‘ BUT tell me, child, your choice; what shall I buy
You?’ —‘ Father, what you buy me I like best.’
With the sweetest air that said, still plied and pressed,
He swung to his first poised purport of reply.
What the heart is! which, like carriers let fly —
Doff darkness, homing nature knows the rest —
To its own fine function, wild and self-instressed,
Falls light as ten years long taught how to and why.
Mannerly-hearted! more than handsome face —
Beauty's bearing or muse of mounting vein,
All, in this case, bathed in high hallowing grace...
Of heaven what boon to buy you, boy, or gain
Not granted?— Only... O on that path you pace
Run all your race, O brace sterner that strain!