INDEX OF FIRST LINES. PAGE Accept, thou shrine of my dead saint A cloud lay cradled near the setting sun Ah me! full sorely is my heart forlorn A jolly fat friar loved liquor good store Alas! the weary hours pass slow 264 A little elbow leans upon your knee 272 "All quiet along the Potomac," they say 263 As one who, destined from his friends to part 284 A supercilious nabob of the east 111 Backward, turn backward, O Time, in your flight. 224 Behold this ruin! "T is a skull 201 Bury Béranger! Well for you 309 Busk ye, busk ye, my bonnie, bonnie bride 52 Come a little nearer, Doctor,-thank you !-let me Could I pass those lounging sentries 234 146 223 316 293 359 PAGE Dark lowers the night o'er the wide stormy main 94 153 Happy the man who, void of cares and strife 32 How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood Ho! why dost thou shiver and shake How little recks it where men lie I am dying, Egypt, dying I am far from my hame, an' I'm weary often whiles I am old and blind I asked an aged man, with hoary hairs I can not eat but little meat 115 85 202 217 301 252 90 18 I have a son, a little son, a boy just five years old 139 In Thee, thou Son of God, in Thee I rest 328 In their ragged regimentals I said to sorrow's awful storm I sat with Doris, the shepherd maiden It is not time that flies It matters little where I was born 220 116 221 300 335 I would not live alway, I ask not to stay 128 Like as the damask rose you see . Love me little, love me long 6 307 284 16 Love still has something of the sea 26 36 Many a year is in its grave Mellow the moonlight to shine is beginning Methinks it is good to be here Miss Flora McFlimsey, of Madison Square Mournfully listening to the waves' strange talk Mourn, hapless Caledonia, mourn My dear and only love, I pray My life is like the summer rose My mind to me a kingdom is My prime of youth is but a frost of care Mysterious Night! when our first parent knew 282 308 130 207 288 69 27 118 1 9 99 PAGE 66 'Nay, wait me here-I'll not be long 318 Nearer, my God, to thee 199 Nigh to a grave that was newly made 175 Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note 276 On a lone barren isle, where the wild roaring billow 152 O say can you see, by the dawn's early light 103 O, the charge at Balaklava! 186 O, why should the spirit of mortal be proud? 122 |