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Prologue. 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 between 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-hair'd race of Mars

Cover'd from top to toe with scars;

Such company I like it not!