Charles Fleming, and Reginald Shore
There's more in words than I can teach
There's not a nook within this solemn Pass
There's something in a flying horse
There was a Boy; ye knew him well, ye cliffs
There was a roaring in the wind all night
There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream
The Roman Consul doomed his sons to die
The Sabbath bells renew the inviting peal
The saintly Youth has ceased to rule, discrowned
The Scottish broom on Bird-nest brae
These times strike monied worldlings with dismay
These Tourists, heaven preserve us! needs must live
The Sheep-boy whistled loud, and lo
The Shepherd, looking eastward, softly said .
The sky is overcast
The soaring lark is blest as proud
The Spirit of Antiquity-enshrined
The stars are mansions built by Nature's hand
The star which comes at close of day to shine
The struggling Rill insensibly is grown
The sun has long been set
The sun is couched, the sea-fowl gone to rest
The sun, that seemed so mildly to retire
The sylvan slopes with corn-clad fields.
The tears of man in various measure gush
The Troop will be impatient; let us hie
The turbaned Race are poured in thickening swarms
The unremitting voice of mighty streams
The valley rings with mirth and joy
The Vested Priest before the Altar stands
The Virgin-Mountain, wearing like a Queen
The Voice of song from distant lands shall call
The wind is now thy organist ;-a clank
The woman-hearted Confessor prepares
The world forsaken, all its busy cares
The world is too much with us; late and soon
They called Thee Merry England, in old time
They dreamt not of a perishable home
The Young-ones gathered in from hill and dale
They seek, are sought; to daily battle led
They-who have seen the noble Roman's scorn
This Height a ministering Angel might select
'This Land of Rainbows spanning glens whose walls
This Lawn, a carpet all alive
Those silver clouds collected round the sun
Those words were uttered as in pensive mood
Though I beheld at first with blank surprise.
Though joy attend Thee orient at the birth
Though many suns have risen and set
Though narrow be that old Man's cares and near
Tho' searching damps and many an envious flaw
Though the bold wings of Poesy affect .
Though the torrents from their fountains
Though to give timely warning and deter
'Thou look'st upon me, and dost fondly think
Thou sacred Pile! whose turrets rise
Threats come which no submission may assuage
Three years she grew in sun and shower
Throned in the Sun's descending car
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