Legends and Lyrics. Part 1

This etext was prepared by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk from the 1890 George Bell and Sons edition.
Contents:
Dedication An Introduction by Charles Dickens The Angel’s Story Echoes A False Genius My Picture Judge Not Friend Sorrow One by One True Honours A Woman’s Question The Three Rulers A Dead Past A Doubting Heart A Student A Knight Errant Linger, oh, gentle Time Homeward Bound Life and Death Now Cleansing Fires The Voice of the Wind Treasures Shining Stars Waiting The Cradle Song of the Poor Be strong God’s Gifts A Tomb in Ghent The Angel of Death A Dream The Present Changes Strive, Wait, and Pray A Lament for the Summer The Unknown Grave Give me thy Heart The Wayside Inn Voices of the Past The Dark Side A First Sorrow Murmurs Give My Journal A Chain The Pilgrims Incompleteness A Legend of Bregenz A Farewell Sowing and Reaping The Storm Words A Love Token A Tryst with Death Fidelis A Shadow The Sailor Boy A Crown of Sorrow The Lesson of the War The Two Spirits A Little Longer Grief The Triumph of Time A Parting The Golden Gate Phantoms Thankfulness Home-sickness Wishes The Peace of God Life in Death and Death in Life Recollections Illusion A Vision Pictures in the Fire The Settlers Hush! Hours The Two Interpreters Comfort Home at last Unexpressed Because Rest at Evening A Retrospect True or False Golden Words
TO MATILDA M. HAYS.
“Our tokens of love are for the most part barbarous. Cold and lifeless, because they do not represent our life. The only gift is a portion of thyself. Therefore let the farmer give his corn; the miner, a gem; the sailor, coral and shells; the painter, his picture; and the poet, his poem.”—Emerson’s Essays.
A. A. P.
May, 1858
In the spring of the year 1853, I observed, as conductor of the weekly journal Household Words , a short poem among the proffered contributions, very different, as I thought, from the shoal of verses perpetually setting through the office of such a periodical, and possessing much more merit. Its authoress was quite unknown to me. She was one Miss Mary Berwick, whom I had never heard of; and she was to be addressed by letter, if addressed at all, at a circulating library in the western district of London. Through this channel, Miss Berwick was informed that her poem was accepted, and was invited to send another. She complied, and became a regular and frequent contributor. Many letters passed between the journal and Miss Berwick, but Miss Berwick herself was never seen.