INDEX OF FIRST LINES

A blush as of roses, [392].
A boy drove into the city, his wagon loaded down, [209].
A cheer and salute for the Admiral, and here's to the Captain bold, [637].
A cliff-locked port and a bluff sea wall, [319].
A cloud possessed the hollow field, [491].
A cycle was closed and rounded, [196].
A flash of light across the night, [517].
A fleet with flags arrayed, [110].
A gallant foeman in the fight, [524].
A grand attempt some Amazonian Dames, [85].
A granite cliff on either shore, [593].
A handful came to Seicheprey, [672].
A hundred thousand Northmen, [419].
A midnight cry appalls the gloom, [334].
A moonless night—a friendly one, [498].
A pillar of fire by night, [513].
A score of years had come and gone, [74].
A song unto Liberty's brave Buccaneer, [222].
A story of Ponce de Leon, [21].
A summer Sunday morning, [424].
A transient city, marvellously fair, [649].
A voice went over the waters, [608].
A Yankee ship and a Yankee crew, [327].
Abraham Lincoln, the Dear President, [539].
Across the Stony Mountains, o'er the desert's drouth and sand, [372].
After the eyes that looked, the lips that spake, [497].
After the war—I hear men ask—what then, [678].
Again Columbia's stripes, unfurl'd, [302].
Again the summer-fevered skies, [503].
Ah, you mistake me, comrades, to think that my heart is steel, [200].
All alone on the hillside, [585].
All day long the guns at the forts, [475].
All day the great guns barked and roared, [213].
All hail! Unfurl the Stripes and Stars, [403].
All night upon the guarded hill, [390].
"All quiet along the Potomac," they say, [433].
All summer long the people knelt, [590].
Aloft upon an old basaltic crag, [379].
Along a river-side, I know not where, [450].
America! dear brother land, [614].
America, my own, [659].
America! thou fractious nation, [138].
An American frigate from Baltimore came, [224].
"An empire to be lost or won," [342].
An eye with the piercing eagle's fire, [560].
"And now," said the Governor, gazing abroad on the piled-up store, [60].
And they have thrust our shattered dead away in foreign graves, [612].
Are these the honors they reserve for me, [17].
"Are you ready, O Virginia," [627].
Arms reversed and banners craped, [511].
Arnold! the name as heretofore, [238].
As billows upon billows roll, [524].
As hang two mighty thunderclouds, [361].
As men who fight for home and child and wife, [198].
As near beauteous Boston lying, [137].
As to kidnap the Congress has long been my aim, [205].
As vonce I valked by a dismal svamp, [401].
At anchor in Hampton Roads we lay, [464].
At Eutaw Springs the valiant died, [255].
At length 'tis done, the glorious conflict's done, [118].
At the door of his hut sat Massasoit, [60].
Avast, honest Jack! now, before you get mellow, [303].
Awake! arise, ye men of might, [363].
Awake! awake! my gallant friends, [339].
Awake, ye nations, slumbering supine, [661].
Ay! drop the treacherous mask! throw by, [476].
Ay, it is fitting on this holiday, [664].
Ay, let it rest! And give us peace, [607].
Ay, shout and rave, thou cruel sea, [380].
Ay, tear her tattered ensign down, [351].
Aye, lads, aye, we fought 'em, [618].

Back from the trebly crimsoned field, [435].
Be then your counsels, as your subject, great, [270].
Bear him, comrades, to his grave, [389].
Before our eyes a pageant rolled, [578].
Before the living bronze Saint-Gaudens made, [646].
Behind him lay the gray Azores, [14].
Behold her Seven Hills loom white, [658].
Behold, we have gathered together our battleships, near and afar, [620].
Beneath our consecrated elm, [168].
Beneath the blistering tropical sun, [629].
Beside that tent and under guard, [586].
Beside the lone river, [581].
Blackened and bleeding, helpless, panting, prone, [569].
Bob Anderson, my beau, Bob, when we were first aquent, [403].
Born, nurtured, wedded, prized, within the pale, [349].
Boy Brittan—only a lad—a fair-haired boy—sixteen, [455].
Bright on the banners of lily and rose, [574].
Bring cypress, rosemary and rue, [658].
Bring the good old bugle, boys, we'll sing another song, [513].
Britannia's gallant streamers, [296].
Britons grown big with pride, [173].
Brothers in blood! They who this wrong began, [666].
Bury the Dragon's Teeth, [508].
By Cavité on the bay, [619].
By Chickamauga's crooked stream the martial trumpets blew, [501].
By the beard of the Prophet the Bashaw swore, [281].
By the flow of the inland river, [563].
By the rude bridge that arched the flood, [351].

