AN OLD CHRISTMAS CAROL
As Joseph was a-waukin’,
He heard an angel sing,
“This night shall be the birthnight
Of Christ our heavenly King.
“His birth-bed shall be neither
In housen nor in hall,
Nor in the place of paradise,
But in the oxen’s stall.
“He neither shall be rockèd
In silver nor in gold,
But in the wooden manger
That lieth in the mould.
“He neither shall be washen
With white wine nor with red,
But with the fair spring water
That on you shall be shed.
“He neither shall be clothèd
In purple nor in pall,
But in the fair, white linen
That usen babies all.”
As Joseph was a-waukin’,
Thus did the angel sing,
And Mary’s son at midnight
Was born to be our King.
Then be you glad, good people,
At this time of the year;
And light you up your candles,
For His star it shineth clear.
Author Unknown
KING JOHN AND THE ABBOT OF CANTERBURY
An ancient story I’ll tell you anon
Of a notable prince that was called King John;
And he rulèd England with main and with might,
For he did great wrong, and maintained little right.
And I’ll tell you a story, a story so merry,
Concerning the Abbot of Canterbury;
How for his house-keeping and high renown,
They rode post for him to fair London town.
An hundred men the king did hear say,
The abbot kept in his house every day;
And fifty gold chains without any doubt,
In velvet coats waited the abbot about.
“How now, father abbot, I hear it of thee,
Thou keepest a far better house than me;
And for thy house-keeping and high renown,
I fear thou work’st treason against my own crown.”
“My liege,” quo’ the abbot, “I would it were known
I never spend nothing, but what is my own;
And I trust your grace will do me no deere,
For spending of my own true-gotten gear.”
“Yes, yes, father abbot, thy fault it is high,
And now for the same thou needest must die;
For except thou canst answer me questions three,
Thy head shall be smitten from thy bodie.
“And first,” quo’ the king, “when I’m in this stead,
With my crown of gold so fair on my head,
Among all my liege-men so noble of birth,
Thou must tell me to one penny what I am worth.
“Secondly, tell me, without any doubt,
How soon I may ride the whole world about;
And at the third question, thou must not shrink,
But tell me here truly what I do think.”
“O these are hard questions for my shallow wit,
Nor I cannot answer your grace as yet:
But if you will give me but three weeks’ space,
I’ll do my endeavor to answer your grace.”
“Now three weeks’ space to thee will I give,
And that is the longest time thou hast to live;
For if thou dost not answer my questions three,
Thy lands and thy livings are forfeit to me.”
Away rode the abbot all sad at that word,
And he rode to Cambridge, and Oxenford;
But never a doctor there was so wise,
That could with his learning an answer devise.
Then home rode the abbot of comfort so cold,
And he met his shepherd a-going to fold:
“How now, my lord abbot, you are welcome home;
What news do you bring us from good King John?”
“Sad news, sad news, shepherd, I must give,
That I have but three days more to live;
For if I do not answer him questions three,
My head will be smitten from my bodie.
“The first is to tell him there in that stead,
With his crown of gold so fair on his head,
Among all his liege-men so noble of birth,
To within one penny of what he is worth.
“The second, to tell him without any doubt,
How soon he may ride this whole world about;
And at the third question I must not shrink,
But tell him there truly what he does think.”
“Now cheer up, sire abbot, did you never hear yet
That a fool he may learn a wise man wit?
Lend me horse, and serving-men, and your apparel,
And I’ll ride to London to answer your quarrel.
“Nay, frown not, if it hath been told unto me,
I am like your lordship, as ever may be;
And if you will but lend me your gown,
There is none shall know us at fair London town.”
“Now horses and serving-men thou shalt have,
With sumptuous array most gallant and brave,
With crozier and mitre, and rochet, and cope,
Fit to appear ’fore our Father the Pope.”
“Now welcome, sire abbot,” the king he did say,
“’Tis well thou’rt come back to keep thy day:
For and if thou canst answer my questions three,
Thy life and thy living both savèd shall be.
“And first, when thou seest me here in this stead,
With my crown of gold so fair on my head,
Among all my liege-men so noble of birth,
Tell me to one penny what I am worth.”
“For thirty pence our Saviour was sold
Among the false Jews, as I have been told,
And twenty-nine is the worth of thee,
For I think thou art one penny worser than he.”
The king he laughed, and swore by St. Bittel,
“I did not think I had been worth so little!
