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Index of first lines

A beautiful and happy girl, II. 95.

A bending staff I would not break, II. 236.

A blush as of roses, III. 185.

Above, below, in sky and sod, II. 249.

A Christian! going, gone, III. 87.

A cloud, like that the old-time Hebrew saw, II. 84.

Across the frozen marshes, III. 350.

Across the sea I heard the groans, III. 360.

Across the Stony Mountains, o'er the desert's drouth and sand, III. 148.

A dirge is wailing from the Gulf of storm-vexed Mexico, IV. 351.

A drear and desolate shore, i. 388.

A few brief years have passed away, III. 115.

After your pleasant morning travel, IV. 411.

Against the sunset's glowing wall, II. 217.

Against the wooded hills it stands, i. 413.

A gold fringe on the purpling hem, II. 73.

All day the darkness and the cold, II. 21.

All grim and soiled and brown with tan, III. 314.

‘All hail!’ the bells of Christmas rang, II. 331.

All night above their rocky bed, III. 187.

‘All ready?’ cried the captain, III. 20.

All things are Thine: no gift have we, IV. 200.

Along Crane River's sunny slopes, i. 360.

Along the aisle where prayer was made, II. 289.

Along the roadside, like the flowers of gold, i. 260.

Amidst these glorious works of Thine, IV. 186.

Amidst Thuringia's wooded hills she dwelt, i. 409.

Amidst thy sacred effigies, III. 266.

Among their graven shapes to whom, IV. 136.

Among the legends sung or said, i. 398.

Among the thousands who with hail and cheer, IV. 315.

A moony breadth of virgin face, III. 15s3.

And have they spurned thy word, IV. 391. [436]

Andrew Rykman's dead and gone, II. 258.

And where now, Bayard, will thy footsteps tend, IV. 140.

A night of wonder! piled afar, IV. 389.

Annie and Rhoda, sisters twain, i. 308.

A noble life is in thy care, IV. 326.

A noteless stream, the Birchbrook runs, i. 407.

Another hand is beckoning us, IV. 38.

A picture memory brings to me, II. 174.

A pious magistrate! sound his praise throughout, III. 168.

Around Sebago's lonely lake, i. 41.

As Adam did in Paradise, IV. 161.

As a guest who may not stay, IV. 146.

A score of years had come and gone, i. 354.

A shallow stream, from fountains, II. 170.

As Islam's Prophet, when his last day drew, i. 413.

As o'er his furrowed fields which lie, III. 278.

A sound as if from bells of silver, II. 61.

A sound of tumult troubles all the air, III. 191.

As they who, tossing midst the storm at night, III. 135.

As they who watch by sick-beds find relief, i. 248.

A strength Thy service cannot tire, III. 122.

A strong and mighty Angel, III. 250.

A tale for Roman guides to tell, i. 405.

A tender child of summers three, II. 337.

At morn I prayed, I fain would see, II. 243.

A track of moonlight on a quiet lake, IV. 69.

Bards of the island city! —where of old, IV. 396.

Beams of noon, like burning lances, through the tree-tops flash and glisten, III. 136.

Bearer of Freedom's holy light, III. 272.

Bear him, comrades, to his grave, III. 181.

Before my drift-wood fire I sit, IV. 298.

Before the Ender comes, whose charioteer, II. 330.

Behind us at our evening meal, II. 271.

Believe me, Lucy Laroom, it gives me real sorrow, IV. 405.

Beneath the low-hung night cloud, i. 352.

Beneath the moonlight and the snow, II. 164.

Beneath thy skies, November, III. 192.

Beside a stricken field I stood, III. 223.

Beside that milestone where the level sun, II. 168.

Between the gates of birth and death, IV. 312.

Bind up thy tresses, thou beautiful one, IV. 356. [437]

Bland as the morning breath of June, II. 17.

Blessings on thee, little man, II. 126.

Blest land of Judaea! thrice hallowed of song, II. 196.

Blossom and greenness, making all, IV. 310.

