THE AUTHOR'S PREFACE.

The foregoing annunciation of the plan of the work, supersedes the necessity of dwelling at large upon it in this place. I shall, therefore, only state briefly how it is carried out in this first part.

The general purpose of the work, required that this part should embrace the general and characteristick traits of Hebrew poetry, which mark its essential outlines, its cosmology, the most ancient conceptions of God, of Providence, of Angels, of the Elohim, and of the Cherubim, and individual objects, and poetical representations of nature. With these, it must contain also, especially, the traditions of the patriarchs, which, as among all nations, so peculiarly among this people, were the source from which were derived all the peculiarities of their modes of thinking, consequently also the genius of their poetry. To set forth these, and unfold them correctly, was here so much the more necessary, since most traditions of this kind have themselves more or less of poetical colouring, and what is worse, are often greatly misapprehended. In doing this, I have aimed as much as possible at brevity, have endeavoured not unnecessarily to say for the hundredth time, what had been repeated ninety-nine times already, and where on account of the connexion I was obliged to do so, have passed over it as briefly

as possible; for where in common-place matters we cannot read with interest, we can much less write with it.

I sought, therefore, rather to set in their true light, the obscure and misinterpreted histories of Paradise, of the fall, of the tower of Babel, of the wrestling with the Elohim, &c., together with particular mythological representations, and personifications, which show most clearly the character of Hebrew poetry, and will at the same time prove of the greatest service to us hereafter; for before one can say much, either of the beauty or deformity of an object, he must first learn to understand it. A right understanding of words, of figurative language, and of things, will give, without long discourses and a tedious explication of it, the conception of beauty to one who has the capability of emotion. To one who is destitute of this, it can hardly be communicated by exclamations, and repetitions of similar passages from other poets, and much less by abstract discussions respecting the nature of poetry, and its various kinds. From all this, therefore, the present work will be free.

If I have occupied as much as I could of the work with the translation of select passages, no one, I hope, will think it too much, for these are in fact, the very purpose and subject of the work. They are the stars in an otherwise empty space. They are the fruit, and my book is only the shell. Could I have succeeded fairly in setting forth the specimens which I have here given, in all their ancient dignity and simplicity, I should not, at the least, have failed altogether of my aim; for in regard to this, I am of Luther's opinion, "that we must let the Prophets sit as teachers, and at

their feet listen with humility to what they say, and not say what they must hear," as if we were their teachers. In this early period, the Book of Job was especially appropriate to my purpose, and I only wish that I may have expressed something of that which my own soul felt in the study of this sublime, simple, and perhaps most ancient of all regular compositions. Ardua res est, vetustis novitatem dare, novis auctoritatem, obsoletis nitorem, obscuris lucem, fastiditis gratiam, dubiis fidem, omnibus vero naturam et naturæ suæ omnia. Something of this I would have attained, in what I have said of the patriarchs, of Job, and of Moses. With mere learning and the characters of a foreign language, I could not consent to burden my pages. To the unlearned they are of no use, and the scholar who has the original language and the ancient translations at hand, can easily accommodate himself with them; for him indeed, especially for the young scholar, it is a source of pleasure to supply for himself the grounds of the opinions which he is taught, and to have something left for him to search out, to compare, and weigh by his own reflections. Hence, I have availed myself of the rich helps of more recent philologists, where I could do so, without making a display of it, or seeking credit by disputing them. To those whose aid I have experienced, my silent use of it will be my thank-offering; and where I could not adopt their opinion, there-I had my own opinion.

And in order to advance this always in the mildest terms, and in the clearest light, I have chosen the form of dialogue, though unusual, I am aware, in subjects of this sort. How difficult it was for me, too, I know very well, and to have aspired to rival the graces

of the dialogues of Plato, of Lord Shaftsbury, of Diderot, and of Lessing, would have been, in treating such matters, and with such aims, the extreme of folly. Here was no opportunity for devising interesting situations, nor for unfolding new characters, nor finally for artfully drawing out thoughts from the mind of the respondent, in which the greatest art especially of didactick dialogue consists. The aim here was not to invent in general, but to elucidate, to exhibit, and point out to view, to find what is already before us. The only speakers admissible, therefore, are the demonstrator, and he to whom he demonstrates, friend with friend, teacher and scholar. My pattern for the general plan of the dialogue was not Plato, but the book of Corsi, or indeed the catechism.

But why then did I choose the form of dialogue ? From more than one cause. First, and more especially for the sake of brevity. In the dialogue a single letter, the index of a new train of thought, a brief how? or whence? expresses what in the systematick form would require periods or half pages. Thus I am spared such tedious forms of expression, and such transitions as it may be said on the other hand” &c. In the second place, I might in this way be able to escape the uniform, peremptory, or controversial tone, of the professorial chair or of the pulpit, which otherwise could scarcely be avoided throughout the work, on a subject of this sort. A dialogue, even in the worst style, gives to the subject animation, variety, and human interest, if only it do not (as was often the case here,) treat of matters that are too dry, and continue too long. In the third place, I escaped, for which I am heartily thankful, the necessity of contra