—Now secondly tell me, without any doubt,
How soon I may ride this whole world about.”
“You must rise with the sun, and ride with the same
Until the next morning he riseth again;
And then your grace need not make any doubt
But in twenty-four hours you’ll ride it about.”
The king he laughed, and swore by St. Jone,
“I did not think it could be done so soon!
—Now from the third question thou must not shrink,
But tell me here truly what I do think.”
“Yea, that shall I do, and make your grace merry;
You think I’m the Abbot of Canterbury;
But I’m his poor shepherd, as plain you may see,
That am come to beg pardon for him and for me.”
The king he laughed and swore by the Mass,
“I’ll make thee lord abbot this day in this place!”
“Now nay, my liege, be not in such speed,
For alack I can neither write nor read.”
“Four nobles a week, then, I will give thee,
For this merry jest thou hast shown unto me;
And tell the old abbot when thou comest home,
Thou hast brought him a pardon from good King John.”
Author Unknown
THE SANDS OF DEE
“O Mary, go and call the cattle home,
And call the cattle home,
And call the cattle home
Across the sands of Dee!”
The western wind was wild and dank with foam,
And all alone went she.
The western tide crept up along the sand,
And o’er and o’er the sand,
And round and round the sand,
As far as eye could see.
The rolling mist came down and hid the land:
And never home came she.
“Oh! is it weed, or fish, or floating hair—
A tress of golden hair,
A drownèd maiden’s hair
Above the nets at sea?
Was never salmon yet that shone so fair
Among the stakes on Dee.”
They rowed her in across the rolling foam,
The cruel crawling foam,
The cruel hungry foam,
To her grave beside the sea:
But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle home
Across the sands of Dee!
Charles Kingsley
SISTER, AWAKE!
(Old English Song)
Sister, awake! close not your eyes!
The day her light discloses,
And the bright morning doth arise
Out of her bed of roses.
See the clear sun, the world’s bright eye,
In at our window peeping:
Lo, how he blusheth to espy
Us idle wenches sleeping!
Therefore awake! make haste, I say,
And let us, without staying,
All in our gowns of green so gay
Into the Park a-maying!
Author Unknown
THE SKELETON IN ARMOR
“Speak! speak! thou fearful guest!
Who, with thy hollow breast
Still in rude armor dressed,
Comest to daunt me!
Wrapped not in Eastern balms,
But with thy fleshless palms
Stretched, as if asking alms,
Why dost thou haunt me?”
Then, from those cavernous eyes
Pale flashes seemed to rise,
As when the Northern skies
Gleam in December;
And, like the water’s flow
Under December’s snow,
Came a dull voice of woe
From the heart’s chamber.
“I was a Viking old!
My deeds, though manifold,
No Skald in song has told,
No Saga taught thee!
Take heed, that in thy verse
Thou dost the tale rehearse,
Else dread a dead man’s curse
For this I sought thee.
“Far in the Northern Land,
By the wild Baltic’s strand,
I with my childish hand,
Tamed the gerfalcon;
And, with my skates fast-bound,
Skimmed the half-frozen Sound,
That the poor whimpering hound
Trembled to walk on.
“Oft to his frozen lair
Tracked I the grisly bear,
While from my path the hare
Fled like a shadow;
Oft through the forest dark
Followed the were-wolf’s bark,
Until the soaring lark
Sang from the meadow.
“But when I older grew,
Joining a corsair’s crew,
O’er the dark sea I flew
With the marauders.
Wild was the life we led;
Many the souls that sped,
Many the hearts that bled,
By our stern orders.
“Many a wassail-bout
Wore the long Winter out;
Often our midnight shout
Set the cocks crowing,
As we the Berserk’s tale
Measured in cups of ale,
Draining the oaken pail,
Filled to o’erflowing.
“Once as I told in glee
Tales of the stormy sea,
Soft eyes did gaze on me,
Burning yet tender;
And as the white stars shine
On the dark Norway pine,
On that dark heart of mine
Fell their soft splendor.
“I wooed the blue-eyed maid,
Yielding, yet half afraid,
And in the forest’s shade
Our vows were plighted.
Under its loosened vest
Fluttered her little breast,
Like birds within their nest
By the hawk frighted.