“Bring out your dead!” The midnight street, i. 19.

Build at Kallundborg by the sea, IV. 265.

But what avail inadequate words to reach, II. 329.

By fire and cloud, across the desert sand, III. 348.

Call him not heretic whose works attest, II. 326.

Calm on the breast of Loch Maree, i. 124.

Calmly the night came down, IV. 341.

Champion of those who groan beneath, III. 9.

Climbing a path which leads back never more, IV. 302.

Close beside the meeting waters, IV. 330.

Conductor Bradley, (always may his name, i. 359.

Dark the halls, and cold the feast, i. 75.

Dead Petra in her hill-tomb sleeps, II. 247.

Dear Anna, when I brought her veil, IV. 331.

Dear friends, who read the world aright, IV. 66.

Dear Sister! while the wise and sage, II. 110.

Dream not, O Soul, that easy is the task, II. 328.

Dry the tears for holy Eva, IV. 157.

Earthly arms no more uphold him, IV. 319.

Ere down yon blue Carpathian hills, i. 62.

Fair islands of the sunny sea! midst all rejoicing things, IV. 321.

Fair Nature's priestesses! to whom, IV. 67.

Far away in the twilight time, i. 192.

Far from his close and noisome cell, III. 282.

Fate summoned, in gray-bearded age, to act, IV. 135.

Father! to thy suffering poor, II. 205.

Fold thy hands, thy work is over, IV. 327.

Fond scenes, which delighted my youthful existence, IV. 333.

For ages on our river borders, II. 46.

For the fairest maid in Hampton, IV. 255.

For weeks the clouds had raked the hills, i. 265.

Friend of mine! whose lot was cast, II. 114.

Friend of my many years, II. 186.

Friend of my soul! as with moist eye, IV. 30.

Friend of the Slave, and yet the friend of all, III. 124. [438]

From Alton Bay to Sandwich Dome, II. 91.

From gold to gray, III. 353.

From pain and peril, by land and main, IV. 290.

From purest wells of English undefiled, IV. 302.

From the green Amesbury hill which bears the name, i. 391.

From the heart of Waumbek Methna, from the lake that never fall, i. 154.

From the hills of home forth looking, far beneath the tent-like span, i. 166.

From these wild rocks I look to-day, IV. 180.

From the well-springs of Hudson, the sea-cliffs of Maine, IV. 166.

From Yorktown's ruins, ranked and still, III. 128.

Gallery of sacred pictures manifold, II. 327.

Get ye up from the wrath of God's terrible day, II. 191.

Gift from the cold and silent past, i. 37.

God bless New Hampshire! from her granite peaks, III. 101.

God bless ye, brothers! in the fight, III. 280.

God called the nearest angels who dwell with Him above, II. 309.

God's love and peace be with thee, where, IV. 70.

Gone before us, O our brother, IV. 14.

Gone, gone,—sold and gone, III. 56.

Gone hath the spring, with all its flowers, II. 20.

Gone to thy Heavenly Father's rest, III. 43.

Graceful in name and in thyself, our river, IV. 308.

Gray searcher of the upper air, IV. 347.

Great peace in Europe! Order reigns, III.) 37.

Hail, heavenly gift! within the human breast, IV. 336.

Hail to Posterity, i. 321.

Hands off! thou tithe-fat plunderer! play, IV. 59.

Happy young friends, sit by me, i. 416.

Haunted of Beauty, like the marvellous youth, IV. 154.

Have I not voyaged, friend beloved, with thee, II. 299.

Have ye heard of our hunting, o'er mountain and glen, III. 33.

Heap high the farmer's wintry hoard. III. 312.

He comes,—he comes,—the Frost Spirit comes, II. 9.

Heed how thou livest. Do no act by day, II. 330.

He had bowed down to drunkenness, III. 340.

He has done the work of a true man, IV. 117.

Here is the place; right over the hill, i. 186.

He rests with the immortals; his journey has been long, IV. 324.

Here, while the loom of Winter weaves, II. 122. [439]

Her fingers shame the ivory keys, i. 250.

