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THERE'S something in a flying horse,
And 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 I from the helm 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 into massy 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

We pry among them all

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

the Scorpion- and the Bull

have shot

The towns in Saturn are ill-built,

But proud let him be who has seen them;
The Pleiads, that appear to kiss

Each other in the vast abyss,
With joy I sail between 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 darling speck of ours?


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

And there it is, the matchless earth!

There spreads the famed Pacific Ocean!
Old Andes thrusts yon craggy spear

Through the grey clouds — the Alps are here, Like waters in commotion!

Yon tawny slip is Lybia's sands

That silver thread the river Dnieper

And look, where clothed in brightest green

Is a sweet Isle, of isles the queen;

Ye fairies from all evil keep her!

And see the town where I was born!
Around those happy fields we span
In boyish gambols - I was lost
Where I have been, but on this coast
I feel I am a man.

Never did fifty things at once

Appear so lovely, never, never,

How tunefully the forests ring
To hear the earth's soft murmuring

Thus could I hang for ever!

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