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ONE object that I had in view, when I wrote these Scenes,' was to try the effect of a more natural style than that which has for a long time prevailed in our dramatic literature.

I have endeavoured to mingle poetical imagery with expressions of natural emotion: but it has been my wish, where the one seemed to jar with the other, that the former should give place to the latter. In this spirit I have ventured to let several passages, little interesting perhaps otherwise than as a representation of human dialogue, remain.

It may be observed, that several parts touching upon description are merely poetical, and such as men, in the general course of life, might never use. Let it be recollected, however, that the persons on whom these



passages have been imposed, existed in ages more chivalrous than the present; and when men were apt to indulge in all the extravagances of romance. *

Two Stanzas, written by a friend, are prefixed to this Book. I would have left them, as I safely might,

to ingratiate themselves with the reader, had they not involved a compliment to me. To readers of poetry, it will scarcely be necessary to say that these little offerings are merely friendly.

One word more. I have touched neither upon politics nor polemics: and if an occasional sentence should seem to bear upon either of those subjects, it is contrary to my wish, and I disclaim the inference.

*The second scene in 'Werner' forms an exception to my plan of dialogue. It is a mere soliloquy.

(By a Friend of the Author.)

BEAUTIFUL Spirit, who dost sit at eve
Within thy tapestried hall of shield and spear,
Upgazing where the dying sun-beams leave

The heaven in crimson-on thy cheek a tear,
Like dew upon the red rose, quivering, clear—

From thy pale brow half raised thy nun-like hood-
Thy ruby lip half opened, as to hear

Some floating music of the sky or wood—

Come, sweet Romance! from thine enchanted solitude.

Not for myself I woo thee now to stand

Beside the harp: Loved Spirit, spread thy wings
Of veiling splendour over one whose hand
Wakes its first music from the golden strings ;-
For he is thy true votary, and clings
To thy fallen altar with a love sublime,

And brings a gift of wild aud witching things
From glorious Greece, from the Italian prime,
A coronal of gems from the rich depths of time.

G. C

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