Her window opens to the bay, IV. 249.

He stood on the brow of the well-known hill, IV. 353.

His laurels fresh from song and lay, IV. 142.

Ho—all to the borders! Vermonters, come down, IV. 394.

Hoot!—daur ye shaw ye're face again, IV. 348.

Ho! thou who seekest late and long, III. 91.

How bland and sweet the greeting of this breeze, IV. 35.

How has New England's romance fled, i. 23.

Ho! workers of the old time styled, III. 291.

How smiled the land of France, IV. 23.

How strange to greet, this frosty morn, II. 33.

How sweetly come the holy psalms, IV. 100.

How sweetly on the wood-girt town, i. 34.

Hurrah! the seaward breezes, III. 294.

Hushed now the sweet consoling tongue, IV. 409.

I ask not now for gold to gild, II. 233.

I call the old time back: I bring my lay, i. 196.

I did but dream. I never knew, II. 286.

I do believe, and yet, in grief, i. 127.

I do not love thee, Isabel, and yet thou art most fair, IV. 355.

If I have seemed more prompt to censure wrong, IV. 91.

I give thee joy!—I know to thee, IV. 108.

I have been thinking of the victims bound, III. 335.

I have not felt, o'er seas of sand, II. 230.

I heard the train's shrill whistle call, III. 170.

I know not, Time and Space so intervene, i. 253.

I love the old melodious lays, i. 11.

Immortal Love, forever full, II. 272.

I mourn no more my vanished years, II. 130.

In calm and cool and silence, once again, II. 242.

I need not ask thee, for my sake, IV. 114.

In my dream, methought I trod, II. 123.

In sky and wave the white clouds swam, IV. 259.

In that black forest, where, when day is done, II. 256.

In the fair land o'erwatched by Ischia's mountains, IV. 102.

In the minister's morning sermon, II. 323.

In the old days (a custom laid aside, IV. 279.

In the old Hebrew myth the lion's frame, III. 263.

In the outskirts of the village, i. 178.

In the solemn days of old, III. 332.

In trance and dream of old, God's prophet saw, IV. 119. [440]

In Westminster's royal halls, III. 142.

I said I stood upon thy grave, III. 171.

I shall not soon forget that sight, II. 98.

I sing the Pilgrim of a softer clime, i. 322.

Is it the palm, the cocoa-palm, II. 52.

I spread a scanty board too late, II. 178.

Is this the land our fathers loved, III. 35.

Is this thy voice whose treble notes of fear, III. 104.

It chanced that while the pious troops of France, III. 343.

It is done, III. 254.

Its windows flashing to the sky, i. 217.

It was late in mild October, and the long autumnal rain, III. 308.

I wait and watch; before my eyes, II. 132.

I wandered lonely where the pine-trees made, II. 81.

I would I were a painter, for the sake, II. 57.

I would not sin, in this half-playful strain, IV. 227.

I would the gift I offer here, III. 289.

I write my name as one, II. 179.

John Brown of Ossawatomie spake on his dying day, IV. 106.

Just God! and these are they, III. 38.

Know'st thou, O slave-cursed land, III. 228.

Last night, just as the tints of autumn's sky, II. 31.

Last week—the Lord be praised for all His mercies, III. 178.

Leagues north, as fly the gull and auk, IV. 274.

‘Let there be light!’ God spake of old, IV. 203.

Lift again the stately emblem on the Bay State's rusted shield, III. 102.

Light, warmth, and sprouting greenness, and o'er all, II. 25.

Like that ancestral judge who bore his name, IV. 410.

Long since, a dream of heaven I had, II. 287.

Look on him! through his dungeon grate, III. 321.

Low in the east, against a white, cold dawn, IV. 285.

Luck to the craft that bears this name of mine, IV. 155.

Maddened by Earth's wrong and evil, II. 213.

Maiden! with the fair brown tresses, IV. 16.

Make, for he loved thee well, our Merrimac, IV. 298.

