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you, my Children, I inscribe these lays,
With pen unfaltering: not as one that claims The privilege of shining as a point Of light amongst the constellated quires Fixed in the sky of British poesy ; But glowing rather like a household lamp With ready purpose in a peaceful home: Albeit with something of a holy flame, By natural objects kindled and sustained, By you, hereafter, to be nursed and fed, When I no more am with you, yet retain A place within your filial memories, As teacher and as playmate of your minds. For we have conned together serious lore, And childish fable, mine of sportive truths : And when in wood and field we three have walked,
How have I loved your blithe companionship!
Na gray pony of Norwegian race,
Propped by his parent's all-sustaining hand, A fair-haired boy sits lightly as a bird : A graceful fawn, whose dark and lovesome eye Serenely glitters in the morning sun, Is gently pacing at the pony's side, His friend and comrade both in stall and field. Startling this elegant creature, who, in turn, Rebuts and bounds in forwardness and fear, Behold four favourite dogs, of beauty rare ; Their friendly tongues let loose, barking for joy, As round and round impetuously they wheel, Sweeping the quiet dew-drops from the lawn, With their long glossy coats, yet in mid chase Incline obsequious to their master's eye. It is a scene to quicken and inspire A Landseer's hand, addressed to picture forth Some bodily semblance of domestic bliss, To captivate mankind, and fix his fame. Here from the city bring some wearied one Athirst for Nature ; here let him drink deep