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Lines composed a few miles above Tintern Abbey, on

revisiting the Banks of the Wye

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Written while Sailing in a Boat at, Evening
Lines written in Early Spring

Sunrise

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How Beautiful the Queen of Night

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A Night Piece

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To the Daisy...

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Ode to Duty

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Education the Duty of the State

Self-Knowledge

Earthly Glories Evanescent

London at Sunrise...

Man's Spiritual Power

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We have all of us one Human Heart...
Goodness in Things Evil...

The Fountain

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To a Distant Friend

WORDSWORTH, S Translated from M. Angelo-Father, thou must Lead
WORDSWORTH, W.-The World is too much with us

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The Labourer's Noonday Hymn
Devotional Incitements

The only Adequate Support for the Calamities of Life ... 317

On the Banks of a Rocky Stream
Restoration

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99

A Simile

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The Field Reaper ...

A Portrait

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On the Extinction of the Venetian Republic
The Mind's Inspiration

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The Cottage-An Admonition...

WOTTON The Happy Life...

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:::

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INDEX OF FIRST LINES.

PAGE

81

331

164

127

334

8

205

91

26

305

373

156

51

209

52

135

137

16

82

274

160

321

171

12

32

268

379

178

225

338

321

141

343

192

26-

169

160

169

811

11

273

276
75

302

356

130

132

64

79

18

126

183

220

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All these and more came flocking; but with looks
All worldly shapes shall melt in gloom...

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Blue Eyebright! loveliest flower of all that grow
Breathes there the man, with soul so dead

But where to find that happiest spot below
But who the melodies of Morn can tell?
But peaceful was the night
But yesterday a naked sod
By the shore, a plot of ground

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Cheer'd by this hope she bends her thither
Clear had the day been from the dawn
Come, Evening, once again, season of peace
Come forth, and let us through our hearts receive
Come follow, follow me

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Father of light and life! thou good supreme

Feed him with jonquils and anemones

First came the loss of light, and air

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Five years have past; five summers with the length
Flower! the laurel still may shed

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Flowers: when the Saviour's calm benignant eye...
Flowers by heedless footsteps press
From Greenland's icy mountains
Full fathoms five thy father lies...

God does not need either man's work
God of the earth's extended plains!
God prosper long our noble king
Golden Age of Harmony
Gracefully, gleefully, trippingly go

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Haggard and chill, as a lost ghost, the Morn...
Hail to thee, blithe spirit!

Happy is England! I could be content

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Hark!-hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings
Hast thou a charm to stay the morning-star...
Haste thee, nymph, and bring with thee
He walk'd along the pathway of a field...
He is the Happy Man, whose life e'en now
He who hath bent him o'er the dead
Hear, sweet spirit, hear the spell...
Heart of Christ, O cup most golden!
Heaven notes the sigh afflicted goodness heaves
Her supple breast thrills out

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Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere...
Here are old trees, tall oaks and gnarled pines
High thoughts!...

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Higher, higher will we climb

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Home of our hearts, our father's home!
Hopes are inspirations; first they grow
How beautiful the Queen of Night on high
How beautiful this night! the balmiest sigh
How calm, how awful calm they shine...
How happy is he born and taught
How many blessed groups this hour are bending
How merrily from distant towers
How richly glows the water's breast
How seldom, friend, a good great man inherits
How sweet at summer's noon, to sit and muse
How shall I know thee in the sphere which keeps
How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank

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I stood within the Coliseum's wall
I think, I feel-but when will she

I travell'd among unknown men
I wandered lonely as a coud
I will teach you how to blow

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If I had thought thou could'st have died
If thou would st view fair Melrose aright

If thou be one whose heart the holy forms

In a dim and distant far land

In 'customed glory bright, that morn the sun
In silent horror o'er the boundless waste

In the hour of my distress...

In the downhill of life, when I find I'm declining

In the swelling flood of life...

In the silence of my chamber

In this dim world of clouding cares

In vain our labours are, whatsoe'er they be

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan

In youth I died, in maiden bloom

Into that forest tar they thence him led...

Is't death to tall for Freedom's ri.ht?

Is it come? they said on the banks of Nile

Is it not sweet to think hereafter...

Is this a time to be cloudy and sad

It chanced upon the merry merry Christmas Eve

It is the hush of night, and all between

It is the midnight hour:-the beauteous séa

It is a sultry day; the sun has drunk

It is an ancient Mariner

It is the hour when from the boughs

It is not growing like a tree

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It is the mind that makes the body rich

It stands in a sunny meadow

It was a valley fi'd with sweetest sounds
It was the Duke of Normandy

John Wimble was a fisherman

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Lastly came Winter, clothed all in frieze
Learn from yon orient shell to love thy foe
Like leaves on trees the race of man is found
Lo! here the gentle lark, weary of res!...
Lodged in sunny cleft

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Lone flower! hemm'd in with snows as white as they
Look, the world's comforter, with weary gait

Look yonder, with delighted heart and eye

Loud into pomp sonorous swell the chords!

"Make way for liberty!" he cried

Man is dear to man; the poorest poor

Marian, thou seest, though courtly pleasures want...
Mary! I want a lyre with other strings
Men of England! who inherit

Men think it is an awful sight
-Merciful God!

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Midnight was come, and every vital thing
Milton! thou should'st be living at this hour...

"Mong the green lanes of Kent-green sunny lanes...
Morn on the waters! and, purple and bright...
Most glorious orb! that wert a worship, ere...
Most sweet it is with unuplifted eyes

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