PRELUDE.

"The land of Song within thee lies,
Watered by living springs;
The lids of Fancy's sleepless eyes
And gates unto that Paradise,
Holy thoughts, like stars, arise,
Its clouds are angels' wings.

Learn, that henceforth thy song shall be,
Not mountains capped with snow,

or forest sounding like the sea,
No rivers flowing ceaselessly,
Where the woodlands bend to see
The bending heavens below.

"There is a forest where the din

Of iron branches sounds!
A mighty iver roars between,
And whosoever looks therein
Sees the heavens all black with sin,
Sees not its depths, nor bounds.

"Athwart the swinging branches cast Soft of sunshine pour;

rays

Then comes the fearful wintry blast;

Our hopes, like withered leaves, fall fast;
Pallid lips say,' It is past!

We can return no more!'

* Look, then, into thine heart, and write!
Yes, into Life's deep stream!

All forms of sorrow and delight,
All solemn Voices of the Night,
That can soothe thee, or affright. -

Be these henceforth thy theme"

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