"This little Collection differs, it is believed, from others in the attempt made to include in it all the best original lyrical pieces and songs in our language, by writers not living, and none besides the best. The Editor will regard as his fittest readers those who love poetry so well, that he can offer them nothing not already known and valued."

"Let the children play And sit like flowers upon thy grave And crown with flowers,—that hardly have A briefer blooming-tide than they."

"Time's corrosive dewdrop eats The giant warrior to a crust Of earth in earth and rust in rust."

"In the season of white wild roses We two went hand in hand: But now in the ruddy autumn Together already we stand."

"The azure lake is argent now Beneath the pale moonshine: I seek a sign of hope in heaven: Fair Polestar! thou are mine. A thousand other beacons blaze; I follow thee alone..."