These trifles are collected and republished chiefly with a view to
their redemption from the many improvements to which they have been
subjected while going at random “the rounds of the press.” I am
naturally anxious that what I have written should circulate as I wrote
it, if it circulate at all. In defence of my own taste, nevertheless,
it is incumbent upon me to say that I think nothing in this volume of
much value to the public, or very creditable to myself. Events not to
be controlled have prevented me from making, at any time, any serious
effort in what, under happier circumstances, would have been the field
of my choice. With me poetry has been not a purpose, but a passion; and
the passions should be held in reverence; they must not—they cannot at
will be excited, with an eye to the paltry compensations, or the more
paltry commendations of mankind.