Cæsar, afloat with his fortunes, [462].
Call Martha Corey, [92].
Calm as that second summer which precedes, [507].
Calm martyr of a noble cause, [545].
Calmly beside her tropic strand, [515].
Came the morning of that day, [404].
Chained by stern duty to the rock of state, [537].
Champion of those who groan beneath, [385].
Cheer up, my young men all, [122].
"Chuff! chuff! chuff!" An' a mountain-bluff, [652].
Close his eyes; his work is done, [442].
Cold, cold is the north wind and rude is the blast, [109].
Columbia, appear!—To thy mountains ascend, [305].
Columbia, Columbia, to glory arise, [180].
Columbus looked; and still around them spread, [273].
Come, all ye bold Americans, to you the truth I tell, [257].
Come all ye lads who know no fear, [226].
Come all ye sons of Brittany, [112].
Come all ye Yankee sailors, with swords and pikes advance, [280].
Come all you brave Americans, [237].
Come all you brave soldiers, both valiant and free, [179].
Come, all you sons of Liberty, that to the seas belong, [296].
Come, brothers! rally for the right, [413].
Come, cheer up, my lads, like a true British band, [130].
Come, come fill up your glasses, [132].
Come, each death-doing dog who dares venture his neck, [121].
Come, fill the beaker, while we chaunt a pean of old days, [119].
Come, Freemen of the land, [509].
Come, gentlemen Tories, firm, loyal, and true, [229].
Come let us rejoice, [245].
Come, listen all unto my song, [565].
Come listen and I'll tell you, [221].
Come listen, good neighbors of every degree, [131].
Come listen to the Story of brave Lathrop and his Men, [82].
Come muster, my lads, your mechanical tools, [270].
Come, rouse up, ye bold-hearted Whigs of Kentucky, [353].
Come sheathe your swords! my gallant boys, [239].
Come, stack arms, men! Pile on the rails, [483].
Come swallow your bumpers, ye Tories, and roar, [143].
Come unto me, ye heroes, [202].
Come, ye lads, who wish to shine, [287].
Comes a cry from Cuban water, [609].
Compassionate eyes had our brave John Brown, [397].
Concentred here th' united wisdom shines, [269].
Content within his wigwam warm, [73].
Cornwallis led a country dance, [256].
"Cut the cables!" the order read, [622].

Dark as the clouds of even, [500].
Dawn of a pleasant morning in May, [518].
Dawn peered through the pines as we dashed at the ford, [488].
Day of glory! Welcome day, [179].
Daybreak upon the hills, [547].
Dead! Is it possible? He, the bold rider, [582].
Death, why so cruel? What! no other way, [45].
Delusions of the days that once have been, [88].
Did you hear of the fight at Corinth, [458].
Do you know how the people of all the land, [49].
Do you know of the dreary land, [468].
Down in the bleak December bay, [59].
Down Loudon Lanes, with swinging reins, [482].
Down the Little Big Horn, [580].
Down toward the deep-blue water, [668].
Dreary and brown the night comes down, [10].

Ebbed and flowed the muddy Pei-Ho by the gulf of Pechili, [380].
Eight volunteers! on an errand of death, [626].
Eighty and nine with their captain, [438].
El Emplazado, the Summoned, the Doomed One, [613].
Ere five score years have run their tedious rounds, [125].
Ere Murfreesboro's thunders rent the air, [459].

Fair were our visions! Oh, they were as grand, [546].
Fallen? How fallen? States and empires fall, [376].
Fallen with autumn's fallen leaf, [590].
Famine once we had, [69].
Far spread, below, [3].
Farewell! for now a stormy morn and dark, [650].
Farewell, Peace! another crisis, [287].
Farragut, Farragut, [528].
Father and I went down to camp, [159].
First in the fight, and first in the arms, [454].
Five fearless knights of the first renown, [34].
Flawless his heart and tempered to the core, [128].
"Fly to the mountain! Fly," [601].
For him who sought his country's good, [280].
For sixty days and upwards, [499].
For us, the dead, though young, [674].
Foreboding sudden of untoward change, [599].
"Forgive them, for they know not what they do," [538].
Four-and-eighty years are o'er me; great-grandchildren sit before me, [211].
Four gallant ships from England came, [309].
Four times the sun has risen and set; and now on the fifth day, [115].
Four young men, of a Monday morn, [155].
France, [666].
Francisco Coronado rode forth with all his train, [31].
Free are the Muses, and where freedom is, [641].
Freedom called them—up they rose, [606].
Fresh palms for the Old Dominion, [395].
From a junto that labor for absolute power, [176].
From dawn to dark they stood, [441].
From dusk till dawn the livelong night, [191].
From France, desponding and betray'd, [312].
From Halifax station a bully there came, [289].
From keel to fighting top, I love, [618].
From Lewis, Monsieur Gérard came, [214].
From out my deep, wide-bosomed West, [587].
From out the North-land his leaguer he led, [199].
From Santiago, spurning the morrow, [635].
From the commandant's quarters on Westchester height, [231].
From the laurel's fairest bough, [307].
From the Rio Grande's waters to the icy lakes of Maine, [364].
From this hundred-terraced height, [573].
From Yorktown on the fourth of May, [436].
Furl that Banner, for 'tis weary, [547].

