| PAGE |
| A good sword and a trusty hand | 207 |
| All is finished! and at length | 217 |
| Alone stood brave Horatius | 196 |
| Amid the loud ebriety of war | 264 |
| And Rustum gazed in Sohrab's face, and said | 280 |
| Arm, arm, arm, arm! the scouts are all come in | 13 |
| As I was walking all alane | 79 |
| Ask nothing more of me, sweet | 316 |
| As the spring-tides, with heavy plash | 153 |
| At anchor in Hampton Roads we lay | 227 |
| At Flores in the Azores Sir Richard Grenville lay | 232 |
| Attend, all ye who list to hear our noble England's praise | 200 |
| Attend you, and give ear awhile | 73 |
| Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughtered saints, whose bones | 28 |
| A wet sheet and a flowing sea | 148 |
| Beat! beat! drums!—blow! bugles! blow! | 257 |
| Bid me to live, and I will live | 18 |
| Blow high, blow low, let tempests tear | 89 |
| Build me straight, O worthy Master | 208 |
| But by the yellow Tiber | 183 |
| But see! look up—on Flodden bent | 116 |
| By this, though deep the evening fell | 119 |
| Captain, or Colonel, or Knight in Arms | 27 |
| Come, all ye jolly sailors bold | 92 |
| Condemned to Hope's delusive mine | 45 |
| Cromwell, our chief of men, who through a cloud | 28 |
| Darkly, sternly, and all alone | 156 |
| Day by day the vessel grew | 214 |
| Day, like our souls, is fiercely dark | 146 |
| Eleven men of England | 244 |
| England, queen of the waves, whose green inviolate girdle enrings thee round | 317 |
| Erle Douglas on his milke-white steede | 49 |
| Fair stood the wind for France | 6 |
| Farewell! farewell! the voice you hear | 133 |
| Farewell, ye dungeons dark and strong | 95 |
| Get up! get up for shame! The blooming morn | 15 |
| God prosper long our noble king | 47 |
| God who created me | 328 |
| Go fetch to me a pint o' wine | 97 |
| Good Lord Scroope to the hills is gane | 64 |
| Hame, hame, hame, hame fain wad I be | 147 |
| Hark! I hear the tramp of thousands | 322 |
| He has called him forty Marchmen bold | 69 |
| Here, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling | 90 |
| He spoke, and as he ceased he wept aloud | 272 |
| He spoke, and Soh
|
