PRELUDES.

Lo, how the woman once was woo'd; Forth leapt the savage from his lair, And fell'd her, and to nuptials rude He dragg'd her, bleeding, by the hair. From that to Chloe's dainty wiles And Portia's dignified consent, What distance! Bat these Pagan styles How far below Time's fair intent! Siegfried sued Kriemhild. Sweeter life Could Love's self covet? Yet 'tis snug In what rough sort he chid his wife For want of curb upon her tongue! Shall Love, where last I leave him, halt? Nay; none can fancy or forsee To how strange bliss may time exalt This nursling of civility.