Legends and Lyrics, Pt 1 | Page 3

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from the 1890 George Bell and Sons edition edition.
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.

0. 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