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v

DEDICATION. TO------

1

This book is thine—this record of past hours;
This chronicle of feelings gone for aye!
Thou 'lt find a line or two about the flowers,
And words of welcome to the Lady May:—
Think not with these I now abuse my powers,
I've learn'd at length to reverence Lady-day.—
These are old follies—as the time increases,
I give up drawling verse for drawing leases.
vi

2

I will not tell the world that thou hast chid
My heart for worshipping the idol Muse;
That thy dark eye hath given its gentle lid
Tears for my wanderings;—I may not choose
When thou dost speak, but do as I am bid,—
And therefore to the roses and the dews,
Very respectfully I make my bow;—
And turn my back upon the tulips now.

3

I 'll give my goods up (which thou little dreamest)
To those who by their fair deserts have won them;
My roses unto Mr. Bell the chemist,
My dews to Dr. Wells who hath written on them:—
Rather severe in thy decree thou seemest,
But as poetic objects I 've undone them,
I have but to request the world will view
The lily and myself henceforth as two!
vii

4

There is some talk of fairies in my book,
(Creatures whose bodies have a doubtful title)
I once believed in them—and oft have shook
My boyish heart with thoughts that made me sigh, till
Years stood like shadows in each leafy nook,
To parcel out the wilds in rood and pightle;
There is some talk, I must confess, of fairies,—
I knew no better,—boys will have vagaries.

5

Thou hast entreated me “to write no more,”
To turn aside from the consuming art;
And can I shun the voice that I adore,
The voice that hath an echo in my heart?
Perchance a gentleman of twenty-four,
And upwards, should abandon verse in part,
And keep a house, and plunge in tax vexations,
And die, and leave a will for his relations.
viii

6

I wish the world could know how young and bright
Thou art whose voice forbids me poesy;
And how thy cheek, June-born, doth take delight
In marring thy sweet caution:—oh! to me
Thine eye is lustrous with the Muse's light,
And that which thou forbiddest is in thee:—
'Tis as the lily in some magic hour
Should speak, and warn the heart against a flower.

7

But thy advice is law—so farewell, fairies!
My soul against your glowing haunts I must ice,—
Fate, at a word, my course of study varies,
And brings me books in which a deal of dust is:—
Shakspearegivesplace to Blackstone's Commentaries,—
And Burns's Poems usher in Burns' Justice.—
I give a sigh (a trifle) to times past;—
These are my latest verses, and my last.
ix

And as they are my last,—thou wilt not sigh,
That thus an offering from my heart to thine
I bring them,—as I pledged in hours gone by,
Craving thee to be kind to them as mine.
Now to the Lady Muse I bid good bye;
Poor soul! the tears within her eyelids shine:
I kiss her hand, so sonnet sweet, and part:—
Well!—be it so.—A blessing on her heart!
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