On the Departure of Sir Walter Scott From Abbotsford for Naples
A trouble, not of clouds, or weeping rain,
Nor of the setting sun’s pathetic light
Engendered, hangs o’er Eildon’s triple height;
Spirits of Power, assembled there, complain
For kindred Power departing from their sight;
While Tweed, best pleased in chanting a blithe strain,
Saddens his voice again, and yet again.
Lift up your hearts, ye Mourners! for the might
Of the whole world’s good wishes with him goes;
Blessings and prayers in nobler retinue
Than sceptred king or laurelled conqueror knows,
Follow this wondrous Potentate. Be true,
Ye winds of ocean, and the midland sea,
Wafting your Charge to soft Parthenope!
W. Wordsworth.
INDEX OF FIRST LINES
| PAGE | |
| A chieftain, to the Highlands bound, | 13 |
| Ah! County Guy, the hour is nigh, | 81 |
| Ah! what can ail thee, wretched wight, | 265 |
| Ah! what avails the sceptred race, | 72 |
| A lake and a fairy boat, | 87 |
| Allen-a-dale has no fagot for burning, | 126 |
| All worldly shapes shall melt in gloom, | 255 |
| And is this—Yarrow?—This the Stream, | 324 |
| Annan Water’s wading deep, | 178 |
| Arethusa arose, | 191 |
| As I was walking all alane, | 78 |
| As it fell upon a day, | 206 |
| A spaniel, Beau, that fares like you, | 6 |
| As slow our ship her foamy track, | 65 |
| At midnight, in the month of June, | 207 |
| A trouble, not of clouds, or weeping rain, | 343 |
| Attend, all ye who list to hear our noble England’s praise, | 167 |
| At the corner of Wood Street, when daylight appears, | 164 |
| A weary lot is thine fair maid, | 194 |
| Behold her, single in the field, | 90 |
| Bird of the wilderness, | 198 |
| By yon castle wa’, at the close of the day, | 63 |
| Come live with me and be my love, | 135 |
| Come, Sleep! O Sleep, the certain knot of peace, | 94 |
| Could love for ever, | 71 |
| Down in yon garden sweet and gay, | 163 |
| Fair Daffodils, we weep to see, | 89 |
| Fair pledges of a fruitful tree, | 92 |
| Fair stood the wind for France, | 18 |
| Fear no more the heat o’ the sun, | 199 |
| From Stirling Castle we had seen, | 322 |
| Full fathom five thy father lie, | 71 |
| Good people all, of every sort, | 38 |
| Hail to thee, blithe spirit, | 203 |
| Hear what Highland Nora said, | 17 |
| Helen, thy beauty is to me, | 198 |
| Hence, loathèd Melancholy, | 144 |
| Hence, vain deluding Joys, | 150 |
| Henry was every morning fed, | 268 |
| Here, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling, | 270 |
| Here lies, whom hound did ne’er pursue, | 285 |
| How sleep the brave, who sink to rest, | 88 |
| I am monarch of all I survey, | 276 |
| If aught of oaten stop, or pastoral song, | 121 |
| If I had thought thou couldst have died, | 100 |
| I have read, in some old marvellous tale, | 128 |
| I’m wearin’ awa’, Jean, | 182 |
| In a drear-nighted December, | 311 |
| In the greenest of our valleys, | 240 |
| In Xanadu did Kubla Khan, | 142 |
| I remember, I remember, | 3 |
| It fell about the Lammas tide, | 286 |
| It is an ancient Mariner, | 215 |
| It was a’ for our rightfu’ King, | 68 |
| It was many and many a year ago, | 96 |
| It was the schooner Hesperus, | 46 |
| I’ve heard them lilting, at the ewe-milking, | 137 |
| I wandered lonely as a cloud, | 119 |
| I wish I were where Helen lies, | 115 |
| John Gilpin was a citizen, | 28 |
| Little Lamb, who made thee? | 4 |
| Look not thou on beauty’s charming, | 73 |
| Loving friend, the gift of one, | 51 |
| Merry it is in the good greenwood, | 55 |
| Much have I travell’d in the realms of gold, | 86 |
| Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, | 108 |
| Now glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all glories are, | 257 |
| O blithe New-comer! I have heard, | 113 |
| O, Brignall banks are wild and fair, | 40 |
| Of a’ the airts the wind can blaw, | 62 |
| Of Nelson and the North, | 43 |
| Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray, | 8 |
| Oft in the stilly night, | 184 |
