In its place will fast mellow the young.
Sun! to me also be thouCreator of days bright and glorious;Life and Eternity this!
Soon it was set;There grows it ever,
When on one field we quaff'd refreshing dew,And, when the day's unwelcome toils were o'er,
Both in one being to embrace with bliss.
CHORUS OF WOMEN.
The cook's by him ador'd;He turns the spit round ceaselessly,
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.
O'ER field and plain, in childhood's artless days,
Were not the lord of the world e'en for instruction too great!
"Incense is hut a tribute for the gods,--To mortals 'tis but poison."