him;
  And every word he uttered, on my ears
  Fell flatter than a caged parrot’s note, 100
  That answers unexpectedly awry,
  And mocks the prompter’s listening.  Marvellous things
  Had vanity (quick Spirit that appears
  Almost as deeply seated and as strong
  In a Child’s heart as fear itself) conceived 105
  For my enjoyment.  Would that I could now
  Recal what then I pictured to myself,
  Of mitred Prelates, Lords in ermine clad,
  The King, and the King’s Palace, and, not last,
  Nor least, Heaven bless him! the renowned Lord Mayor:  110
  Dreams not unlike to those which once begat
  A change of purpose in young Whittington,
  When he, a friendless and a drooping boy,
  Sate on a stone, and heard the bells speak out
  Articulate music. [L] Above all, one thought 115
  Baffled my understanding:  how men lived
  Even next-door neighbours, as we say, yet still
  Strangers, not knowing each the other’s name.

    O, wond’rous power of words, by simple faith
  Licensed to take the meaning that we love! 120
  Vauxhall and Ranelagh!  I then had heard
  Of your green groves, [M] and wilderness of lamps
  Dimming the stars, and fireworks magical,
  And gorgeous ladies, under splendid domes,
  Floating in dance, or warbling high in air 125
  The songs of spirits!  Nor had Fancy fed
  With less delight upon that other class
  Of marvels, broad-day wonders permanent: 
  The River proudly bridged; the dizzy top
  And Whispering Gallery of St. Paul’s; the tombs 130
  Of Westminster; the Giants of Guildhall;
  Bedlam, and those carved maniacs at the gates, [N]
  Perpetually recumbent; Statues—­man,
  And the horse under him—­in gilded pomp
  Adorning flowery gardens, ’mid vast squares; 135
  The Monument, [O] and that Chamber of the Tower [P]
  Where England’s sovereigns sit in long array,
  Their steeds bestriding,—­every mimic shape
  Cased in the gleaming mail the monarch wore,
  Whether for gorgeous tournament addressed, 140
  Or life or death upon the battle-field. 
  Those bold imaginations in due time
  Had vanished, leaving others in their stead: 
  And now I looked upon the living scene;
  Familiarly perused it; oftentimes, 145
  In spite of strongest disappointment, pleased
  Through courteous self-submission, as a tax
  Paid to the object by prescriptive right.

    Rise up, thou monstrous ant-hill on the plain
  Of a too busy world!  Before me flow, 150
  Thou endless stream of men and moving things! 
  Thy every-day appearance, as it strikes—­
  With wonder heightened, or sublimed by