What, Bolton? Harry Bolton?
I heard some fellow-travelers in the cars
Talking of one Judge Bolton, as the man
Who filled his orb of duty like the sun—
Shining on all, and drawing all t' obey.
Surely this cannot be our Harry Bolton—
The frank, warm-hearted, but most wayward youth.
Whose mind was like a comet—now all light.
Anon, away where reason could not follow.
He surely has not reached this grave estate