Away!--away!--the bubble fills-- Farewell to earth and all its hills!-- We seem to cut the wind!-- So high we mount, so swift we go, The chimney tops are far below, The Eagle's left behind!--

IV.

Ah me! my brain begins to swim!-- The world is growing rather dim; The steeples and the trees-- My wife is getting very small!

I cannot see my babe at all!-- The Dollond, if you please!--

V.

Do, Graham, let me have a quiz; Lord! what a Lilliput it is.

That little world of Mogg's!-- Are those the London Docks?--that channel, The mighty Thames?--a proper kennel For that small Isle of Dogs!--

VI.

What is that seeming tea-urn there?

That fairy dome, St. Paul's!--I swear, Wren must have been a Wren!-- And that small stripe?--it cannot be The City Road!--Good lack! to see The little ways of men!

VII.

Little, indeed!--my eyeballs ache To find a turnpike.--I must take Their tolls upon my trust!-- And where is mortal labor gone?

Look, Graham, for a little stone Mac Adamiz'd to dust!

VIII.

Look at the horses!--less than flies!-- Oh, what a waste it was of sighs To wish to be a Mayor!

What is the honor?--none at all, One's honor must be very small For such a civic chair!--

IX.

And there's Guildhall!--'tis far aloof-- Methinks, I fancy through the roof Its little guardian Gogs, Like penny dolls--a tiny show!-- Well,--I must say they're rul'd below By very little logs!--

X.

Oh, Graham! how the upper air Alters the standards of compare; One of our silken flags Would cover London all about-- Nay, then--let's even empty out Another brace of bags!

XI.

Now for a glass of bright champagne Above the clouds!--Come, let us drain A bumper as we go!-- But hold!--for God's sake do not cant The cork away--unless you want To brain your friends below.

XII.

Think! what a mob of little men Are crawling just within our ken, Like mites upon a cheese!-- Pshaw!--how the foolish sight rebukes Ambitious thoughts!--can there be _Dukes_ Of _Gloster_ such as these!--

XIII.

Oh! what is glory?--what is fame?

Hark to the little mob's acclaim, 'Tis nothing but a hum!-- A few near gnats would trump as loud As all the shouting of a crowd That has so far to come!--

XIV.

Well--they are wise that choose the near, A few small buzzards in the ear, To organs ages hence!-- Ah me! how distance touches all; It makes the true look rather small, But murders poor pretence

XV.

"The world recedes!--it disappears!

Heav'n opens on my eyes--my ears With buzzing noises ring!"-- A fig for Southey's Laureat lore!"-- What's Rogers here?--Who cares for Moore That hears the Angels sing!--"

XVI.

A fig for earth, and all its minions!-- We are above the world's opinions, Graham! we'll have our own!-- Look what a vantage height we've got!-- Now--_do_ you think Sir Walter Scott Is such a Great Unknown?

XVII.

Speak up!--or hath he hid his name To crawl thro' "subways" unto fame, Like Williams of Cornhill?-- Speak up, my lad!--when men run small We'll show what's little in them all, Receive it how they will!--

XVIII.

Think now of Irving!--shall he preach The princes down,--shall he impeach The potent and the rich, Merely on ethic stilts,--and I Not moralize at two mile high The true didactic pitch!

XIX.

Come:--what d'ye think of Jeffrey, sir?

Is Gifford such a Gulliver In Lilliput's Review, That like Colossus he should stride Certain small brazen inches wide For poets to pass through?

XX.

Look down! the world is but a spot.

Now say--Is Blackwood's _low_ or not, For all the Scottish tone?

It shall not weigh us here--not where The sandy burden's lost in air-- Our lading--where is't flown?

XXI.