Gallants attend, and hear a friend, [208].
Gaunt in the midst of the prairie, [569].
Gentle and generous, brave-hearted, kind, [650].
Gift from the cold and silent Past, [4].
Giles Corey was a Wizard strong, [96].
"Give me but two brigades," said Hooker, frowning at fortified Lookout, [505].
Give me white paper, [18].
Glistering high in the midnight sky the starry rockets soar, [617].
Glorious the day when in arms at Assunpink, [189].
"Go, bring the captive, he shall die," [26].
God is shaping the great future of the Islands of the Sea, [641].
God makes a path, provides a guide, [72].
God send us peace, and keep red strife away, [447].
God wills no man a slave. The man most meek, [274].
Golden through the golden morning, [676].
Gone down in the flood, and gone out in the flame, [468].
Good Junipero, the Padre, [343].
Goody Bull and her daughter together fell out, [130].
Gray swept the angry waves, [466].
Great Sassacus fled from the eastern shores, [70].
Great soul, to all brave souls akin, [674].
Greece was; Greece is no more, [602].
Green be the turf above thee, [348].
Grown sick of war, and war's alarms, [261].
Guvener B. is a sensible man, [369].

Hail! Columbia, happy land, [277].
Hail, Freedom! thy bright crest, [596].
Hail, great Apollo! guide my feeble pen, [111].
Hail, happy Britain, Freedom's blest retreat, [144].
Hail sons of generous valor, [326].
Hail to Hobson! Hail to Hobson! hail to all the valiant set, [626].
Hail to thee, gallant foe, [638].
Hard aport! Now close to shore sail, [51].
Hark! do I hear again the roar, [18].
Hark! hark! down the century's long reaching slope, [592].
Hark! I hear the tramp of thousands, [442].
Hark! 'tis Freedom that calls, come, patriots, awake, [157].
Hark! 'tis the voice of the mountain, [254].
"Has the Marquis La Fayette," [240].
Have you heard the story that gossips tell, [493].
"He chases shadows," sneered the British tars, [19].
He took a thousand islands and he didn't lose a man, [620].
Hear through the morning drums and trumpets sounding, [325].
Heard ye how the bold McClellan, [434].
Heard ye that thrilling word, [439].
Hearken the stirring story, [27].
Here comes the Marshal, [76].
Here halt we our march, and pitch our tent, [157].
Here, in my rude log cabin, [323].
Here the oceans twain have waited, [651].
"Here we stan' on the Constitution, by thunder," [386].
Here's the spot. Look around you. Above on the height, [232].
Highlands of Hudson! ye saw them pass, [230].
His bark, [7].
His echoing axe the settler swung, [329].
"His policy," do you say, [559].
His soul to God! on a battle-psalm, [457].
His triumphs of a moment done, [260].
His work is done, his toil is o'er, [650].
"Ho, Rose!" quoth the stout Miles Standish, [58].
Ho, woodsmen of the mountain-side, [411].
Hobson went towards death and hell, [627].
"Home, home—where's my baby's home," [73].
Hooker's across! Hooker's across, [483].
How glows each patriot bosom that boasts a Yankee heart, [293].
How history repeats itself, [519].
How long, O sister, how long, [588].
How sad the note of that funereal drum, [347].
How spoke the King, in his crucial hour victorious, [676].
How stands the glass around, [121].
How sweetly on the wood-girt town, [105].
Huge and alert, irascible yet strong, [649].
Huzza for our liberty, boys, [286].
Huzza, my Jo Bunkers! no taxes we'll pay, [269].

I am a wandering, bitter shade, [146].
I gazed, and lo! Afar and near, [454].
I give my soldier boy a blade, [413].
I hear again the tread of war go thundering through the land, [456].
I heard the bells across the trees, [673].
I lay in my tent at mid-day, [440].
I lift these hands with iron fetters banded, [561].
I never have got the bearings quite, [378].
I often have been told, [288].
I pause not now to speak of Raleigh's dreams, [38].
I read last night of the Grand Review, [548].
I remember it well: 'twas a morn dull and gray, [248].
I saw her first abreast the Boston Light, [662].
Iberian! palter no more! By thine hands, [612].
Ice built, ice bound, and ice bounded, [567].
I'd weave a wreath for those who fought, [529].
If we dreamed that we loved Her aforetime, 'twas the ghost of a dream; for I vow, [657].
I'll tell you what I heard that day, [420].
Illustrious monarch of Iberia's soil, [9].
I'm a grandchild of the gods, [53].
In a chariot of light from the regions of day, [141].
In a stately hall at Brentford, when the English June was green, [43].
In a wood they call the Rouge Bouquet, [670].
In battle-line of sombre gray, [621].
In Cherbourg Roads the pirate lay, [525].
In Hampton Roads, the airs of March were bland, [463].
In Paco town and in Paco tower, [644].
In revel and carousing, [346].
In seventeen hundred and seventy-five, [171].
In spite of Rice, in spite of Wheat, [140].
In that desolate land and lone, [583].
In that soft mid-land where the breezes bear, [177].
In the gloomy ocean bed, [602].
In the stagnant pride of an outworn race, [633].
In the tides of the warm south wind it lay, [25].
In their ragged regimentals, [206].
Into the thick of the fight he went, pallid, and sick and wan, [631].
Into the town of Conemaugh, [599].
Is it naught? Is it naught, [607].
Is it the wind, the many-tongued, the weird, [496].
Is this the price of beauty! Fairest, thou, [594].
Isle of a summer sea, [608].
It cannot be that men who are the seed, [572].
It don't seem hardly right, John, [430].
It fell upon us like a crushing woe, [416].
It is done, [481].
It is I, America, calling, [668].
It is no idle fabulous tale, nor is it fayned newes, [40].
It is not the fear of death, [238].
It is portentous, and a thing of state, [661].
It was a noble Roman, [403].
It was Captain Pierce of the Lion who strode the streets of London, [68].
It was early Sunday morning, in the year of sixty-four, [526].
It was less than two thousand we numbered, [511].
It was on the seventeenth, by break of day, [167].
It was Private Blair, of the regulars, before dread El Caney, [631].
It was that fierce contested field when Chickamauga lay, [502].
It was the schooner Hesperus, [351].
It wound through strange scarred hills, down cañons lone, [346].

