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Prologue. Ne'er in the breast of full-grown Poet

Flutter'd so faint a heart before—

Was it the music of the spheres

That overpower'd your mortal ears?

—Such din shall trouble them no more.

These nether precincts do not lack

Charms of their own;—then come with me—

I want a comrade, and for you

There's nothing that I would not do;

Nought is there that you shall not see.

Haste! and above Siberian snows

We'll sport amid the boreal morning,

Will mingle with her lustres gliding

Among the stars, the stars now hiding

And now the stars adorning.