Amidst the crowd (what time the glowing Hours Strew, as they glide, the summer world with flowers), Who fly the solitude of sweets to drown Nature's still whisper in the roar of Town; Who tread with jaded step the weary mill-- Grind at the wheel, and call it "Pleasure" still;-- Gay without mirth, fatigued without employ, Slaves to the joyless phantom of a joy;-- Amidst this crowd was one who, absent long, And late return'd, outshone the meaner throng; And, truth to speak, in him were blent the rays Which form a halo in the vulgar gaze; Howden's fair beauty, Beaufort's princely grace, Hertford's broad lands, and Courtney's vaunted race; And Pembroke's learning in that polish'd page, Writ by the Grace, 'the Manners and the Age!' Still with sufficient youth to please the heart, But old enough for mastery in the art;-- Renown'd for conquests in those isles which lie In rosy seas beneath a Cnidian sky, Where the soft Goddess yokes her willing doves, And meets invasion with a host of Loves; Yet not unlaurell'd in the war of wile Which won Ulysses grave Minerva's smile, For those deep arts the diplomat was known Which mould the lips that whisper round a throne. Long in the numbing hands of Law had lain Arden's proud earldom, Arden's wide domain. Kinsman with kinsman, race with race had vied To snatch the prize, and in the struggle died; Till all the rights the crowd of heirs made dim, Death clear'd--and solved the tangled skein in him. There was but ONE who in the bastard fame Wealth gives its darlings, rivall'd Arden's name: A rival rarely seen--felt everywhere, With soul that circled bounty like the air, Simple himself, but regal in his train, Lavish of stores he seem'd but to disdain; To art a Medici--to want a god, Life's rougher paths grew level where he trod. Much Arden (Arden had a subtle mind, Which sought in all philosophy to find) Loved to compare the different means by which Enjoyment yields a harvest to the rich-- Himself already marvell'd to behold How soon trite custom wears the gleam from gold; Well, was his rival happier from its use Than he (his candour whisper'd) from abuse? He long'd to know this Morvale, and to learn: They met--grew friends--the Sybarite and the stern. Each had some fields in common: mostly those From which the plant of human friendship grows. Each had known strong vicissitudes in life; The present ease, and the remember'd strife. Each, though from differing causes, nursed a mind At war with Fate, and chafed against his kind. Each with a searching eye had sought to scan The solemn Future, soul predicts to man; And each forgot how, cloud-like passions mar, In the vex'd wave, the mirror of the star;-- How all the unquiet thoughts which life supplies May swell the ocean but to veil the skies; And dark to Man may grow the heaven that smiled On the clear vision Nature gave the Child.