The little Traveller

I am the tiniest child of earth,
But still, I would like to be known to fame,
Though next to nothing I had my birth,
And lowest of all is my lowly name.

Yet, if so humble my native place,
I this can say, in family pride,
That I'm of the world's most numerous race,
And made by the Maker of all beside.

Although I'm so poor, I have nought to lose;
Still I'm so little I can't be lost:
I journey about wherever I choose,
And those, who carry me, bear the cost.

The most forgiving of earthly things,
I often cling to my deadly foe;
And, spite of the cruelest flirts and flings,
Arise by the force that has cast me low.

When beauty has trodden me under foot,
I've quietly risen her face to seek,
Embraced her forehead, or calmly put
Myself to rest in her dimpled cheek.

I''ve ridden to war on the soldler's plume;
But startled, and sprung at the wild affray,
The sights of horror, of fire and fume,
And fled on the wing of the winds away.

I've visited courts, and been ushered in
By the proudest guest of the stately scene;
I've touched his majesty's bosom-pin,
And the nuptial ring of his lofty queen.

At the royal board, in the grand parade,
I've oft been one familiar and free:
The fairest lady has smiled, and laid
Her delicate, gloveless hand on me.

Philosopher, poet, the learned, the sage,
Never declines a call from me;
And all, of every rank and age,
Admit me into their coterie.

I visit the lions of every where,
If human, or brute, and can testify
To what they do, to what they wear,
To wonders none ever beheld but I!

And now, reviewing. the things I've done,
Forgetting my name, my rank and birth,
I begin to think I am number one
Of the great and manifold things of earth.

I've still much more, that I yet might tell,
Which modesty bids me here withhold;
For fear with my travels I seem to swell,
Or grow, for an ATOM OF DUST, too bold!