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* Here's Jem's first copy of nonsense verses, 465. It may indeed he phantasy when I, 190.
It was some Spirit, Sheridan! that breathed, 42.
Jem writes his verses with more speed, 444.
Know'st thou the land where the pale citrons
*LADY, to Death we're doom'd, our crime the
* Lætus abi! mundi strepitu curisque remotus,'
Late, late yestreen I saw the new Moon, 159.
* Little Daisy-very late spring. March, 453.
Love would remain the same if true, 200.
" Lovely gems of radiance meek, 12.
Low was our pretty Cot : our tallest rose, 52.
MAIDEN, that with sullen brow, 32.
Maid of my Love, sweet Genevieve! 1, 561.
Mark this holy chapel well ! 142.
Mourn, Israel ! Sons of Israel, mourn ! 187.
Muse that late sang another's poignant pain, 12.
My heart has thank'd thee, Bowles ! for those
soft strains, 40.
*My heart seraglios a whole host of joys, 454. Of late, in one of those most weary hours, 204.
Oft o'er my brain does that strange fancy roll,
*Oh! might my ill-past hours return again! 4.
Old age, “the shape and messenger of Death,
On a given finite line, 14.
On stern Blencartha's perilous height, 175.
On the broad mountain-top, 455.
On the wide level of a mountain's head, 187.
*Once again, sweet Willow, wave thee ! 470.
wandering near, 24.
*Outmalice Calumny's imposthum'd tongue, 454.
Pale Roamer through the night! thou poor
Forlorn ! 32.
Parry seeks the Polar ridge, 451.
Pensive at eve on the hard 'world I mus'd, 110.
Pity! mourn in plaintive tone, 29.
Poor little foal of an oppressed race ! 35, 477.
mea. Sordes, 210.
*REPEATING such verse as Bowles, 459.
Resembles life what once was deem'd of light,
Rid of a vexing and a heavy load, 474.
*Rush on my ear, a cataract of sound, 454.
Say what you will, Ingenious Youth ! 443.
Scarce any scandal, but has a handle, 448.
She gave with joy her virgin breast, 144.
The piteous sobs that choke the virgin's
* The Pleasures sport beneath the thatch, 459.
The Poet in his lone yet genial hour, 460.
The singing Kettle and the purring Cat, 461.
The stream with languid murmur creeps, 20.
'The Sun is not yet risen,' 193.
*The swallows interweaving there, 455.
The tear which mourn'd a brother's fate scarce
* The tongue can't speak when the mouth is
* Then we may thank ourselves, 473.
*There in some darksome shade, 470.
* These, Emmeline, are not the journies, 467.
They shrink in as moles, 189.
*This be the meed, that thy song creates a
thousand-fold echo ! 138.
This day among the faithful placed, 83.
This, Hannah Scollock ! may have been the case,
This Sycamore, oft musical with bees, 169.
* This yearning heart (Love! witness what I say),
Thou gentle Look, that didst my soul beguile, 23.
Though roused by that dark Vizir Riot rude, 39.
Three truths should make thee often think and
Through weeds and thorns, and matted under-
Thus far my scanty brain hath built the
Thy babes ne'er greet thee with the father's We both attended the same College, 444.
We pledg'd our hearts, my love and I, 144.
Well ! If the Bard was weather-wise, who
made, 159, 523.
We'll live together, like two neighbour vines
*We've conquer'd us a Peace, like lads true
*We've fought for Peace, and conquer'd it at last,
What? rise again with all one's bones? 444.
shoal ! 468.
What is an Epigram ? a dwarfish whole, 447.
*What now, O Man! thou dost or mean'st to do,
*What pleasures shall he ever find ? 2.
What statesmen scheme, and soldiers work,
What though the chilly wide-mouth'd quacking
When British Freedom for a happier land, 38.
When they did greet me father, sudden awe, 66.
am still, 448.
When Youth his faery reign began, 29.
Whene'er the mist, that stands 'twixt God and
*Where'er I find the Good, the True, the Fair,
*Where Cam his stealthy flowings most dis-
Where is the grave of Sir Arthur O'Kellyn? 190.
While my young cheek retains its healthful hues,
Why need I say, Louisa dear! 131.
and dear Dorothea ! 137.
*Wisdom, Mother of retired Thought, 455.
With many a pause and oft reverted eye, 46.
* With secret hand heal the conjectur'd wound.
With skill that never Alchemist yet told, 453. Yes, noble old Warrior! this heart has beat high,
*Yon row of bleak and visionary pines, 463.
You loved the daughter of Don Manrique?
Your Poem must eternal be, 444.
*You're careful o'er your wealth, 'tis true, 443.
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