Maud Muller on a summer's day, i. 148.

Men! if manhood still ye claim, III. 98.

Men of the North-Land! where's the manly spirit, III. 40. [441]

Men said at vespers: ‘All is well,’ IV. 195.

'Midst the men and things which will, II. 182.

'Midst the palace bowers of Hungary, imperial Presburg's pride, IV. 352.

Muttering ‘fine upland staple,’ ‘prime Sea Island finer,’ IV. 399.

My ear is full of summer sounds, II. 213.

My garden roses long ago, IV. 219.

My heart was heavy, for its trust had been, II. 109.

My lady walks her morning round, i. 373.

My old Welsh neighbor over the way, i. 314.

My thoughts are all in yonder town, II. 301.

Nauhaught, the Indian deacon, who of old, i. 304.

'Neath skies that winter never knew, IV. 204.

Never in tenderer quiet lapsed the day, i. 322.

Night on the city of the Moor, III. 155.

Night was down among the mountains, IV. 342.

No aimless wanderers, by the fiend Unrest, III. 324.

No Berserk thirst of blood had they, IV. 201.

No bird-song floated down the hill, II. 53.

No more these simple flowers belong, IV. 92.

Not always as the whirlwind's rush, II. 193.

Not as a poor requital of the joy, IV. 34.

Not on Penobscot's wooded bank the spires, IV. 222.

Not unto us who did but seek, III. 257.

Not vainly did old poets tell, IV. 42.

Not vainly we waited and counted the hours, IV. 401.

Not without envy Wealth at times must look, III. 366.

Not with the splendors of the days of old, III. 58.

Now, joy and thanks forevermore, III. 146.

O Ary Scheffer! when beneath thine eye, III. 211.

O Christ of God! whose life and death, II. 305.

O dearest bloom the seasons know, II. 331.

O dearly loved, IV. 48.

O dwellers in the stately towns, IV. 181.

O'er the bare woods, whose outstretched hands, II. 37.

Of all that Orient lands can vaunt, III. 173.

Of all the rides since the birth of time, i. 175.

Of rights and of wrongs, IV. 406.

O friends! with whom my feet have trod, II. 267.

Oh, dwarfed and wronged, and stained with ill, II. 294. [442]

Oh for a knight like Bayard, IV. 80.

Oh, greenly and fair in the lands of the sun, II. 107.

Oh, none in all the world before, III. 238.

O Holy Father! just and true, III. 54.

Oh, praise an' tanks! De Lord he come, III. 231.

Oh, thicker, deeper, darker growing, IV. 110.

Oh, well may Essex sit forlorn, IV. 138.

O Lady fair, these silks of mine are beautiful and rare, i. 17.

Old friend, kind friend! lightly down, IV. 73.

Olor Iscanus queries: Why should we, III. 216.

O lonely bay of Trinity, IV. 269.

O Mother Earth! upon thy lap, III. 131.

O Mother State! the winds of March, IV. 127.

Once more, dear friends, you meet beneath, III. 241.

Once more, O all-adjusting Death, IV. 155.

Once more, O Mountains of the North, unveil, II. 55.

Once more on yonder laurelled height, IV. 175.

One day, along the electric wire, IV. 84.

One hymn more, O my lyre, II. 200.

One morning of the first sad Fall. IV. 158.

One Sabbath day my friend and I, i. 290.

O Norah, lay your basket down, i. 120.

On page of thine I cannot trace, II. 101.

On the isle of Penikese, II. 295.

On these green banks, where falls too soon, IV. 294.

On the wide lawn the snow lay deep, II. 166.

O Painter of the fruits and flowers, IV. 215.

O people-chosen! are ye not, III. 261.

O Poet rare and old, III. 339.

O river winding to the sea, IV. 303.

O State prayer-founded! never hung, III. 184.

O storied vale of Merrimac, IV. 224.

O strong, upwelling prayers of faith, i. 144.

O Thou, whose presence went before, III. 29.

Our fathers' God! from out whose hand, IV. 205.

