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.