A chieftain to the Highlands bound, 105

 Across the lonely beach, 71

 A life on the ocean wave, 85

 Alone I walked the ocean strand, 256

 A nightingale that all day long, 34

 A supercilious nabob of the East, 165

 At Flores in the Azores Sir Richard Grenville lay, 246

 At midnight in his guarded tent, 128

 A traveller on the dusty road, 48

 A well there is in the west country, 180

 Ay, tear her tattered ensign down, 53

 Behind him lay the gray Azores, 169

 Beneath the low-hung night cloud, 67

 Bird of the wilderness, 302

 Blow, blow, thou winter wind, 58

 Bowed by the weight of centuries he leans, 342

 Bright shone the lists, blue bent the skies, 110

 Buttercups and daisies, 51

 By the shores of Gitche Gumee, 79

 Come, let us plant the apple-tree, 211

 Come, dear children, let us away, 260

“Courage!” he said, and pointed toward the land, 231

 Cupid and my Campasbe played, 235

 Cupid once upon a bed, 234

 Down in a green and shady bed, 27

 Farewell!  Farewell!  But this I tell, 5

 Fear death?—­to feel the fog in my throat, 320

“Give us a song!” the soldiers cried, 64

 God of our fathers, known of old, 321

 Goe, soule, the bodie’s guest, 283

 Grow old along with me, 312

 Hail to thee, blithe spirit, 268

 Half a league, half a league, 107

 Happy the man whose wish and care, 273

 Hats off! 133

 Heaven is not reached at a single bound, 117

 How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood, 288

“How I should like a birthday!” said the child, 164

 How happy is he born and taught, 220

 How sleep the brave, who sing to rest, 133

 I am monarch of all I survey, 190

 I celebrate myself, and sing myself, 344

 I chatter, chatter, as I flow, 153

 I come, I come! ye have called me long, 259

 If I had but two little wings, 21

 I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me, 9

 I heard last night a little child go singing, 222

 I like a church:  I like a cowl, 333

“I’ll tell you how the leaves came down,” 12

 I met a traveller from an antique land, 322

 In her ear he whispers gaily, 75

 In the name of the Empress of India, make way, 125

 I remember, I remember, 159

 I shot an arrow into the air, 3

“Isn’t this Joseph’s son?”—­ay, it is He, 114

 I sprang to the stirrup, and Joris, and he, 173

 Is there, for honest poverty, 151

 It is not growing like a tree, 60