good.

The fact that the title of this compilation instantly calls to mind that
of Mr. Palgrave's scholarly collection of English lyrics need not prove
a disadvantage to the book if the purpose which led to the choice of
name is understood. The verse of a single century produced in a new
country should not be expected to equal the poetic wealth of an old and
intellectual nation. But if American poetry cannot hope to rival the
poetry of the mother country, it may at least be compared with it; and
the fact of such a comparative point of view will aid rather than hinder
the student of our native poetry in estimating its value.

American verse has suffered at the hands both of its admirers and its
enemies. Injudicious praise, no less than supercilious contempt, has
reacted unfavorably on the fame of our poets. Again and again has some
minor versifier been hailed as the "American Keats" or the "American
Burns." Really excellent poets, though distinctly poets of second rank,
have been elevated amid the blare of critical trumpets to the company of
Wordsworth and Milton. All this is unprofitable and silly. But not much
better is the attitude of certain critics who patronize everything in
the English language which has been written outside of England. Though
America has added--leaving Poe out of account--no distinctly new notes
to English poetry, it has added certainly not a few true ones. A nation
need never apologize for its literature when it has produced such
lyrics--to go no further--as "On a Bust of Dante," "Ichabod," "The
Chambered Nautilus," and the "Waterfowl."

My method of arrangement is roughly chronological. The First Book, which
is shorter than the others, might be called the book of Bryant; the
Second, of Longfellow; and the Third, of Aldrich. Since the periods must
of course overlap, this division of the poems can be at most only
suggestive.

I have made it no part of my design to grant to the better known poets a
larger number of lyrics than those given later and younger men. I have
paid no regard to that purely conventional idea of proportion, that
would assign to five or six writers a dozen selections each, and to
another set of poets, in proportion to their popular fame, half that
number. We can safely leave the final adjustment of all rival claims to
Time, the best critic; in the meanwhile having the more modest aim of
selecting, irrespective of contemporary judgments, whatever is best
suited to our pur