« VorigeDoorgaan »
FROM a somewhat bulky portfolio of new and miscellaneous manuscripts, I have been induced to select a small Christmas present for my friends, in the shape of the following Lyrics. Most of them have been written very lately; and (in all cases, except three or four, a sample of certain fugitives unclaimed by me till now) they have not hitherto been printed. My friendly reader is requested to regard these effusions, in the main, not as cold pieces of poetical artifice deliberately carved and gilt; but, as they really have grown up from time to time, the natural crop of occasion and circumstance. May they both please and in their measure do good, as witnessing from heart to heart, from mind to mind.
M. F. T.
AGAIN, THUS FAR: the world goes whirling on,
And each man's life is full of chance and change,
While all withal that seems so new and strange Looks like an old familiar soon as done :
So must the Soul, that up and down doth range Restless and energetic, set up straight
Its Runic record ever and anon,
Or pile its cairn of pebbles, one by one,
And earnest, though much erring every way, Often fling out my way-side heap of rhyme
To rest some wearied traveller, as it may.