Praise be to God! What a flower garden is this, the creation of spring, at sight of the brilliancy of whose Venus-like blossoms, the lustre-beaming lamps of the firmament become faint! The fascinating glow and the dazzling variety of the Soheil* -like tulip-bed of its pro­ductions exceed the fancy of the most profound heaven-measuring conception. The epithets of it, sparkling brightly as the gem-be­spangled train of the milky way, have exhausted the mines of Bud­dukshaun;* and its phrases, with the warm expression of grace, like the garden of Ibrahim,* have illu­mined with true light the sight of the followers of reason.

So dignified is the subject, that it will not yield its substance to the scales of summary description; and so important is its purport, that the definition of it comes not within the limit of abbreviation or circle of compression, owing to the want of proper terms and phrases.

From the graceful flow of stile, the sentences trail along the alleys of beauty upon the silvered paper, like the umbrella-spreading pea­cocks of paradise. The azure-clothed natives of the contents, who are the envy of the adorners of the courts of heaven, by their enchant­ing smiles, have given spirit to the wine of expression, and fascinated our hearts. The exquisitely delicate whiteness of the pages, like the silver-woven tissue of the dawn, is illumined by the rays of the sun of eloquence. The amber-mingled jettiness of the entwisted lines, you would fancy to be the musky-coloured tresses of fair-faced damsels, arranged to fascinate the sun.

The space between the written lines is as a river, bank-full of the water of life; and the curling waves of the words, as expanded snares for the royal falcon of the sight of its voyagers. The sunbul-twining curvatures of the letters, spreading shade on each border, resemble truly the amber-tinged locks of beautiful nymphs reflected in a mirror. You may say, that the intoxicated with the wine of beauty sleep upon its margin, or that the vigil keepers of night, whose minds are wakeful as the dawn, have, like Jesus, taken up their stations at the fountain of the sun.*

Without exaggeration, this work, a true summary of the charms of love, and a compendium of the excellencies of beauty and elegance, is a perfect code of knowledge, to enumerate the graces of which is wholly needless.

The designer of this delightful garden also, without expecting other reward or gratification than applause and fame, the most desirable objects of genius, though in every quarter of it thousands of blooming flowers of rhetoric (which, from abundant richness of sense, and sweetness of contents, will add to the pleasurable sensations of the disciples of learning and knowledge) abound, has generously bestowed it on the travellers of the road of literature.

VERSE.
The characters of this volume would ornament a garden of flowers;
Each line of it resembles a grove of sunbul.*
From its tasteful design, and diversified stile,
It appears as a collection of flowers elegantly arranged.
When the copyist’s hand, preparing to write,
Applies the mister* to his page,
The water of life so swells from the paper,*
That the thread of the mister becomes a thread of life.
He who would justly praise its brilliancy and grace,
Must immerge his pen in the fountain of the sun.
In polish it equals the clearest mirror,
For, its figures reflect exact resemblances.
The flow of the lines of its pages
Abounds in lucid graces of expression.
When I would delineate its elegance of meaning,
I am obliged to borrow its own phrases for expression of its praise.
When transcribing its pages became my employment,
The pith of my pen became the pith of eloquence.
My fancy so gathered the flowers of its beauties,
That my pen became a tasteful arranger of garlands.

However ill-adapted the above trifles of dross and pastes are, to be strung together with such brilliant gems of real lustre, or to mingle with their true water in the assem­blage of ornament——Yet, as the rose-garden has no refuge from the thorn, or the ocean from the wreck and weeds upon its beach, my humble offerings may in some way serve the preparer of the musnud of the divan of elegance, as herbs to strew the path under the feet of the charmers of the GARDEN OF ELOQUENCE.

I hope that the leaves of this variegated parterre of literature will be preserved, like those of the more curious roses, from the spoliation of the nightingales of the garden of Irim, and from the fascinations of the locks of the sunbul of the man­sions of paradise; and that this volume, by the gracious approba­tion of the publick at large, will diffuse the lustre of the beams of truth, and become a justly-reflect­ing mirror of nature—that it will be valued as a light and lamp to the minds of the examiners of com­position, and esteemed as the garden and spring of the ideas of readers of true taste—that its inky gloss, like the black circle of the pupil of the eye, striking the view of the learned, may, from the piercing impression give, like the Night of Power,* the boon of eloquence.

VERSE.
In this narrative, abounding in enter­tainment,
Which will afford gratification to the ingenious,
The curiously-depicting pen hath pour­trayed
The story of the amours of two cele­brated personages.
Every letter of it is an index to the enamoured;
It is the volume of the destiny of lovers.
The language and diction are new and diversified,
Like the flowers of verdant spring col­lecting beauties.
From its contents, which diffuse splen­dour,
May the regions of Hindoostan be illumed!