| First Line |
Page |
Verses |
| Song, a song, is the cry of mankind, A |
253-254 |
6 |
| On Entick's green meadows where innocence reaigns |
254-255 |
3 |
| Songs of shepherds in rustical roundelays |
255-257 |
7 |
| Tom Tacle was noble, was true to his word [sic] |
257-259 |
4 |
| O think on my fate; once I freedom enjoy'd |
259-260 |
3 |
| In the world's crooked path, where I've been |
261 |
3 |
| I ask'd a kiss, and she look'd down |
261-262 |
3 |
| Young Damon has woo'd me a monstrous long time |
262-263 |
3 |
| 'Twas past meridian half past four |
264-265 |
12 |
| Here a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling |
266 |
3 |
| When Donald first came wooing me |
267-268 |
3 |
| Of Columbia's boast the praise be mine |
268-269 |
5 |
| Hark forward's the word, and all join in the chace |
270 |
4 |
| In the dead of the night, when, with labour opprest |
271-272 |
6 |
| Eve her silver vestment wore, The |
272-273 |
4 |
| Hail, Columbia! happy land |
273-275 |
4 |
| Ye sons of Columbia, who bravely have fought |
275-278 |
9 |
| Poets may sing of their Helicon streams |
279-280 |
6 |