“Bright in her father’s hall
Shields gleamed upon the wall,
Loud sang the minstrels all,
Chanting his glory;
When of old Hildebrand
I asked his daughter’s hand,
Mute did the minstrels stand
To hear my story.
“While the brown ale he quaffed,
Loud then the champion laughed,
And as the wind-gusts waft
The sea-foam brightly,
So the loud laugh of scorn,
Out of those lips unshorn,
From the deep drinking-horn
Blew the foam lightly.
“She was a Prince’s child,
I but a Viking wild,
And though she blushed and smiled,
I was discarded!
Should not the dove so white
Follow the sea-mew’s flight,
Why did they leave that night
Her nest unguarded?
“Scarce had I put to sea,
Bearing the maid with me,
Fairest of all was she
Among the Norsemen!
When on the white sea-strand,
Waving his armèd hand,
Saw we old Hildebrand,
With twenty horsemen.
“Then launched they to the blast,
Bent like a reed each mast,
Yet we were gaining fast,
When the wind failed us;
And with a sudden flaw
Came round the gusty Skaw,
So that our foe we saw
Laugh as he hailed us.
“And as to catch the gale
Round veered the flapping sail,
‘Death!’ was the helmsman’s hail,
‘Death without quarter!’
Mid-ships with iron keel
Struck we her ribs of steel;
Down her black hulk did reel
Through the black water!
“As with his wings aslant,
Sails the fierce cormorant,
Seeking some rocky haunt,
With his prey laden,—
So toward the open main,
Beating to sea again,
Through the wild hurricane,
Bore I the maiden.
“Three weeks we westward bore,
And when the storm was o’er,
Cloud-like we saw the shore
Stretching to leeward;
There for my lady’s bower
Built I the lofty tower,
Which, to this very hour,
Stands looking seaward.
“There lived we many years;
Time dried the maiden’s tears;
She had forgot her fears,
She was a mother;
Death closed her mild blue eyes,
Under that tower she lies;
Ne’er shall the sun arise
On such another!
“Still grew my bosom then,
Still as a stagnant fen!
Hateful to me were men,
The sunlight hateful!
In the vast forest here,
Clad in my warlike gear,
Fell I upon my spear,
Oh, death was grateful!
“Thus, seamed with many scars,
Bursting these prison bars,
Up to its native stars
My soul ascended!
There from the flowing bowl
Deep drinks the warrior’s soul,
Skoal! to the Northland! skoal!”
Thus the tale ended.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
BY BENDEMEER’S STREAM
There’s a bower of roses by Bendemeer’s stream,
And the nightingale sings round it all the day long;
In the time of my childhood ’twas like a sweet dream,
To sit in the roses and hear the bird’s song.
That bower and its music I never forget,
But oft when alone, in the bloom of the year,
I think—is the nightingale singing there yet?
Are the roses still bright by the calm Bendemeer?
No, the roses soon wither’d that hung o’er the wave,
But some blossoms were gather’d while freshly they shone,
And a dew was distill’d from their flowers, that gave
All the fragrance of summer, when summer was gone.
Thus memory draws from delight, ere it dies,
An essence that breathes of it many a year;
Thus bright to my soul, as ’twas then to my eyes,
Is that bower on the banks of the calm Bendemeer!
Thomas Moore
A PRAYER
Teach me, Father, how to go
Softly as the grasses grow;
Hush my soul to meet the shock
Of the wild world as a rock;
But my spirit, propt with power,
Make as simple as a flower.
Let the dry heart fill its cup,
Like a poppy looking up;
Let life lightly wear her crown,
Like a poppy looking down.
Teach me, Father, how to be
Kind and patient as a tree.
Joyfully the crickets croon
Under shady oak at noon;
Beetle, on his mission bent,
Tarries in that cooling tent.
Let me, also, cheer a spot,
Hidden field or garden grot—
Place where passing souls can rest
On the way and be their best.
Edwin Markham
YOUNG LOCHINVAR
O, young Lochinvar is come out of the West!
Through all the wide Border his steed was the best;
And save his good broadsword, he weapons had none;
He rode all unarm’d, and he rode all alone.
So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war,
There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.
He stay’d not for brake and he stopp’d not for stone;
He swam the Eske river where ford there was none;
But ere he alighted at Netherby gate,
The bride had consented, the gallant came late;
For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war,
Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar.
So boldly he enter’d the Netherby Hall,
Among bridesmen, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all;—
Then spoke the bride’s father, his hand on his sword
(For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word),
‘O, come ye in peace here, or come ye in war,
Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?’
