Their 'vantage-ground o'er those who know
Just less than their own little.
When lo, methought Prometheus' flame
Waved o'er a bust of deathless fame,
And woke to life Childe Harold:
The Bard aroused me from my dream
Of pity, alias self-esteem,
And thus indignant caroll'd:—
"O thou, who thus in numbers pert
And petulant, presum'st to flirt