John Brown died on the scaffold for the slave, [397].
John Brown in Kansas settled, like a steadfast Yankee farmer, [393].
John Brown of Ossawatomie spake on his dying day, [396].
John Brown's body lies a-mouldering in the grave, [397].
John Bull, Esquire, my jo John, [432].
John Filson was a pedagogue, [331].
Joy in rebel Plymouth town, in the spring of sixty-four, [535].
July the twenty-second day, [242].
Just as the hour was darkest, [472].
Just as the spring came laughing through the strife, [482].
Just God! and these are they, [385].
Just in the gray of the dawn, as the mists uprose from the meadows, [63].

Kind Heaven, assist the trembling muse, [217].
King Hancock sat in regal state, [246].

Land of gold!—thy sisters greet thee, [346].
Land of the Wilful Gospel, thou worst and thou best, [265].
Lay down the axe; fling by the spade, [410].
Let the Nile cloak his head in the clouds, and defy, [341].
Light up thy homes, Columbia, [371].
Lights out! And a prow turned towards the South, [624].
Like the tribes of Israel, [514].
Listen, my children, and you shall hear, [144].
Lo, Joseph dreams his dream again, [677].
Loaded with gallant soldiers, [461].
Long lay the ocean-paths from man conceal'd, [8].
Long the tyrant of our coast, [290].
Look our ransomed shores around, [596].
Loud through the still November air, [570].

Mad Berkeley believed, with his gay cavaliers, [44].
Major-General Scott, [426].
Make room, all ye kingdoms, in history renown'd, [178].
Make room on our banner bright, [358].
March! March! March! from sunrise till it's dark, [193].
Mater á Dios, preserve us, [24].
Meanwhile the choleric Captain strode wrathful away to the council, [61].
Men of the North and West, [409].
Men said at vespers: "All is well," [568].
Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord, [384].
Mistress Penelope Penwick, she, [186].
More ill at ease was never man than Walbach, that Lord's day, [306].
Morgan Stanwood, patriot, [151].
Mute he sat in the saddle,—mute 'midst our full acclaim, [520].
My country, 'tis of thee, ii.
My dear brother Ned, [228].
My lords, with your leave, [182].

Neglected long had been my useless lyre, [117].
Neptune and Mars in Council sate, [110].
Never mind the day we left, or the way the women clung to us, [604].
New England's annoyances, you that would know them, [65].
Night's diadem around thy head, [594].
No beggar she in the mighty hall where her bay-crowned sisters wait, [655].
No Berserk thirst of blood had they, [153].
No lifeless thing of iron and stone, [593].
No more for them shall evening's rose unclose, [673].
No more words, [410].
No! never such a draught was poured, [136].
No song of a soldier riding down, [571].
No stately column marks the hallowed place, [135].
Not as when some great Captain falls, [540].
Not in the dire, ensanguined front of war, [609].
Not midst the lightning of the stormy fight, [486].
Not where the battle red, [417].
Not with slow, funereal sound, [603].
"Not yet, not yet! steady, steady," [162].
"Now for a brisk and cheerful fight," [357].
Now from their slumber waking, [629].
Now you are one with us, you know our tears, [670].

