Not for thy crabbed state-creed, wayward wight, Thy noble lineage, nor thy virtues high, (God bless the mark!) do I this homage plight; No — 'tis thy bold and native energy; Thy soul that dares each bound to overfly, Ranging through Nature on erratic wing— These do I honour — an would fondly try With thee a wild aerial strain to sing: Then, O! round Shepherd's head thy charmed mantle fling.
