There’s a fiddler in the street, And the children all are dancing: Two dozen lightsome feet Springing and prancing. Pleasure he gives to you,

O Love, thine empire is not dead, Nor will we let thy worship go, Although thine early flush be fled… Thine ardent eyes more faintly glo… And thy light wings be fallen slow

It seems a little word to say - FAREWELL—but may it not, when… Be like the kiss we give the dead, Before they pass the doors for aye… Who knows if, on some after day,

Years grow and gather—each a gem Lustrous with laughter and with te… And cunning Time a crown of years Contrives for her who weareth them… No chance can snatch this diadem,

The mist hangs round the College… The ghostly street Is silent at this midnight hour, Save for my feet. With none to see, with none to hea…

Familiar with thy melody, We go debating of its power, As churls, who hear it hour by hou… Contemn the skylark’s minstrelsy - As shepherds on a Highland lea

Till the tread of marching feet Through the quiet grass-grown stre… Of the little town shall come, Soldier, rest awhile at home. While the banners idly hang,

My soul is like a prisoned lark, That sings and dreams of liberty, The nights are long, the days are… Away from home, away from thee! My only joy is in my dreams,

Oh, who may this dead warrior be That to his grave they bring? ’Tis William, Duke of Normandy, The conqueror and king. Across the sea, with fire and swor…

No gift I bring but worship, and… Which all must bear to lovely soul… Those lights, that, when all else… Stars in the night, to lift our ey… To lift our eyes and hearts, and m…

The truest Liberal is he Who sees the man in each degree, Who merit in a churl can prize, And baseness in an earl despise, Yet censures baseness in a churl,

Sleep flies me like a lover Too eagerly pursued, Or like a bird to cover Within some distant wood, Where thickest boughs roof over

Weak soul, by sense still led astr… Why wilt thou parley with the foe? He seeks to work thine overthrow, And thou, poor fool! dost point th… Hast thou forgotten many a day,

You found my life, a poor lame bir… That had no heart to sing, You would not speak the magic word To give it voice and wing. Yet sometimes, dreaming of that ho…

from the unpublished remains of Ed… In the oldest of our alleys, By good bejants tenanted, Once a man whose name was Wallace… William Wallace’€”reared his head…