O Boston wives and maids, draw near and see, [144].
O broad-breasted Queen among Nations, [570].
O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done, [537].
O God of Battles, who art still, [612].
O Land beloved, [660].
O Land, of every land the best, [548].
O little fleet! that on thy quest divine, [18].
O lonely bay of Trinity, [565].
O people-chosen! are ye not, [559].
O say, can you see, by the dawn's early light, [317].
O stealthily-creeping Merrimac, [627].
O the pride of Portsmouth water, [311].
O Thou, that sendest out the man, [262].
O Thou, whose glorious orbs on high, [653].
O'er Cambridge set the yeoman's mark, [146].
O'er Huron's wave the sun was low, [308].
O'er the high and o'er the lowly, [578].
O'er the rough main, with flowing sheet, [225].
O'er the warrior gauntlet grim, [542].
O'er the waste of waters cruising, [227].
O'er town and cottage, vale and height, [207].
Of all the rides since the birth of time, [283].
Of heroes and statesmen I'll just mention four, [224].
Of the onset, fear-inspiring, and the firing and the pillage, [102].
Of worthy Captain Lovewell I purpose now to sing, [106].
Oft shall the soldier think of thee, [355].
Oh, is not this a holy spot, [348].
Oh! lonely is our old green fort, [300].
Oh mother of a mighty race, [268].
Oh, Northern men—true hearts and bold, [427].
Oh, rouse you, rouse you, men at arms, [83].
Oh, slow to smite and swift to spare, [540].
Oh, the sun sets red, the moon shines white, [321].
Oh, who has not heard of the Northmen of yore, [2].
Oh, who will follow old Ben Milam into San Antonio, [354].
Old cradle of an infant world, [46].
Old Flood Ireson! all too long, [284].
Old Ross, Cockburn, and Cochrane too, [315].
On Calvert's plains new faction reigns, [142].
On Christmas-day in seventy-six, [188].
On December, the sixth, [188].
On every schoolhouse, ship, and staff, [611].
On primal rocks she wrote her name, [71].
On the bluff of the Little Big-Horn, [584].
Once came an exile, longing to be free, [335].
Once in a lifetime, we may see the veil, [589].
Once more the Flower of Essex is marching to the wars, [628].
One summer morning a daring band, [487].
Oppressed and few, but freemen yet, [156].
Our band is few, but true and tried, [248].
Our camp-fires shone bright on the mountain, [512].
Our fathers' God! from out whose hand, [573].
Our keels are furred with tropic weed that clogs the crawling tides, [666].
Our mother, the pride of us all, [174].
Our sorrow sends its shadow round the earth, [589].
Our trust is now in thee, [457].
Out and fight! The clouds are breaking, [409].
Out from the harbor of Amsterdam, [50].
Out of a Northern city's bay, [467].
Out of the clover and blue-eyed grass, [550].
Out of the focal and foremost fire, [460].
Out of the North the wild news came, [154].
Over his millions Death has lawful power, [376].
Over the turret, shut in his ironclad tower, [527].

Pains the sharp sentence the heart in whose wrath it was uttered, [539].
Palely intent, he urged his keel, [537].
Parading near Saint Peter's flood, [312].
Parent of all, omnipotent, [180].
"Past two o'clock and Cornwallis is taken," [257].
Plattsburg Bay! Plattsburg Bay, [313].
Poets may sing of their Helicon streams, [272].
"Praise ye the Lord!" The psalm to-day, [67].
Prince William, of the Brunswick race, [241].

Quoth Satan to Arnold: "My worthy good fellow," [238].

Rapacious Spain, [24].
"Read out the names!" and Burke sat back, [611].
Rejoice, rejoice, brave patriots, rejoice, [28].
Rend America asunder, [374].
"Rifleman, shoot me a fancy shot," [432].
Ring round her! children of her glorious skies, [516].
Ring the bells, nor ring them slowly, [441].
Rio Bravo! Rio Bravo, [362].
Room for a Soldier! lay him in the clover, [419].
Round Quebec's embattled walls, [171].
Rouse, Britons! at length, [205].
Rouse every generous, thoughtful mind, [139].
Rudely forced to drink tea, Massachusetts, in anger, [144].
Ruin and death held sway, [597].

