Epistle Dedicatory

When years of wedded life were as a day Whose current answers to the heart's desire, Oft in some bowers, with clustering roses gay, Or haply by the blazing winter fire, Did we together read in Spenser's Lay How Una, sad of soul, in sad attire, The gentle Una, born of heavenly birth, To seek her knight went wandering o'er the earth.

Ah, then, Belovèd, pleasing was the smart, And the tear precious in compassion shed For Her, who, pierced by sorrow's thrilling dart, Did meekly bear the pang unmerited; Meek as that Emblem of her lowly heart The milk-white Lamb, which in a line she led, And faithful, loyal in her innocence, Like the brave Lion slain in her defence.

Notes could we hear as of a faery shell Attuned to words with sacred wisdom fraught; Free fancy prized each specious miracle, And all its finer inspiration caught Mid the green bower, and in our rustic Cell; Till we by lamentable change were taught That bliss with mortal man may not abide, How nearly joy and sorrow are allied![S]

For us the stream of fiction ceased to flow, For us the voice of melody was mute: But as soft gales dissolve the dreary snow, And give the timid herbage leave to shoot, Heaven's breathing spirit failed not to bestow Its timely influence--promising fair fruit Of pensive pleasure and serene content, From blossoms wild of fancies innocent.

It soothed us--it beguiled us--then, to hear Once more of troubles wrought by magic spell, And griefs whose aery motion comes not near The pangs that tempt the spirit to rebel; Then, with mild Una in her sober cheer, High over hill and low adown the dell Again we wandered, willing to partake All that she suffered for her dear Lord's sake.

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Then, too, this Song of mine once more could please, Where anguish, strange as dreams of restless sleep, Is tempered and allayed by sympathies Aloft ascending, and descending deep, Even to the inferior Kinds; whom forest-trees Protect from beating sunbeams, and the sweep Of the sharp winds;--fair Creatures!--to whom Heaven A calm and sinless life, with love, hath given.

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This tragic story cheered us, for it speaks Of female patience winning firm repose, And of the high reward which conscience seeks A bright encouraging example shows; Needful when o'er wide realms the tempest breaks, Needful amid life's ordinary woes;-- A tale which now, dear helpmate, I present To thee and to the world with pure intent.[T]

He serves the Muses erringly and ill, Whose aim is pleasure light and fugitive: O, that my mind were equal to fulfil The comprehensive mandate which they give-- Vain aspiration of an earnest will! Yet in this moral Strain a power may live, Belovèd Wife! such solace to impart, As it hath yielded to thy tender heart.