INTRODUCTION.
A DAMP and dewy wreath that grew
Upon the breast of Spring,
A harp whose tones are faint and few,
With trembling hand I bring.
The clang of war, the trumpet's roar,
May drown the feeble note,
And down to Lethe's silent shore,
The scattered wreath may float.
But He, who taught the flowers to spring
From waste neglected ground,
And gave the silent harp a string
Of wild and nameless sound;
