'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! |