And twice ten thousand interests, do yet prize
This soul, and the transcendent universe,
No more than as a mirror that reflects
To proud Self-love her own intelligence;
That one, poor, finite object, in the abyss
Of infinite Being, twinkling restlessly!
995
"Nor higher place can be assigned to him
And his compeers—the laughing Sage of France.—[FS]
Crowned was he, if my memory do[388] not err,