Legends and Lyrics-1 [0]
Legends and Lyrics - First Series
by Adelaide Ann Proctor
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
DEDICATION
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
AN INTRODUCTION BY CHARLES DICKENS
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.
How we came gradually to establish, at the office of Household
Words, that we knew all about Miss Berwick, I have never
discovered. But we settled somehow, to our complete satisfaction,
that she was governess in a family; that she went to Italy in that
capacity, and returned; and that she had long been in the same
family. We really knew nothing whatever of her, except that she
was remarkably business-like, punctual, self-reliant, and reliable:
so I suppose we insensibly invented the rest. For myself, my
mother was not a more real personage to me, than Miss Berwick the
governess became.
This went on until December, 1854, when the Christmas number,
entitled The Seven Poor Travellers, was sent to press. Happening
to be going to dine that day with an old and dear friend,
distinguished in literature as Barry Cornwall, I took with me an
early proof of that number, and remarked, as I laid it on the
drawing-room table, that it contained a very pretty poem, written
by a certain Miss Berwick. Next day brought me the disclosure that
I had so spoken of the poem to the mother of its writer, in its
writer's presence; that I had no such correspondent in existence as
Miss Berwick; and that the name had been assumed by Barry
Cornwall's eldest daughter, Miss Adelaide Anne Procter.
The anecdote I have here noted down, besides serving to explain why
the parents of the late Miss Procter have looked to me for these