INDEX OF FIRST LINES

A spirit pass'd before me
A year ago, you swore, fond she!
Adieu, adieu! my native shore

Alas! the love of women! it is known
And here the buzz of eager nations ran
And thou art dead, as young and fair
And thou wert sad-yet I was not with thee
" Ave Maria! blessed be the hour'

Away, ye gay landscapes, ye gardens of roses

i

Beautiful shadow

Belshazzar! from the banquet turn
Between two worlds life hovers like a star
Bright be the place of thy soul !

But thou, Clitumnus! in thy sweetest wave
But words are things, and a small drop of ink

Can tyrants but by tyrants conquer'd be
Childe Harold sail'd, and pass'd the barren spot
Clarens! sweet Clarens

Clear, placid Leman! thy contrasted lake
Could I remount the river of my years
Could Love for ever

Dear Doctor, I have read your play

Egeria! sweet creation of some heart
Ere the daughter of Brunswick is cold in her grave
Eternal Spirit of the chainless Mind!

Fair Greece! sad relic of departed worth
Fame, wisdom, love, and power were mine
Fare thee well! and if for ever

Farewell to the Land where the gloom of my Glory
Fill the goblet again! for I never before

For Orford and for Waldegrave
From out the mass of never-dying ill
From the last hill that looks on thy once holy dɔme

Hark! forth from the abyss a voice proceeds.
He saw his white walls shining in the sun
Here's a happy new year! but with reason
How long in his damp trance young Juan lay
How many a time have I
Huzza! Hodgson, we are going

I had a dream, which was not all a dream
I have not loved the world, nor the world me
I love not Man the less, but Nature more
I saw thee weep-the big bright tear
I speak not, I trace not

•

I stood in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs
I tread on air, and sink not; yet I fear.
I want a hero: an uncommon want
If, in the month of dark December
If sometimes in the haunts of men
If that high world, which lies beyond
In the year since Jesus died for men
Is thy face like thy mother's, my fair child
It stood embosomed in a happy valley
Italia! oh Italia! thou who hast
It was the cooling hour, just when the rounded

Juan knew several languages-as well

Know ye the land where the cypress and myrtle

Lady! if for the cold and cloudy clime .
Lake Leman woos me with its crystal face
Lausanne! and Ferney! ye have been the abodes
Long years!-It tries the thrilling frame to bear

Maid of Athens, ere we part .

Many are poets who have never penn'd
My boat is on the shore

My hair is grey, but not with years
My poom 's epic, and is meant to be

PAGE

*87

300

39

205

402

84

396

354

5

64

184

207

32

24

185

355

383

8

15

27

218

168

426

190

398

422

214

291

176

183

284

9
305

71

248

387