Our fellow-countrymen in chains, III. 25.

Our vales are sweet with fern and rose, II. 48.

Out and in the river is winding, i. 215.

Outbound, your bark awaits you. Were I one, IV. 218

Out from Jerusalem, i. 369.

Over the threshold of his pleasant home, i. 419.

Over the wooded northern ridge, i. 255. [443]

Pardon a stranger hand that gives, IV. 398.

Pardon, Lord, the lips that dare, II. 259.

Piero Luca, known of all the town, IV. 251.

Pipes of the misty moorlands, i. 183.

Poet and friend of poets, if thy glass, IV. 285.

Poor and inadequate the shadow-play, II. 169.

Pray give the ‘Atlantic,’ IV. 408.

‘Put up the sword!’ The voice of Christ once more, III. 365.

Raze these long blocks of brick and stone, i. 230.

Red as the banner which enshrouds, IV. 343.

Right in the track where Sherman, III. 264.

Rivermouth Rocks are fair to see, IV. 235.

Robert Rawlin!—Frosts were falling, i. 160.

Sad Mayflower! watched by winter stars, II. 35.

Saint Patrick, slave to Milcho of the herds, III. 239.

Sarah Greenleaf, of eighteen years, IV. 393.

Say, whose is this fair picture, which the light, IV. 386.

Scarce had the solemn Sabbath-bell, III. 153.

Seeress of the misty Norland, IV. 52.

She came and stood in the Old South Church, i. 371.

She sang alone, ere womanhood had known, IV. 309.

She sings by her wheel at that low cottage door, III. 30.

She was a fair young girl, yet on her brow, IV. 349.

Should you go to Centre Harbor, IV. 402.

Silence o'er sea and earth, IV. 338.

Smoothing soft the nestling head, II. 337.

So fallen! so lost! the light withdrawn, IV. 62.

Some die too late and some too soon, IV. 63.

So spake Esaias; so, in words of flame, IV. 97.

So stood of old the holy Christ, II. 308.

So, this is all,—the utmost reach, III. 50.

Sound now the trumpet warningly, IV. 400.

Sound over all waters, reach out from all lands, II. 304.

Spare me, dread angel oi reproof, II. 265.

Speak and tell us, our Ximena, looking northward far away, i. 112.

Spirit of the frozen North, IV. 340.

Stand still, my soul, in the silent dark, II. 220.

Statesman, I thank thee! and, if yet dissent, III. 215.

Still, as of old, in Beaveor's Vale, II. 342.

Still in thy streets, O Paris! doth the stain, III. 318.

Still linger in our noon of time, II. 306. [444]

Still sits the school-house by the road, II. 162.

Stranger and traveller, II. 323.

Stream of my fathers! sweetly still, II. 10.

Strike home, strong-hearted man! Down to the root, IV. 41.

Summer's last sun nigh unto setting shines, IV. 314

Sunlight upon Judaea's hills, II. 195.

Sweetest of all childlike dreams, II. 59.

Take our hands, James Russell Lowell, IV. 152.

Talk not of sad November, when a day, II. 93.

Tauler, the preacher, walked, one autumn day, i. 141.

Thank God for rest, where none molest, III. 259.

Thank God for the token! one lip is still free, III. 47.

Thanks for thy gift, IV. 54.

The age is dull and mean. Men creep, III. 175.

The autumn-time has come, II. 159.

The beaver cut his timber, i. 241.

The Benedictine Echard, II. 315.

The birds against the April wind, III. 248.

The blast from Freedom's Northern Hills, upon its Southern way, III. 80.

The Brownie sits in the Scotchman's room, i. 25.

The burly driver at my side, IV. 56.

The cannon's brazen lips are cold, III. 329.

The circle is broken, one seat is forsaken, IV. 9.

The clouds, which rise with thunder, slake, II. 234.

The cross, if rightly borne, shall be, IV. 79.

The day is closing dark and cold, i. 117.

The day's sharp strife isended now, III. 363.