Saddle! saddle! saddle, [579].
Said Burgoyne to his men, as they passed in review, [200].
Said my landlord, white-headed Gil Gomez, [370].
Said the captain: "There was mire," [671].
Said the Sword to the Ax, 'twixt the whacks and the hacks, [114].
Saint Patrick, slave to Milcho of the herds, [480].
St. Stephen's cloistered hall was proud, [9].
Santa Ana came storming, as a storm might come, [357].
Santa Maria, well thou tremblest down the wave, [12].
Say, darkeys, hab you seen de massa, [522].
Seize, O seize the sounding lyre, [309].
Shall we send back the Johnnies their bunting, [654].
She has gone,—she has left us in passion and pride, [400].
She has gone to the bottom! the wrath of the tide, [527].
She is touching the cycle,—her tender tread, [603].
Shoe the steed with silver, [521].
Shoot down the rebels—men who dare, [643].
Sho-shó-ne Sa-cá-ga-we-a—captive and wife was she, [340].
"Silent upon a peak in Darien," [651].
Since you all will have singing, and won't be said nay, [150].
Sing, O goddess, the wrath, the ontamable dander of Keitt, [391].
Single-handed, and surrounded by Lecompton's black brigade, [398].
Sir George Prevost, with all his host, [314].
Slowly the mists o'er the meadow were creeping, [147].
Smile, Massachusetts, smile, [172].
So fallen! so lost! the light withdrawn, [388].
So that soldierly legend is still on its journey, [437].
So, they will have it, [408].
Soe, Mistress Anne, faire neighboure myne, [89].
Some names there are of telling sound, [466].
"Somewhere in France," upon a brown hillside, [669].
Sons of New England, in the fray, [480].
Sons of valor, taste the glories, [176].
Souls of the patriot dead, [388].
Southrons, hear your country call you, [411].
Southward with fleet of ice, [34].
Spain drew us proudly from the womb of night, [640].
Speak and tell us, our Ximena, looking northward far away, [366].
"Speak! speak! thou fearful guest," [6].
Spruce Macaronis, and pretty to see, [183].
Squeak the fife, and beat the drum, [179].
"Stack Arms!" I've gladly heard the cry, [545].
Stand! the ground's your own, my braves, [161].
"Stand to your guns, men!" Morris cried, [464].
Still and dark along the sea, [509].
Still shall the tyrant scourge of Gaul, [114].
Streets of the roaring town, [643].
Such darkness as when Jesus died, [657].
Sullen and dark, in the September day, [586].
Summer of 'sixty-three, sir, and Conrad was gone away, [494].
Sun of the stately Day, [575].
Sunday in Old England, [526].
Sure never was picture drawn more to the life, [129].
Sweet land of song, thy harp doth hang, [375].

