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I am monarch of all I survey

I dreamt I lay where flowers were springing

I fell into grief, and began to complain.

I have a son, a little son, a boy just five years old

I hear thee speak of the better land.

I like that ancient Saxon phrase, which calls

I'm sittin' on the stile, Mary

I remember, I remember

I say to thee, do thou repeat

I stood on the bridge at midnight

I stood upon the hills, when heaven's wide arch

I travelled among unknown men .

I thought to pass away before, and yet alive I am

If sorrow came not near us, and the lore

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If you're waking call me early, call me early, mother dear.

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My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here.

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Oh that those lips had language! Life has passed

One morning (raw it was and wet)

On Linden, when the sun was low

On the green banks of Shannon, when Sheelah was nigh
Our bugles sang truce-for the night cloud had lowered.
Pause not to dream of the future before us

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Peace be around thee, wherever thou rov'st
She dwelt among the untrodden ways.
She was a phantom of delight.

Should sorrow o'er thy brow

Some murmur when their sky is clear

Somewhat back from the village street.
Stay near me-do not take thy flight

Sweet Auburn! loveliest village of the plain
Tell me not, in mournful numbers

The boy stood on the burning deck

The cock is crowing .

The day is cold, and dark, and dreary

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The days are cold, the nights are long.

The dew was falling fast, the stars began to blink

The gloomy night is gathering fast

The lazy mist hangs from the brow of the hill

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The noon was shady, and soft airs

The old house by the lindens

The pine-apples in triple row

The poplars are felled, farewell to the shade

The post-boy drove with fierce career

The rose had been washed, just washed in a shower

The sailor sighs as sinks his native shore

The shades of night were falling fast

The smiling Spring comes in rejoicing

The stately homes of England

There came to the beach a poor exile of Erin
There dwelt a miller hale and bold

There is in souls a sympathy with sounds.

There is no flock, however watched and tended.
There is a Reaper, whose name is Death

The twilight is sad and cloudy.
The wintry west extends his blast
They grew in beauty, side by side
Think'st thou the steed that restless roves
This is the place. Stand still, my steed
Those evening bells! those evening bells
Thou cam'st not to thy place by accident
Thou lingering star, with less'ning ray.

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Tis the last rose of summer

To the sound of evening bells.

Twilight's soft dews steal o'er the village-green

Under a spreading chestnut-tree

Up to the throne of God is borne.

Up with me! up with me into the clouds

Voyager on life's troubled sea.

We are all here

We sat within the farm-house old

We scatter seeds with careless hand

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We walked along, while bright and red

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Weep not for broad lands lost

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What hidest thou in thy treasure-caves and cells

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What is that, Mother?-The lark, my child.

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What way does the wind come? What way does he go?
"What, you are stepping westward?"

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"Yea"

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When Britain first at Heaven's command

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Where art thou, my beloved son.

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When the hours of Day are numbered.

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When the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye at hame

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With Farmer Allan at the farm abode

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With what a glory comes and goes the year

Ye Mariners of England

You must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear. 265

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