A ROMANCE OF THE AGE. A Poet writes to his Friend. Place—A Room in Wycombe Hall. Time—Late in the evening. I. Dear my friend and fellow-student, I would lean my spirit o'er you! Down the purple of this chamber tears should scarcely run at will. I am humbled who was humble. Friend, I bow my head before you: You should lead me to my peasants, but their faces are too still.<lora:liquid-neon:1>