"Talk of pluck!" pursued the Sailor, [516].
Talk of the Greeks at Thermopylæ, [672].
Tell the story to your sons, [319].
Thank God our liberating lance, [667].
That balmy eve, within a trellised bower, [43].
That seat of Science, Athens, [140].
That was a brave old epoch, [101].
The banner of Freedom high floated unfurled, [294].
The billowy headlands swiftly fly, [624].
The boarding nettings are triced for flight, [295].
The breaking waves dashed high, [57].
The breeze has swelled the whitening sail, [57].
The breezes went steadily thro' the tall pines, [185].
The captain of the Shannon came sailing up the bay, [300].
The "Catamount Tavern" is lively to-night, [194].
The Chesapeake so bold, [301].
The chill New England sunshine, [90].
The combat raged not long, but ours the day, [437].
The despot treads thy sacred sands, [515].
The despot's heel is on thy shore, [415].
The dog that is beat has a right to complain, [259].
The flags of war like storm-birds fly, [460].
The footsteps of a hundred years, [335].
The four-way winds of the world have blown, [625].
The great unequal conflict past, [263].
The guns are hushed. On every field once flowing, [562].
The heart leaps with the pride of their story, [634].
The home-bound ship stood out to sea, [36].
The increasing moonlight drifts across my bed, [449].
The Indian war was over, [123].
The knightliest of the knightly race, [417].
The land, that, from the rule of kings, [595].
The lioness whelped, and the sturdy cub, [558].
The Lord above, in tender love, [264].
The loud drums are rolling, the mad trumpets blow, [614].
The morn was cloudy and dark and gray, [404].
The Mothers of our Forest-Land, [330].
The muffled drum's sad roll has beat, [368].
The Pilgrim Fathers,—where are they, [66].
The roadside forests here and there were touched with tawny gold, [97].
The soft new grass is creeping o'er the graves, [449].
The stars of Night contain the glittering Day, [486].
The sun had set, [484].
The sun had sunk beneath the west, [310].
The sun strikes gold the dirty street, [674].
The sword was sheathed: in April's sun, [274].
The tent-lights glimmer on the land, [461].
The twenty-second of August, [219].
The 'Vention did in Boston meet, [271].
The Volunteers! the Volunteers, [374].
The war-drum is beating, prepare for the fight, [412].
The war-path is true and straight, [614].
The wind blows east,—the wind blows west, [91].
The winding way the serpent takes, [32].
The windows of Heaven were open wide, [600].
The winter night is cold and drear, [188].
The word of God to Leyden came, [56].
The word of the Lord by night, [478].
The years are but half a score, [585].
Then will a quiet gather round the door, [678].
There are twenty dead who're sleeping near the slopes of Bud Dajo, [645].
There is blood on thy desolate shore, [606].
"There on the left!" said the colonel; the battle had shuddered and faded away, [445].
There was no union in the land, [492].
These words the poet heard in Paradise, [591].
They come!—they come!—the heroes come, [262].
They fling their flags upon the morn, [632].
They have met at last—as storm-clouds, [423].
They held her South to Magellan's mouth, [637].
They knew they were fighting our war. As the months grew to years, [667].
They say the Spanish ships are out, [621].
They slept on the field which their valor had won, [443].
They've turned at last! Good-by, King George, [183].
Think you the dead are lonely in that place, [674].
This is the place where André met his death, [239].
This was the man God gave us when the hour, [275].
This year, till late in April, the snow fell thick and light, [414].
Those were the conquered, still too proud to yield, [492].
Thou hast not drooped thy stately head, [514].
Thou, too, sail on, O Ship of State, [660].
Thou wonder of the Atlantic shore, [338].
Though with the North we sympathize, [428].
Thrash away, you'll hev to rattle, [360].
Three days through sapphire seas we sailed, [530].
Three ships of war had Preble when he left the Naples shore, [282].
Through calm and storm the years have led, [574].
Through darkening pines the cavaliers marched on their sunset way, [19].
Through the clangor of the cannon, [302].
Through verdant banks where Thames's branches glide, [70].
Thunder our thanks to her—guns, hearts, and lips, [594].
Thus, some tall tree that long hath stood, [275].
Thus spake the Lord, [610].
Thy blue waves, Patapsco, flow'd soft and serene, [316].
Thy error, Frémont, simply was to act, [477].
Thy merits, Wolfe, transcend all human praise, [123].
Time was he sang the British Brute, [642].
'Tis done—the wondrous thoroughfare, [579].
'Tis God that girds our armor on, [264].
'Tis like stirring living embers when, at eighty, one remembers, [163].
'Tis noonday by the buttonwood, with slender-shadowed bud, [152].
'Tis not the President alone, [649].
'Tis of a gallant Yankee ship that flew the stripes and stars, [223].
'Tis of a little drummer, [451].
To arms, to arms! my jolly grenadiers, [112].
To deities of gauds and gold, [660].
To drive the kine one summer's morn, [233].
To drum-beat and heart-beat, [186].
To eastward ringing, to westward winging, o'er mapless miles of sea, [640].
To Houston at Gonzales town, ride, Ranger, for your life, [355].
To the Cowpens riding proudly, boasting loudly, rebels scorning, [252].
To the God of all sure mercies let my blessing rise to-day, [77].
"To the winds give our banner," [99].
To western woods and lonely plains, [331].
Toll! Roland, toll, [408].
To-night we strive to read, as we may best, [71].
'Twas a grand display was the prince's ball, [382].
'Twas a wonderful brave fight, [407].
'Twas Captain Church, bescarred and brown, [88].
'Twas Friday morn: the train drew near, [414].
'Twas hurry and scurry at Monmouth town, [213].
'Twas in the reign of George the Third, [135].
'Twas Juet spoke—the Half Moon's mate, [50].
'Twas June on the face of the earth, June with the rose's breath, [161].
'Twas May upon the mountains, and on the airy wing, [157].
'Twas midsummer; cooling breezes all the languid forests fanned, [349].
'Twas night upon the Darro, [15].
'Twas November the fourth, in the year of ninety-one, [332].
'Twas on a pleasant mountain, [251].
'Twas on board the sloop of war, Wasp, boys, [293].
'Twas on the glorious day, [299].
'Twas on the twelfth of April, [405].
'Twas out upon mid-ocean that the San Jacinto hailed, [429].
'Twas the dead of the night. By the pine-knot's red light, [148].
'Twas the heart of the murky night, and the lowest ebb of the tide, [230].
'Twas the proud Sir Peter Parker came sailing in from the sea, [181].
'Twas the very verge of May, [615].
'Twas the year of the famine in Plymouth of old, [62].
'Twixt clouded heights Spain hurls to doom, [636].
Two fleets have sailed from Spain. The one would seek, [622].
Two hours, or more, beyond the prime of a blithe April day, [507].

Unconquer'd captive!—close thine eye, [523].
Under the great hill sloping bare, [80].
Under the walls of Monterey, [364].
Unhappy Boston! see thy sons deplore, [134].
Untrammelled Giant of the West, [609].
Up from the meadows rich with corn, [444].
Up from the South, at break of day, [521].
Up the hillside, down the glen, [358].
Up through a cloudy sky, the sun, [195].
Upon the barren sand, [39].

Vain Britons, boast no longer with proud indignity, [170].
Victorious knights without reproach or fear, [675].