‘I long woo’d your daughter, my suit you denied;—
Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide;—
And now I am come with this lost Love of mine
To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine.
There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far,
That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar!’
The bride kiss’d the goblet: the knight took it up,
He quaff’d off the wine and he threw down the cup.
She look’d down to blush, and she look’d up to sigh,
With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye.
He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar,—
‘Now tread we a measure!’ said young Lochinvar.
So stately his form and so lovely her face,
That never a hall such a galliard did grace;
While her mother did fret, and her father did fume,
And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume;
And the bride-maidens whispered, ‘’Twere better by far,
To have match’d our fair cousin with young Lochinvar!’
One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear,
When they reach’d the hall door, and the charger stood near;
So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung,
So light to the saddle before her he sprung!
‘She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur;
They’ll have fleet steeds that follow,’ quoth young Lochinvar.
There was mounting ’mong Graemes of the Netherby clan,
Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran,
There was racing and chasing, on Cannobie lea,
But the lost bride of Netherby ne’er did they see.
So daring in love, and so dauntless in war,
Have ye e’er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?
Sir Walter Scott
OFF THE GROUND
Three jolly Farmers
Once bet a pound
Each dance the others would
Off the ground.
Out of their coats
They slipped right soon,
And neat and nicesome
Put each his shoon.
One—Two—Three!—
And away they go,
Not too fast,
And not too slow;
Out from the elm-tree’s
Noonday shadow,
Into the sun
And across the meadow.
Past the schoolroom,
With knees well bent
Fingers a-flicking,
They dancing went.
Up sides and over,
And round and round,
They crossed click-clacking,
The Parish bound,
By Tupman’s meadow
They did their mile,
Tee-to-tum
On a three-barred stile.
Then straight through Whipham,
Downhill to Week,
Footing it lightsome,
But not too quick,
Up fields to Watchet,
And on through Wye,
Till seven fine churches
They’d seen skip by—
Seven fine churches,
And five old mills,
Farms in the valley,
And sheep on the hills;
Old Man’s Acre
And Dead Man’s Pool
All left behind,
As they danced through Wool.
And Wool gone by,
Like tops that seem
To spin in sleep
They danced in dream:
Withy—Wellover—
Wassop—Wo—
Like an old clock
Their heels did go.
A league and a league
And a league they went,
And not one weary,
And not one spent.
And lo, and behold!
Past Willow-cum-Leigh
Stretched with its waters
The great green sea.
Says Farmer Bates,
“I puffs and I blows,
What’s under the water,
Why, no man knows!”
Says Farmer Giles,
“My wind comes weak,
And a good man drownded
Is far to seek.”
But Farmer Turvey,
On twirling toes
Up’s with his gaiters,
And in he goes:
Down where the mermaids
Pluck and play
On their twangling harps
In a sea-green day;
Down where the mermaids,
Finned and fair,
Sleek with their combs
Their yellow hair....
Bates and Giles—
On the shingle sat,
Gazing at Turvey’s
Floating hat.
But never a ripple
Nor bubble told
Where he was supping
Off plates of gold.
Never an echo
Rilled through the sea
Of the feasting and dancing
And minstrelsy.
They called—called—called:
Came no reply:
Nought but the ripples’
Sandy sigh.
Then glum and silent
They sat instead,
Vacantly brooding
On home and bed,
Till both together
Stood up and said:—
“Us knows not, dreams not,
Where you be,
Turvey, unless
In the deep blue sea;
But excusing silver—
And it comes most willing—
Here’s us two paying
Our forty shilling;
For it’s sartin sure, Turvey,
Safe and sound,
You danced us square, Turvey,
Off the ground!”
Walter de la Mare
AULD DADDY DARKNESS
Auld Daddy Darkness creeps frae his hole,
Black as a blackamoor, blin’ as a mole:
Stir the fire till it lowes, let the bairnie sit,
Auld Daddy Darkness is no wantit yit.
See him in the corners hidin’ frae the licht,
See him at the window gloomin’ at the nicht;
Turn up the gas licht, close the shutters a’,
An’ Auld Daddy Darkness will flee far awa’.
Awa’ to hide the birdie within its cosy nest,
Awa’ to lap the wee flooers on their mither’s breast,
Awa’ to loosen Gaffer Toil frae his daily ca’,
For Auld Daddy Darkness is kindly to a’.
