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 has flung out from the mist: No portrait this, with Academic air! This is the poet and his poetry.