PREFATORY SONNET.

THE springs of Life are failing, one by one,
And Age, with quicken'd step, is drawing nigh;
Yet would I heave no discontented sigh,

Since cause for cold ingratitude is none.

If slower through my veins life's tide may run,
The heart's young fountains are not wholly dry;
Though evening clouds shadow my noontide sky,
Night cannot quench the Spirit's inward sun!
Once more, then, ere the eternal bourn be pass'd,
Would I my lyre's rude melody essay:

And, while amid the chords my fingers stray,
Should Fancy sigh-"these strains may be its last!"
Yet shall not this my mind with gloom o'ercast,
If my day's work be finish'd with the day!

PREFACE.

THE Author had hoped that the preceding Sonnet would have spared his Readers and himself any further prefatory matter: but, to save himself from the imputation of intentional plagiarism in one particular Poem, it seems desirable to observe that the Piece entitled "Pity for poor little Sweeps" was written some months prior to the publication of the painfully interesting Volume lately edited on their behalf; and that, at the time of writing it, the Author had not seen a line of Poetry on the subject.

On the Title he has adopted, the Author could also wish briefly to remark, that it was chosen

rather in default of any better presenting itself, than for its peculiar appropriateness. It is not a very easy matter to find an unaffected, unhackneyed designation for a Volume of Miscellaneous Verses: and the contents of these pages have, at least, this claim to the Title given them, that they are the production of hours snatched from recreation or repose.

WOODBRIDGE, 5th Mo. 25th, 1824.