| O have ye na heard o’ the fause Sakelde, | 248 |
| Oh, talk not to me of a name great in story, | 111 |
| Oh! wherefore come ye forth, in triumph from the North, | 211 |
| O listen, listen, ladies gay, | 213 |
| O, my luve’s like a red, red rose, | 66 |
| Once it smiled a silent dell, | 107 |
| On Hallow-Mass Eve, ere you boune ye to rest, | 109 |
| On Linden, when the sun was low, | 36 |
| Orpheus with his lute made trees, | 77 |
| Our bugles sang truce, for the night-cloud had lower’d, | 27 |
| O, wert thou in the cauld blast, | 61 |
| O where have you been, my long, long love, | 102 |
| O, young Lochinvar is come out of the West, | 45 |
| Pack, clouds, away, and welcome day, | 176 |
| Pibroch of Donuil Dhu, | 82 |
| Proud Maisie is in the wood, | 92 |
| Queen and Huntress, chaste and fair, | 80 |
| Ruin seize thee, ruthless King, | 243 |
| Scots, wha hae wi’ Wallace bled, | 67 |
| Sing Erlington and Cowdenknowes where Homes had ance commanding, | 284 |
| Spring, the sweet spring, is the year’s pleasant king, | 210 |
| So, we’ll go no more a roving, | 181 |
| Tell me not (sweet) I am unkind, | 102 |
| That day of wrath, that dreadful day, | 94 |
| That way look, my Infant, lo! | 271 |
| The Abbot arose, and closed his book, | 331 |
| The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, | 82 |
| The Baron of Smaylho’me rose with day, | 278 |
| The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, | 298 |
| The day is done, and the darkness, | 192 |
| The dews of summer night did fall, | 200 |
| The glories of our blood and state, | 177 |
| The harp that once through Tara’s halls, | 70 |
| The king sits in Dunfermline toun, | 259 |
| The Love that I have chosen, | 106 |
| The Minstrel-boy to the war is gone, | 68 |
| The mountain sheep are sweeter, | 187 |
| The noon was shady, and soft airs, | 50 |
| The poplars are fell’d; farewell to the shade, | 95 |
| The skies they were ashen and sober, | 138 |
| The sun descending in the west, | 5 |
| The sun upon the lake is low, | 74 |
| The sun upon the Weirdlaw Hill, | 123 |
| There is a garden in her face, | 176 |
| There lived a wife at Usher’s Well, | 124 |
| They shot him dead on the Nine-Stone Rig, | 111 |
| This ae nighte, this ae nighte, | 330 |
| This is the month, and this the happy morn, | 303 |
| Thou wast all to me, love, | 79 |
| ’Tis the middle of night by the castle clock, | 312 |
| ’Twas at the royal feast for Persia won, | 129 |
| Twist ye, twine ye! even so, | 101 |
| Under a spreading chestnut tree, | 37 |
| Waken, lords and ladies gay, | 12 |
| We sat within the farm-house old, | 185 |
| We walked along, while bright and red, | 195 |
| We wander’d to the pine forest, | 159 |
| When captaines couragious, whom death cold not daunte, | 171 |
| When icicles hang by the wall, | 95 |
| When Love with unconfinèd wings, | 117 |
| When maidens such as Hester die, | 120 |
| When my mother died I was very young, | 16 |
| When the British warrior-queen, | 341 |
| When the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye at hame, | 161 |
| When the voices of children are heard on the green, | 1 |
| Where shall the lover rest, | 247 |
| Where the bee sucks, there suck I, | 181 |
| Where the pools are bright and deep, | 2 |
| Where the remote Bermudas ride, | 183 |
| While the dawn on the mountain was misty and gray, | 85 |
| Whither, ’midst falling dew, | 179 |
| Who is Silvia? what is she, | 73 |
| Who would true valour see, | 274 |
| Why weep ye by the tide, ladie, | 156 |
| With sweetest milk and sugar first, | 25 |
| Ye flowery banks o’ bonie Doon, | 64 |
| Ye Mariners of England, | 22 |
| Yesterday was brave Hallowday, | 326 |
| Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more, | 291 |
| You meaner beauties of the night, | 175 |
Footnotes
1 The evil spirit of the waters.
2 Fail, ‘turf.’
3 Inch. isle.
4 The plate-jack is coat armour; the vaunt-brace, or wam-brace, armour for the body; the sperthe, a battle-axe.
5 Fend, ‘support.’