Haydon! let worthier judges praise the skill...

Haydon! let worthier judges praise the skill

Here by thy pencil shown in truth of lines

And charm of colours; I applaud those signs

Of thought, that give the true poetic thrill;

That unencumbered whole of blank and still,

Sky without cloud — ocean without a wave;

And the one Man that laboured to enslave

The World, sole-standing high on the bare hill —

Back turned, arms folded, the unapparent face

Tinged, we may fancy, in this dreary place

With light reflected from the invisible sun

Set, like his fortunes; but not set for aye

Like them. The unguilty Power pursues his way,

And before him doth dawn perpetual run.