The Heroes Of The Present And The Past Were Puny, Vague, And Nothingness To Thee: Thou Didst A Span Grasp Mighty To The Last, And Strain For Glory When Thy Die Was Cast. That Little Island, On The Atlantic Sea, Was But A Dust-Spot In A Lake: Thy Mind Swept Space As Shoreless As Eternity. Thy Giant Powers Outstript This Gaudy Age Of Heroes; And, As Looking At The Sun, So Gazing On Thy Greatness, Made Men Blind To Merits, That Had Adoration Won In Olden Times. The World Was On Thy Page Of Victories But A Comma. Fame Could Find No Parallel, Thy Greatness To Presage.