PRELUDES. I. _The Song of Songs_. THE pulse of War, whose bloody heats Sane purposes insanely work, Now with fraternal frenzy beats, And binds the Christian to the Turk, And shrieking fifes and braggart flags, Through quiet England, teach our breath The courage corporate that drags The coward to heroic death. Too late for song! Who henceforth sings, Must fledge his heavenly flight with more Song-worthy and heroic things Than hasty, home-destroying war. While might and right are not agreed, And battle thus is yet to wage, So long let laurels be the meed Of soldier as of poet sage; But men expect the Tale of Love, And weary of the Tale of Hate; Lift me, O Muse, myself above, And let the world no longer wait! II. _The Kites_. I saw three Cupids (so I dream’d), Who made three kites, on which were drawn, In letters that like roses gleam’d, ‘Plato,’ ‘Anacreon,’ and ‘Vaughan.’ The boy who held by Plato tried His airy venture first; all sail, It heav’nward rush’d till scarce descried, Then pitch’d and dropp’d for want of tail. Anacreon’s Love, with shouts of mirth That pride of spirit thus should fall, To his kite link’d a lump of earth, And, lo, it would not soar at all. Last, my disciple freighted his With a long streamer made of flowers, The children of the sod, and this Rose in the sun, and flew for hours. III. _Orpheus_. The music of the Sirens found Ulysses weak, though cords were strong; But happier Orpheus stood unbound, And shamed it with a sweeter song. His mode be mine. Of Heav’n I ask, May I, with heart-persuading might, Pursue the Poet’s sacred task Of superseding faith by sight, Till ev’n the witless Gadarene, Preferring Christ to swine, shall know That life is sweetest when it’s clean. To prouder folly let me show Earth by divine light made divine; And let the saints, who hear my word, Say, ‘Lo, the clouds begin to shine About the coming of the Lord!’ IV. _Nearest the Dearest_. Till Eve was brought to Adam, he A solitary desert trod, Though in the great society Of nature, angels, and of God. If one slight column counterweighs The ocean, ’tis the Maker’s law, Who deems obedience better praise Than sacrifice of erring awe. V. _Perspective_. What seems to us for us is true. The planet has no proper light, And yet, when Venus is in view, No primal star is half so bright. ACCEPTED. 1