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THERE is probably scarce an author but would feel glad that his readers, if he have any, would do that which yet few readers are found willing to do,—to go through the preface to his book. For myself, being truly desirous to save from disappointment those who may think it worth their while to consult the following pages, I can only hope that they may succeed in getting as far as this second sentence in that before them, in order that they may be warned at the outset, that in the succeeding work a poem, or poems, must not be expected. Into this mistake they might easily be led, on a view of the shape into which it is thrown; but, notwithstanding its shape, it contains no poem, nor was ever so designed : in fact, it is nothing beyond a mere translation, such as, as far as may be, should be required from the schoolboy.
This has been said thus early, on the ground that of those who may chance to take the publication into their hands, many more would be found to glance at this first page of its preface, than to look further into it; and thus, without this early announcement, the work itself lie open to the mislikes of a disappointed reader. Those, however, who are not appalled by that which scares so many, will perhaps pardon me for saying no more on this subject in this place, and for proceeding at once to mention why it