How far beneath me seems
the earthly ball!
The pigmy race below I scarce can see;
How does my art, the noblest art of all,
Bear me close up to heavens bright canopy!
So cries the slater from his towers high top,
And so the little would-be mighty man,
Hans Metaphysicus, from out his critic-shop.
Explain, thou little would-be mighty man!
The tower from which thy looks the world survey,
Whereof,-whereon is it erected, pray?
How didst thou mount it? Of what use to thee
Its naked heights, save oer the vale to see?