by Alexander Anderson
Bow thou to Genius, and thy worship give
To our Magician, who, with wondrous wand,
Walk'd through the realms of fiction's fairy land,
And bade the past in sweetest colours live:
Bow thou to him while ever luminous,
Within thy heart, sweet forms upstart and say—
We, too, will worship at his shrine this day,
For in him we have life, as he in us.
Hearing these voices that from boyhood's years
Have kept their friendship on unchanged, canst thou
Refuse thy homage to their master now,
Who through the halo of the past appears
Simple, serene, and wise, and king alone
Of realms a world's praise has made his own?