University of Virginia Library

PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION OF THE POEMS.

It is not without hesitation that I give this small volume
to the public; for no one can be more sensible than I am
how much is required to the production of what may be
rightly called poetry. It is true that something resembling
it is oftentimes borne into instant and trubulent popularity,
while a work of genuine character may be lying neglected
by all except the poets. But the tide of time flows on, and
the former begins to settle to the bottom, while the latter
rises slowly and steadily to the surface, and goes forward,
for a spirit is in it.

It is a poor ambition to be anxious after the distinction
of a day in that which, if it be fit to live at all, is to live for
ages. It is wiser than all, so to love one's art, that its distinetions
shall be but secondary: and, indeed, he who is
not so absorbed in it as to think of his fame only as one of
its accidents, had better save himself his toil; for the true
power is not in him. Yet, the most self-dependent are
stirred to livelier action by the hope of fame; and there are
none who can go on with vigour, without the sympathy of
some few minds which they respect.

I will not say of my first tale, as Miss Edgeworth sometimes
does of her improbabilities, “This is a feet;” but
thus much I may say; there are few facts so well vouched
for, and few truths so fully believed in, as the account
upon which I have grounded my story.

I shall not name the island off our New England coast
upon which these events happened, and these strange appearances
were seen; for islanders are the most sensitive
creatures in the world in all that relates to their places of
abode.

I have changed the time of the action — which was
before the war of our revolution — to that of the great
contest in Spain; as the reader will see, in my making use
of the christian name of Lord Wellington in a way to
allude to the popular belief, during the early ages, in the
return of King Arthur to the world.[1] — In putting my hero
on horseback, in not allowing him to die quietly in his
bed, and, indeed, in whatever I thought might heighten
the poetical effect of the tale, I have not hesitated to depart
from the true account. Nor am I even certain that I have
not run two stories into one; it being many years since
these wonderful events were told to me. I mention this,
here, lest the islanders might be unnecessarily provoked at
my departures from the real facts, when they come to read
my tale, and the critics be put to the trouble of useless research
in detecting mistakes.

Of the second story, I would only say, that having in it
nothing of the marvellous, and being of a less active character
than the first, I shall not be disappointed, though it
should not be generally estimated according to its relative
merit.

Of the remaining pieces, the first four have appeared in
the New-York Review; and are here republished with the
consent of my friend Bryant, the editor of that late work.

One of these, “Fragment of an Epistle,” is taken from
a letter which I wrote to amuse myself while recovering
from a severe illness. I must be pardoned giving it as a
fragment. The lines are much more broken than is usual
in the octo-syllabic verse; though Milton has taken great
liberties in this respect in his two exquisite little poems in
the same measure. This he could have done neither
through ignorance nor carelessness. Lord Byron has justly
spoken of “the fatal facility” of this measure; and he might
as truly have remarked upon its fatal monotony, unless
varied in all possible ways. So far from abrupt pauses

not being allowable in it, there is scarcely a measure in the
language which becomes so wearisome without them; as
every one must have experienced in reading Scott, notwithstanding
his rapidity and spirit.[2]

I am fully aware of the truth of Sir Walter Raleigh's
remark in his admirable Preface to his History of the
World: — “True it is that the judgments of all men are
not agreeable; nor (which is more strange) the affection of
any one man stirred up alike with examples of like nature:
But every one is touched most with that which most
nearly seemeth to touch his own private; or otherwise
best suiteth with his apprehension.” — I therefore do not
look to see all pleased; — content if enough are gratified to
encourage me to undertake something more than this small
beginning; which is of size sufficient, if it should fail to be
thought well of, and large enough to build further upon,
should it be liked. Let me end, then, in the words of old
Cowell: — “that which a man saith well, is not to be rejected
because he hath some errors. No man, no book is
void of imperfections. And, therefore, reprehend who will
in God's name, that is with sweetness and without reproach.”