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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 mong'ring, pitiable brood.
How glorious this affection for the cause
  Of stedfast genius, toiling gallantly!
What when a stout unbending champion awes
  Envy, and Malice to their native sty?
Unnumber'd souls breathe out a still applause,
  Proud to behold him in his country's eye.

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