The dreadful burden of our sins we feel, IV. 411.

The eagle, stooping from yon snow-blown peaks, IV. 309.

The elder folks shook hands at last, II. 278.

The end has come, as come it must, IV. 207.

The evil days have come, the poor, III. 163.

The fagots blazed, the caldron's smoke, II. 291.

The firmament breaks up. In black eclipse, III. 218.

The flags of war like storm-birds fly, III. 236.

The fourteen centuries fall away, II. 252.

The goodman sat beside his door, i. 53.

The great work laid upon his twoscore years, IV. 114.

The gulf of seven and fifty years, IV. 220.

The harp at Nature's advent strung, IV. 282.

The Khan came from Bokhara town, i. 378. [445]

The land, that, from the rule of kings, IV. 223.

The land was pale with famine, i. 277.

The lowliest born of all the land, IV. 149.

The mercy, O Eternal One, II. 340.

The moon has set: while yet the dawn, III. 166.

The name the Gallic exile bore, II. 176.

The new world honors him whose lofty plea, IV. 309.

The old Squire said, as he stood by his gate, i. 386.

The Pagan's myths through marble lips are spoken, II. 227.

The Persian's flowery gifts, the shrine, IV. 164.

The pilgrim and stranger who through the day, IV. 332.

The pines were dark on Ramoth hill, i. 238.

The pleasant isle of Ruigen looks the Baltic water o'er, i. 421.

The prophet stood, IV. 334.

The proudest now is but my peer. III 342.

The Quaker of the olden time, III. 271.

The Rabbi shmael, with the woe and sin, i. 387.

The Rabbi Nathan two score years and ten, i. 282.

There are streams which are famous in history's story, IV. 335.

The river hemmed with leaning trees II. 66.

The robin gang<*>

<*> in the orchard, the buds into blossoms grew, i. 311.

The roll of drums and the bugle's wailing, IV. 178.

The same old baffling questions! O my friend, II. 242.

The shade for me, but over thee, II. 246.

The shadows grow and deepen round me, II. 334.

The shadows round the inland sea, II. 18.

The skipper sailed out of the harbor mouth, i. 392.

The sky is ruddy in the east, III. 302.

The soul itself its awful witness is, II. 329.

The South-land boasts its teeming cane, III. 333.

The storm and peril overpast, III. 269.

The storm-wind is howling, IV. 328.

The subtle power in perfume found, II. 89.

The summer warmth has left the sky, II. 72.

The sunlight glitters keen and bright, II. 14.

The suns of eighteen centuries have shone, III. 275.

The sun that brief December day, II. 135.

The sweet spring day is glad with music, IV. 120.

The sword was sheathed: in April's sun, IV. 286.

The tall, sallow guardsmen their horsetails have spread, III. 356.

The tent-lights glimmer on the land, III. 230.

The threads our hands in blindness spin, II. 311.

The time of gifts has come again, II. 64. [446]

The tossing spray of Cocheco's fall, i. 400.

The tree of Faith its bare, dry boughs must shed, II. 339.

The wave is breaking on the shore, III. 63.

The winding way the serpent takes, i. 285.

The years are but half a score, III. 371.

The years are many since his hand, IV. 88.

The years are many since, in youth and hope, i. 289.

The years that since we met have flown, IV. 407.

They hear They thee not, O God! nor see, II. 209.

They left their home of summer ease, II. 76.

They sat in silent watchfulness, i. 50.

They tell me, Lucy, thou art dead, IV. 26.

Thine are all the gifts, O God, IV. 209.

Thine is a grief, the depth of Which another, IV. 46.

This day, two hundred years ago, IV. 160.

Thou dwellest not,O Lord of all, IV. 188.

Tough flowers have perished at the touch, i. 81.

Thou hast fallen in thine armor, IV. 11.

Thrice welcome to thy sisters from the Land of Flowers, IV. 216.

Thrice welcome from the by <*>, i. 127.

Thrice welcome to thy sisters <*>

Through heat and cold, and shower and sun, III. 304.

