The man that looks, sweet Sidney, in thy face, Beholding there love's truest majesty, And the soft image of departed grace, Shall fill his mind with magnanimity: There may he read unfeign'd humility, And golden pity, born of heavenly brood, Unsullied thoughts of immortality, And musing virtue, prodigal of blood: Yes, in this map of what is fair and good, This glorious index of a heavenly book, Not seldom, as in youthful years he stood, Divinest Spencer would admiring look; And, framing thence high wit and pure desire, Imagined deeds, that set the world on fire.
