I must claim the indulgence of my friends for the many defects they will
find in my poems, which they will please wink at, remembering that I was
sixty years old when I commenced rhyming; and this by way of experiment,
while on a visit to my daughter, in Brooklyn.
My first essay, was The Monarchs of England. I took it up for my
amusement, wishing to ascertain how much of that history I could recollect
without help from any other source than memory.
The rhyme is in many places far from smooth, and there are many
redundances that might with advantage be lopped off; and were it to come
under the critic's eye to be reviewed, I should feel it quite necessary to
improve it, (the poetry, I mean.) But as it would require quite too much
exertion for my eyes in their present state, and as the history, dates,
&c., I believe, are correct, I send it to the press "with all its
imperfections on its head."