He comes when we’re weary to wean’s frae oor waes,
He comes when the bairnies are getting aff their claes;
To cover them sae cosy, an’ bring bonnie dreams,
So Auld Daddy Darkness is better than he seems.
Steek yer een, my wee tot, ye’ll see Daddy then;
He’s in below the bed claes, to cuddle ye he’s fain;
Noo nestle to his bosie, sleep and dream yer fill,
Till Wee Davie Daylight comes keekin’ owre the hill.
James Ferguson
INDEX OF AUTHORS
Allingham, William (1824-1889)
The Fairies, [162]
The Lepracaun, [40]
Arnold, Matthew (1822-1888)
The Forsaken Merman, [152]
Blake, William (1757-1827)
Nurse’s Song, [158]
The Tiger, [98]
Branch, Anna Hempstead (18- )
A Song for My Mother, [215]
Browning, Robert (1812-1889)
The Pied Piper of Hamelin, [109]
Song (“The Year’s at the Spring”), [36]
Bunyan, John (1628-1688)
The Pilgrim, [76]
Burns, Robert (1759-1796)
Bannockburn, [138]
To a Mouse, [159]
Byron, Lord (1788-1824)
The Destruction of Sennacherib, [92]
Coleridge, Samuel Taylor (1772-1834)
Kubla Khan, [19]
Colum, Padraic (1881- )
The Terrible Robber Men, [100]
Conkling, Hilda (1910- )
Tree-Toad, [223]
Cowper, William (1731-1800)
Epitaph on a Hare, [73]
Cunningham, Allan (1784-1842)
A Sea Song, [72]
Davies, William H. (1870- )
Nature’s Friend, [221]
de la Mare, Walter (1873- )
Berries, [24]
Jim Jay, [197]
Off the Ground, [249]
Dickinson, Emily (1830-1886)
The Snow, [214]
Dobell, Sydney (1824-1874)
A Chanted Calendar, [143]
Emerson, Ralph Waldo (1803-1882)
Fable, [140]
Ferguson, James (?)
Auld Daddy Darkness, [256]
Frost, Robert (1875- )
Good Hours, [141]
Gifford, Fannie Stearns (1884- )
Moon Folly, [189]
Graves, Robert (1895- )
Star-Talk, [193]
Herrick, Robert (1591-1674)
To Violets, [38]
Hodgson, Ralph (about 1879- )
“Time, you Old Gipsy Man,” [124]
Howe, Julia Ward (1819-1910)
Battle Hymn of the Republic, [133]
Hunt, Leigh (1784-1859)
Jaffár, [87]
Jonson, Ben (1574-1637)
Hymn to Diana, [59]
Keats, John (1795-1821)
La Belle Dame Sans Merci, [168]
Meg Merrilies, [22]
Kingsley, Charles (1819-1875)
The Sands of Dee, [234]
Lanier, Sidney (1842-1881)
Song of the Chattahoochee, [206]
Lindsay, Vachel (1879- )
The Ghosts of the Buffaloes, [199]
Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth (1807-1882)
My Lost Youth, [130]
The Skeleton in Armor, [237]
Lowell, James Russell (1819-1891)
The Fountain, [217]
Macaulay, Thomas Babington (1800-1859)
Ivry, [94]
Markham, Edwin (1852- )
A Prayer, [245]
Marlowe, Christopher (1562-1593)
The Shepherd to His Love, [62]
Masefield, John (1874- )
Sea Fever, [211]
Milton, John (1608-1674)
On May Morning, [39]
Moore, Thomas (1780-1852)
By Bendemeer’s Stream, [244]
The Minstrel-Boy, [137]
Nashe, Thomas (1567-1601?)
