Having said thus much by way of explanation, I now leave thebook to speak for itself, and to testify to its own character.Whether viewed with a charitable eye by the kindly reader, whowill make due allowance for the difficulties attending itsexecution, or received by the critic, who will judge of it onlyby its own merits, with the unfriendly welcome which it veryprobably deserves, I trust that I shall at least be pardoned formaking an attempt, a failure in which does not necessarily implydisgrace, and which, by leading the way, may perhaps become themeans of inducing some abler and more worthy (but not moreearnest) labourer to enter upon the same field, the riches ofwhich will remain unaltered and undiminished in value, evenalthough they may be for the moment tarnished by the hands of theless skilful workman who first endeavours to transplant them to aforeign soil.
I KNOW not, wherefore, dearest love,
Sprang tip from the ground;And early its fragrance
With them he brings thee whate'er gives to a housewife delight.Fine and woollen coverlets, wrought with an edging of purple,
The churches ruined lie,The houses burn on high,The roofs they smoke, the flames out fly,Into the street then hie!
Exchangeth he the seasons as they roll;Thus nobly doth he vanquish, with renown,The twilight and the night that weigh us down.
He pecks at her finger,
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