On a Portrait of Wordsworth

By B. R. Haydon WORDSWORTH upon Helvellyn! Let the cloud Ebb audibly along the mountain-wind, Then break against the rock, and show behind The lowland valleys floating up to crowd The sense with beauty. He, with forehead bowed And humble-lidded eyes, as one inclined Before the sovran thought of his own mind, And very meek with inspirations proud,— Takes here his rightful place as poet-priest By the high-altar, singing prayer and prayer To the higher Heavens. A noble vision free, Our Haydon’s hand hath flung out from the mist! No portrait this, with Academic air,— This is the poet and his poetry.