A lowly task was mine, O little book,
A simple toil, by pleasure overpaid
As, culling for thee Flowers of Poesy,
Through her fresh fields and woodlands
I have stray'd,

Rejoicing in their loveliness:—and now

I send thee forth-a many-hued boquet

A sweet love-token to the children young;Let thy fair leaves sing to them this fond lay :

"Come to the old haunts, where our kindred dwell:

We were but lowly ones in that bright train,

Yet the soft breeze played o'er us, as o'er

them;

With theirs, our petals drank the gentle

rain;

And therefore are we lovely ;-for the air Of that sweet region breathes of Love and Peace,

Truth, Purity, and Beauty:-list our song Come with us, love us, live with us and these."