Ought not to pass into eternal night.
Of your great trio, Allen, Wood and Nash,
Allen, Mæcenas-postman, leaves me cold;
He had not one redeeming vice to clash
With his array of virtues manifold;
But he was patriotic, for his cash
Freed Wood’s majestic genius, sane yet bold,
Until a new and gracious city rose;
And Nash was far the finest of the Beaux.
At least this meed of praise must we accord him,