Addressed to Haydon

Highmindedness, a jealousy for good,

   A loving-kindness for the great man's fame,

   Dwells here and there with people of no name,

In noisome alley, and in pathless wood.

And where we think the truth least understood,

   Oft may be found a 'singleness of aim'

   That ought to frighten into hooded shame

A money-mongering, pitiable brood.

How glorious this affection for the cause

   Of steadfast genius, toiling gallantly!

What when a stout unbending champion awes

   Envy and Malice to their native sty?

Unnumbered souls breathe out a still applause,

   Proud to behold him in his country's eye.