Warden at ocean's gate, [595].
Was there ever message sweeter, [440].
Wave, wave your glorious battle-flags, brave soldiers of the North, [489].
We are coming, Cuba,—coming; our starry banner shines, [629].
We are coming, Father Abraham, three hundred thousand more, [440].
We are the troop that ne'er will stoop, [142].
We could not pause, while yet the noontide air, [519].
We cross the prairie as of old, [389].
We do accept thee, heavenly Peace, [547].
We follow where the Swamp Fox guides, [247].
We have an old mother that peevish is grown, [142].
We have sent him seeds of the melon's core, [562].
We lay in the Trenches we'd dug in the Ground, [162].
We loved the wild clamor of battle, [655].
We mustered at midnight, in darkness we formed, [417].
We sailed to and fro in Erie's broad lake, [303].
We were not many, we who stood, [363].
We were ordered to Samoa from the coast of Panama, [598].
Weak-winged is song, [550].
Wearied arm and broken sword, [38].
"Well, General Grant, have you heard the news," [524].
Well worthy to be magnified are they, [66].
Well, yes, I've lived in Texas since the spring of '61, [402].
Were there no crowns on earth, [538].
What are the thoughts that are stirring his breast, [486].
What are you waiting for, George, I pray, [433].
What distant thunders rend the skies, [220].
What heavy-hoofed coursers the wilderness roam, [305].
What heroes from the woodland sprung, [191].
What is that a-billowing there, [291].
What is the voice I hear, [654].
What mean these peals from every tower, [523].
What! shall the sudden blade, [583].
What! soar'd the old eagle to die at the sun, [353].
What time the Lord drew back the sea, [652].
What time the noble Lovewell came, [108].
When a certain great King, whose initial is G., [258].
When arms and numbers both have failed, [645].
When brave Van Rensselaer cross'd the stream, [292].
When Britain, with envy and malice inflamed, [298].
When British troops first landed here, [256].
When Carolina's hope grew pale, [250].
When Congress sent great Washington, [169].
When darkness prevail'd and aloud on the air, [339].
When fair Columbia was a child, [140].
When Faction, in league with the treacherous Gaul, [241].
When first I saw our banner wave, [478].
When Freedom, fair Freedom, her banner display'd, [279].
When Freedom from her mountain height, [192].
When George the King would punish folk, [138].
When Jack the King's commander, [202].
When Johnny comes marching home again, [549].
When life hath run its largest round, [377].
When North first began, [204].
When Pershing's men go marching into Picardy, marching, marching into Picardy, [671].
When ruthful time the South's memorial places, [564].
When shall the Island Queen of Ocean lay, [318].
When tempest winnowed grain from bran, [445].
When the British fleet lay, [215].
When the dying flame of day, [245].
When the Norn-Mother saw the Whirlwind Hour, [399].
When the vengeance wakes, when the battle breaks, [613].
When the war-cry of Liberty rang through the land, [166].
"When there is Peace, our land no more," [678].
When you speak of the dauntless deeds, [644].
Where may the wearied eye repose, [276].
Where murdered Mumford lies, [476].
Where nowadays the Battery lies, [54].
Where shall we seek for a hero, and where shall we find a story, [132].
Where the dews and the rains of heaven have their fountain, [506].
Where the remote Bermudas ride, [39].
Where the short-legged Esquimaux, [566].
Where the wild wave, from ocean proudly swelling, [323].
Whereas the rebels hereabout, [160].
While far along the eastern sky, [571].
While Sherman stood beneath the hottest fire, [499].
Whilst in peaceful quarters lying, [210].
Who are you, dusky woman, so ancient hardly human, [514].
Who cries that the days of daring are those that are faded far, [630].
Who has not heard of the dauntless Varuna, [474].
Who is this ye say is slain, [416].
Who now dare longer trust thy mother hand, [657].
Who with the soldiers was stanch danger-sharer, [462].
Whoop! the Doodles have broken loose, [412].
"Who've ye got there?"—"Only a dying brother," [485].
Why come ye hither, stranger, [193].
Why do I sleep amid the snows, [72].
Wide o'er the valley the pennons are fluttering, [371].
Wide open and unguarded stand our gates, [659].
Will you hear of a bloody battle, [48].
Winds that sweep the southern mountains, [512].
With drooping sail and pennant, [663].
With half the Western world at stake, [328].
With restless step of discontent, [23].
With sharpened pen and wit, one tunes his lays, [52].
With shot and shell, like a loosened hell, [630].
With that pathetic impudence of youth, [677].
Women are timid, cower and shrink, [216].

Yankee Doodle sent to Town, [376].
Yankee Doodle went to war, [425].
Ye brave Columbian bands! a long farewell, [262].
Ye brave sons of Freedom, come join in the chorus, [285].
Ye Columbians so bold, attend while I sing, [2].
Ye elms that wave on Malvern Hill, [439].
Ye gentlemen and ladies fair, [326].
Ye jolly Yankee gentlemen, who live at home in ease, [428].
Ye jovial throng, come join the song, [337].
Ye parliament of England, [318].
Ye say they all have passed away, [587].
Ye sons of Columbia, unite in the cause, [278].
Ye sons of Columbia, who bravely have fought, [276].
Ye sons of Massachusetts, all who love that honored name, [85].
Ye sons of Sedition, how comes it to pass, [140].
Yes, we'll rally round the flag, boys, we'll rally once again, [500].
Yes, yes, my boy, there's no mistake, [639].
Yet had his sun not risen; from his lips, [11].
You are looking now on old Tom Moore, [345].
You brave heroic minds, [42].
You dare to say with perjured lips, [664].
You know that day at Peach Tree Creek, [510].
You know there goes a tale, [232].
You lay a wreath on murdered Lincoln's bier, [543].
You that crossed the ocean old, [22].
Your threats how vain, Corregidor, [618].
You're a traitor convicted, you know very well, [401].

Zounds! how the price went flashing through, [567].