Not Jason nor Medea wise, I crave to see, nor win much lore, Nor list to Orpheus’ minstrelsies… Nor Her’cles would I see, that o’… The wide world roamed from shore t…

Between the moonlight and the fire In winter twilights long ago, What ghosts we raised for your des… To make your merry blood run slow! How old, how grave, how wise we gr…

Money taketh town and wall, Fort and ramp without a blow; Money moves the merchants all, While the tides shall ebb and flow… Money maketh Evil show

Ah, mystic child of Beauty, namel… Dateless and fatherless, how long… A Greek, with some rare sadness o… Shaped thee, perchance, and quite… Or Raphael thy sweetness did best…

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,

Willie has ta’en him o’er the faem… He’s wooed a wife, and brought her… He’s wooed her for her yellow hair… But his mother wrought her meikle… And meikle dolour gar’d her dree,

It fell about the Martinmas tyde, When our Border steeds get corn a… The captain of Bewcastle hath bou… And he’s ower to Tividale to driv… The first ae guide that they met w…

I have scribbled in verse and in p… I have painted “arrangements in gr… And my name is familiar to those Who take in the high class magazin… I compose; I’ve invented machines…

The ferox rins in rough Loch Awe, A weary cry frae ony toun; The Spey, that loups o’er linn an… They praise a’ ither streams aboon… They boast their braes o’ bonny D…

Here be the fairest homes the land… The silvery-cliffed Colonus; alwa… The nightingale doth haunt and sin… For well the deep green gardens do… Groves of the God, where winds ma…

When captaines couragious, whom de… Did march to the siege of the citt… They mustred their souldiers by tw… And the formost in battle was Mar… When [the] brave sergeant-major wa…

Thou that art sandalled on immorta… With leaves of palm, the prize of… Thou that art crowned with snakes… Queen of the silver dews and shado… I pray thee by all names men name…

(Clement Marot’s Frère Lubin, th… Some ten or twenty times a day, To bustle to the town with speed, To dabble in what dirt he may,— Le Frère Lubin’s the man you need…

Far in the Past I peer, and see A Child upon the Nursery floor, A Child with books upon his knee, Who asks, like Oliver, for more! The number of his years is IV,

The modish Airs, The Tansey Brew, The SWAINS and FAIRS In curtained Pew; Nymphs KNELLER drew,