Through the long hall the shuttered windows shed, III. 193.

Through the streets of Marblehead, IV. 210.

Through Thy clear spaces, Lord, of old, II. 235.

Thy error, Fremont, simply was to act, III. 222.

'Tis over, Moses! All is lost, III. 117.

Tis said that in the Holy Land, II. 111.

'Tis the noon of the spring-time, yet never a bird, II. 24.

To-day the plant by Williams set, IV. 189.

Token of friendship, true and tried, III. 69.

To kneel before some saintly shrine, II. 86.

To the God of all sure mercies let my blessing rise to-day, i. 65.

To the winds give our banner I i. 45.

To weary hearts, to mourning homes, II 216.

Traveller! on thy journey toiling, i. 29.

Tritemius of Herbipolis, one day, i. 172.

'Twas night. The tranquil moonlight smile, III. 11.

Type of two mighty continents!—combining, IV. 72.

Under the great hill sloping bare, i. 381.

Under the shadow of a cloud, the light, IV. 406.

Unfathomed deep, unfetter'd waste, IV. 337.

Unnoted as the setting of a star, IV. 154. [447]

Up and down the village streets, i. 210.

Up from the meadows rich with corn, III. 245.

Up from the sea, the wild north wind is blowing, IV. 311.

Up, laggards of Freedom!—our free flag is cast, III. 189.

Up the hillside, down the glen, III. 94.

Up the streets of Aberdeen, i. 107.

Voice of a people suffering long, III. 268.

Voice of the Holy Spirit, making known, II. 326.

Wake, sisters, wake! the day-star shines, II. 312.

Wave of an awful torrent, thronging down, IV. 384.

Weary of jangling noises never stilled, II. 336.

We cross the prairie as of old, III. 176.

We give thy natal day to hope, III. 367.

We had been wandering for many days, i. 80.

We have opened the door, i. 376.

Welcome home again, brave seaman! with thy thoughtful brow and gray, III. 111.

We live by Faith; but Faith is not the slave, II. 327.

Well speed thy mission, bold Iconoclast, III. 326.

Well thought! who would not rather hear, IV. 98.

We praise not now the poet's art, IV. 113.

We sat together, last May-day, and talked, IV. 143.

We saw the slow tides go and come, II. 67.

We see not, know not; all our way, III. 217.

We wait beneath the furnace-blast, III. 219.

What flecks the outer gray beyond, IV. 271.

What shall I say, dear friends, to whom I owe, IV. 409.

What shall I wish him? Strength and health, IV. 410.

What though around thee blazes, III. 100.

When first I saw our banner wave, III. 234.

When Freedom, on her natal day, III. 46.

When on my day of life the night is falling, II. 333.

When the breath divine is flowing, II. 203.

When the reaper's task was ended, and the summer wearing late, i. 188.

Where are we going? where are we going, III. 125.

Where ceaseless Spring her garland twines, IV. 196.

Where, over heathen doom-rings and gray stones of the Horg, i. 345.

Where the Great Lake's sunny smiles, IV. 241.

Where Time the measure of his hours, II. 188.

White clouds, whose shadows haunt the deep, II. 27. [448]

Who gives and hides the giving hand, II. 314.

Who, looking backward from his manhood's prime, II. 232.

Who stands on that cliff, like a figure of stone, IV. 357.

Why urge the long, unequal fight, III. 345.

Wildly round our woodland quarters, III. 297

With a cold and wintry noon-light, III. 106.

With a glory of winter sunshine, IV. 150.

With clearer light, Cross of the South, shine forth, III. 361.

With fifty years between you and your well-kept wedding vow, IV. 197.

With warning hand I mark Time's rapid flight, II. 322.

With wisdom far beyond her years, IV. 126.

Years since (but names to me before), IV. 122.

Yes, let them gather! Summon forth, III. 72.

Yes, pile the marble o'er him! It is well, IV. 22.

You flung your taunt across the wave, III. 226.

You scarcely need my tardy thanks, II. 116.

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