Spring, [175]
Noyes, Alfred (1880- )
A Song of Sherwood, [89]
Poe, Edgar Allan (1809-1849)
Israfel, [82]
Rossetti, Christina (1830-1894)
A Christmas Carol, [203]
Scott, Sir Walter (1771-1832)
Gathering Song of Donald Dhu, [135]
Hunting Song, [44]
Young Lochinvar, [246]
Shakespeare, William (1564-1616)
“Blow, Blow, Thou Winter Wind,” [108]
Lullaby for Titania, [78]
“Under the Greenwood Tree” [37]
Winter, [142]
Shelley, Percy Bysshe (1792-1822)
Hymn of Pan, [29]
The Cloud, [145]
Stevenson, Robert Louis (1850-1894)
Escape at Bedtime, [205]
Romance, [28]
Swinburne, Algernon Charles (1837-1909)
“When the Hounds of Spring,” [32]
Tennyson, Alfred (1809-1892)
Bugle Song, [151]
The Lady of Shalott, [46]
Unknown
An Ancient Christmas Carol, [225]
An Old Christmas Carol, [226]
An Old Song of Fairies, [186]
King John and the Abbot of Canterbury, [228]
Robin Hood and the Butcher, [64]
Sir Patrick Spens, [101]
Sister, Awake! [236]
The Gay Gos-Hawk, [178]
Whitman, Walt (1819-1892)
O Captain! My Captain! [212]
Wordsworth, William (1770-1850)
“I Wandered Lonely,” [176]
The Solitary Reaper, [128]
Written in March, [31]
Yeats, William Butler (1865- )
The Song of Wandering Aengus, [60]
INDEX OF FIRST LINES
A wet sheet and a flowing sea, [72]
An ancient story I’ll tell you anon, [228]
“Are you awake, Gemelli, [193]
As Joseph was a-waukin’, [226]
Auld Daddy Darkness creeps frae his hole, [256]
Behold her, single in the field, [128]
Blow, blow, thou winter wind, [108]
Come, all you brave gallants, and listen a while, [64]
Come, dear children, let us away, [152]
Come, follow, follow me, [186]
Come live with me and be my love, [62]
Do diddle di do, [197]
First came the primrose, [143]
From the forests and highlands, [29]
Hamelin Town’s in Brunswick, [109]
He came all so still, [225]
Here lies, whom hound did ne’er pursue, [73]
I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, [145]
I had for my winter evening walk, [141]
I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky, [211]
I wandered lonely as a cloud, [176]
I went out to the hazel wood, [60]
I will go up the mountain after the Moon, [189]
I will make you brooches and toys for your delight, [28]
In Heaven a spirit doth dwell, [82]
In the bleak mid-winter, [203]
In Xanadu did Kubla Khan, [19]
Into the sunshine, [217]
It sifts from leaden sieves, [214]
Jaffár, the Barmecide, the good Vizier, [87]
Last night at black midnight I woke with a cry, [199]
Little Cowboy, what have you heard, [40]
Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord, [133]
My mother’s hands are cool and fair, [215]
Now glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all glories are!, [94]
Now the bright morning star, day’s harbinger, [39]
O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done, [212]
O! I wish the sun was bright in the sky, [100]
“O Mary, go and call the cattle home, [234]
“O well is me, my gay gos-hawk, [178]
O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, [168]
O, young Lochinvar is come out of the West!, [246]
Often I think of the beautiful town, [130]
Old Meg she was a Gipsy, [22]
On either side the river lie, [46]
Out of the hills of Habersham, [206]
Pibroch of Donuil Dhu, [135]
Queen and Huntress, chaste and fair, [59]
Say what you like, [221]
Scots, wha hae wi’ Wallace bled, [138]
Sherwood in the twilight, is Robin Hood awake?, [89]
Sister, awake! close not your eyes!, [236]
“Speak! speak! thou fearful guest!, [237]
Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year’s pleasant king, [175]
Teach me, Father, how to go, [245]
The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, [92]
The Cock is crowing, [31]
The king sits in Dunfermline toun, [101]
The lights from the parlour and kitchen shone out, [205]
The Minstrel-boy to the war is gone, [137]
The mountain and the squirrel, [140]
The splendor falls on castle walls, [151]
The year’s at the spring, [36]
There was an old woman, [24]
There’s a bower of roses by Bendemeer’s stream, [244]
Three jolly Farmers, [249]
Tiger! Tiger! burning bright, [98]
Time, you old gipsy man, [124]
Tree-toad is a small gray person, [223]
Under the greenwood tree, [37]
Up the airy mountain, [162]
Waken, lords and ladies gay!, [44]
Wee, sleekit, cow’rin’, tim’rous beastie, [159]
Welcome, maids of honor, [38]
When icicles hang by the wall, [142]
When the hounds of spring are on winter’s traces, [32]
When the voices of children are heard on the green, [158]
Who would true valor see, [76]
You spotted snakes with double tongue, [78]