"Oh would some god the giftie gie 'em, To see themselves as others see 'em," 'Twould much abate their fuss! If they could think that from the skies They are as little in our eyes As they can think of us! XXXIV. Of us! are _we_ gone out of sight? Lessen'd! diminish'd! vanish'd quite! Lost to the tiny town! Beyond the Eagle's ken--the grope Of Dollond's longest telescope! Graham! we're going down! XXXV. Ah me! I've touch'd a string that opes The airy valve!--the gas elopes-- Down goes our bright balloon!-- Farewell the skies! the clouds! I smell The lower world! Graham, farewell, Man of the silken moon! XXXVI. The earth is close! the City nears-- Like a burnt paper it appears, Studded with tiny sparks! Methinks I hear the distant rout Of coaches rumbling all about-- We're close above the Parks! XXXVII. I hear the watchmen on their beats, Hawking the hour about the streets. Lord! what a cruel jar It is upon the earth to light! Well--there's the finish of our flight! I've smoked my last cigar! ODE TO MR. M'ADAM. Let us take to the road!--BEGGAR'S OPERA. I. M'adam, hail! Hail, Roadian! hail, Colossus! who dost stand Striding ten thousand turnpikes on the land! Oh, universal Leveller! all hail! To thee, a good, yet stony-hearted man, The kindest one, and yet the flintiest going-- To thee--how much for thy commodious plan, Lanark Reformer of the Ruts, is Owing! The Bristol mail Gliding o'er ways, hitherto deem'd invincible, When carrying patriots now shall never fail Those of the most "_unshaken_ public principle." Hail to thee, Scott of Scots! Thou northern light, amid those heavy men! Foe to Stonehenge, yet friend to all beside, Thou scatter'st flints and favours far and wide, From palaces to cots; Dispenser of coagulated good! Distributor of granite and of food! Long may thy fame its even path march on, E'en when thy sons are dead! Best benefactor! though thou giv'st a stone To those who ask for bread! II.