HOURS OF IDLENESS
A SEKIES OE POEMS, OKIGINAL AND TRANSLATED'.
Virginibus puerisque canto.—H orace, Kfc. iii> Ode 1.m t' ap tee /jloA’ atvee, fiijTe rt vetKet.- —HOMER, Iliad , X. 249*He whistled as be went, for want of thought—D rydei*.
to
THE RIGHT HONOURABLE FREDERICK, EARL OF CARLISLE,
KNIGHT OT THE GARTER , ETC. ETC.,
THE SECOND EDITION OF THESE POEMS IS INSCRIBED,
* BY HIS OBLIGED WARD AND
AFFECTIONATE KINSMAN,
THE AUTHOR,
PREFACE.
r In submitting to the public eye the following collection, I have not only to combat the difficultiesthat writers of Terse generally encounter, but may incur the charge of presumption for obtruding myselfon the world, when, without doubt, I might be, at my age, more usefully employed.
These productions are the fruits of the lighter hours of a youDg man who has lately completed hisnineteenth year. As they bear the internal evidence of a boyish mind, this is, perhaps, unnecessaryinformation. Some few were written during the disadvantages of illness and depression of spirits;under the former influence, “ Childish Recollections,” in particular, were composed. This consider-ation, though it cannot excite the voice of praise, may at least arrest the arm of censure. A consider-able portion of these poems has been privately printed, at the request and for the perusal of my friends.I am sensible that the partial and frequently injudicious admiration of a social circle is not the criterionby which poetical genius is to be estimated, yet “ to do greatly,” we must “dare greatly and I havehazarded my reputation and feelings in publishing this volume. “I have passed the Rubicon,” andmust stand or fall by the “ cast of the die.” In the latter event, I shall submit without a murmur: for,though not without solicitude for the fate of these effusions, my expectations are by no means sanguine.It is probable that I may have dared much and done little; for, in the words of Cowper, “ it is one thing towrite what may please our friends, who, because they are such, are apt to be a little biassed in ourfavour, and another to write what may please everybody; because they who have no connection, oreven knowledge of the author, will be sure to find fault if they can.” To the truth of this, however, Ido not wholly subscribe; on the contrary, I feel convinced that these trifles will not be treated with in-justice. Their merit, if they possess any, will be liberally allowed; their numerous faults, on the otherhand, cannot expect that favour which has been denied to others of maturer years, decided character,And far greater ability.
I have not aimed at exclusive originality, still less have I studied any particular model for imitation?Borne translations are given, of which many are paraphrastic. In the original pieces, there may appeara casual coincidence with authors wuubo works i have been accustomed to read; but I have not beenguilty of intentional plagiarism. To produce anything entirely new, in an age so fertile in rhyme, wouldbe a Herculean task, as every subject has already been treated to its utmost extent. Poetry, however, isnot my primary vocation; to divert the dull moments of indisposition, or the monotony of a vacanthour, urged me “to this sinlittle can be expected from so unpromising a muse. My wreath, scantyas it must be, is all I shall derive from these productions; and L shall never attempt to replace its fadingleaves, or pluck a single additional sprig from groves where I am, at best, an intruder. Though accustomed,in my younger days, to rove a careless mountaineer on the Highlands of Scotland , I have not, of lateyears, had the benefit of such pure air, or so elevated a residence, as might enable me to enter the listsWith genuine bards, who have enjoyed both these advantages. But they derived considerable fame, and
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