Private reasons-some of which have reference to the sin of plagiarism, and others to the date of Tennyson's first poems---have induced me, after some hesitation, to republish these, the crude compositions of my earliest boyhood. They are printed verbatim— without alteration from the original edition-the date of which is too remote to be judiciously acknowledged. E. A. P. O! nothing earthly save the thrill Yet all the beauty-all the flowers That list our Love, and deck our bowers— Adorn yon worla afar, afar The wandering star. 'Twas a sweet time for Nesace-for there Her world lay lolling on the golden air, Away-away-'mid seas of rays that roll To distant spheres, from time to time, she rode, And late to ours, the favoured one of God— the ruler of an anchored realm, But, now, She throws aside the sceptre-leaves the helm, And, amid incense and high spiritual hymns, |