Merrily swim we, the moon shines b… Both current and ripple are dancin… We have roused the night raven, I… As we plashed along beneath the oa… That flings its broad branches so…

Yes, thou mayst sigh, And look once more at all around, At stream and bank, and sky and gr… Thy life its final course has foun… And thou must die.

Introduction. Lives there a strain, whose sounds… May rise distinguished o’er the di… Or died it with yon Master of the… Who sung beleaguered Ilion’s evil…

It was Dunois, the young and brav… But first he made his orisons befo… ‘And grant, immortal Queen of Hea… ‘That I may prove the bravest kni… His oath of honour on the shrine h…

CORONACH He is gone on the mountain, He is lost to the forest, Like a summer-dried fountain, When our need was the sorest.

The violet in her greenwood bower, Where birchen boughs with hazel mi… May boast itself the fairest flowe… In glen, or copse, or forest dingl… Though fair her gems of azure hue,

Good evening, Sir Priest, and so… With your mule so fair, and your m… But ride you through valley, or ri… There is one that has warrant to w… Back, back,

Fair Brussels, thou art far behin… Though, lingering on the morning w… We yet may hear the hour Pealed over orchard and canal, With voice prolonged and measured…

At morn the black-cock trims his j… ‘T is morning prompts the linnet’s… All Nature’s children feel the ma… Of life reviving, with reviving da… And while yon little bark glides d…

Breathes there the man, with soul… Who never to himself hath said, ‘This is my own, my native land!’ Whose heart hath ne’er within him… As home his footsteps he hath turn…

Proud Maisie is in the wood, Walking so early; Sweet Robin sits on the bush, Singing so rarely. ‘Tell me, thou bonny bird,

An hour with thee! When earliest… Dapples with gold the eastern gray… Oh, what can frame my mind to bear The toil and turmoil, cark and car… New griefs, which coming hours unf…

Next morn the Baron climb’d the t… To view afar the Scottish power, Encamp’d on Flodden edge: The white pavilions made a show, Like remnants of the winter snow,

The toils are pitched, and the sta… Ever sing merrily, merrily; The bows they bend, and the knives… Hunters live so cheerily. It was a stag, a stag of ten,

From heavy dreams fair Helen rose… And eyed the dawning red: ‘Alas, my love, thou tarriest long… O art thou false or dead?’- II.