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?
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