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PROLOGUE.
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!
