Ye giant shades of RA and TUM, Ye ghosts of gods Egyptian, If murmurs of our planet come To exiles in the precincts wan Where, fetish or Olympian,

O have ye na heard o the fause Sa… O have ye na heard o the keen Lor… How they hae taen bauld Kinmont W… On Hairibee to hang him up? Had Willie had but twenty men,

There are laddies will drive ye a… To the burn frae the farthermost t… But ye mauna think driving is a’, Ye may heel her, and send her ajee… Ye may land in the sand or the sea…

Clavers and his Highlandmen Came down upo’ the raw, man, Who being stout, gave mony a clout… The lads began to claw then. With sword and terge into their ha…

Nay, tell me now in what strange a… The Roman Flora dwells to-day. Where Archippiada hides, and wher… Beautiful Thais has passed away? Whence answers Echo, afield, astr…

Dead—he is dead! The rouge has le… On that thin cheek where shone, pe… Even while the people laughed that… But yesterday. He died,—and not i… And many a black-robed caitiff sta…

There is a Heaven, or here, or th… A Heaven there is, for me and you… Where bargains meet for purses spa… Like ours, are not so far and few. Thuanus’ bees go humming through

Let others praise analysis And revel in a “cultured” style, And follow the subjective Miss From Boston to the banks of Nile, Rejoice in anti-British bile,

Our youth began with tears and sig… With seeking what we could not fin… Our verses all were threnodies, In elegiacs still we whined; Our ears were deaf, our eyes were…

The Fays that to my christ’ning c… (For come they did, my nurses taug… They did not bring me wealth or fa… ’Tis very little that they brought… But one, the crossest of the crew,

In London city was Bicham born, He longd strange countries for to… But he was taen by a savage Moor, Who handld him right cruely. For thro his shoulder he put a bor…

Mysterious Benedetta! who That Reynolds or that Romney drew Was ever half so fair as you, Or is so well forgot? These eyes of melancholy brown,

She has just “put her gown on” at… She is learned in Latin and Greek… But lawn tennis she plays with a s… That the prudish remark with a shr… In her accents, perhaps, she is we…

I scribbled on a fly-book’s leaves Among the shining salmon-flies; A song for summer-time that grieve… I scribbled on a fly-book’s leaves… Between grey sea and golden sheave…

Whan he cam to his ain luve’s boui… He tirled at the pin, And sae ready was his fair fause l… To rise and let him in. ‘O welcome, welcome, Sir Roland,’…