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High-mindedness, 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.
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