earnest wishes that life and health may be granted you to complete the many important works in which you are engaged, and with high respect,

RYDAL MOUNT,
April 7. 1819.

Most faithfully yours,

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

PROLOGUE.

THERE'S something in a flying horse,
There's something in a huge balloon;
But through the clouds I'll never float
Until I have a little Boat,

Whose shape is like the crescent-moon.

And now I have a little Boat,

In shape a very crescent-moon:

Fast through the clouds my Boat can sail;
But if perchance your faith should fail,

Look

up and you shall see me soon!

The woods, my Friends, are round you roaring, Rocking and roaring like a sea;

The noise of danger fills your ears,

And

ye have all a thousand fears

Both for

my little Boat and me!

Meanwhile untroubled I admire
The pointed horns of my canoe;

And, did not pity touch my breast,
To see how ye are all distrest,

Till my ribs ached, I'd laugh at you!

Away we go, my Boat and I—
Frail man ne'er sate in such another;
Whether among the winds we strive,
Or deep into the clouds we dive,
Each is contented with the other.

Away we go-and what care we
For treasons, tumults, and for wars?
We are as calm in our delight
As is the crescent-moon so bright
Among the scattered stars.

Up goes my Boat among the stars Through many a breathless field of light, Through many a long blue field of ether, Leaving ten thousand stars beneath her. Up goes my little Boat so bright!

The Crab

the Scorpion

and the Bull

We pry among them all - have shot

High o'er the red-haired race of Mars,
Covered from top to toe with scars;
Such company I like it not!

The towns in Saturn are decayed,
And melancholy Spectres throng them;
The Pleiads, that appear to kiss

Each other in the vast abyss,

With joy I sail among them!

Swift Mercury resounds with mirth,
Great Jove is full of stately bowers;
But these, and all that they contain,
What are they to that tiny grain,
That little Earth of ours?

Then back to Earth, the dear green
Whole ages if I here should roam,
The world for my remarks and me
Would not a whit the better be;

I've left my heart at home.

Earth;