Time honored Seers, of every age bestowed
The reverence of man; whose is the power
To scan the future, and draw back the veil,
That people of the present may behold
The scenes and fates which lie secluded there;
To tell strange stories of the time to come,
The kind of life which is awaiting some;
Whereat the heart doth shudder to behold
What it shall be, of revel mirth propelled,
Or bound in joys licentious and wild,
Inoculate with sin of blackest hue,
Verging on crime--yea, crime in hideous form,
To crown the ruin of this hapless one.
If any of this God-like race remain,
Who pry the future with such wondrous skill,
Pass on the pages of this book a glance,
And tell if ye can see upon the time to come,
Aught which is worthy in the art of rhyme;
If from this rugged riplet ye can glean
A flower or two which bear poetic worth;
And if ye see the stream go gliding on
In pleasant ways, through the far distance, spread
On fertile banks, till it at length attain
A fair and undisturbed flow, and give
A beauty to the scenes which round it lie,
Or if it ripple for a weary while,
And die at length into a marshy waste,
Give choice to say the former; for the voice
Of him who doth a tiding good convey
Is sweeter far than his which speaketh ill.