Had often betrayed him in regions of rhyme—
How glitter’d the eye underneath his gray ringlets,
A hunger within it unlessened by time!
Remoter sat Bailey—satirical, surly—
Who studied the language of Goethe too soon,
Who sang himself hoarse to the stars very early,
And crack’d a weak voice with too lofty a tune.
“How name all that wonderful company over?—
Prim Patmore, mild Alford—and Kingsley also?
Among the small sparks who was realler than Lover?