Front matter

Much do they wrong our Henry wise and kind, Morose who name thee, cynical to men, Forsaking manners civil and refined To build thyself in Walden woods a den,— Then flout society, flatter the rude hind. We better knew thee, loyal citizen! Thou, friendship's all-adventuring pioneer, Civility itself wouldst civilize: Whilst braggart boors, wavering 'twixt rage and fear, Slave hearths lay waste, and Indian huts surprise, And swift the Martyr's gibbet would uprear: Thou hail'dst him great whose valorous emprise Orion's blazing belt dimmed in the sky,— Then bowed thy unrepining head to die.