XVIII.

"My little child, what wilt thou choose? Now let me look at thee and ponder. What gladness, from the gladnesses Futurity is spreading under Thy gladsome sight? Beneath the trees Wilt thou lean all day, and lose Thy spirit with the river seen Intermittently between The winding beechen alleys,-- Half in labour, half repose, Like a shepherd keeping sheep, Thou, with only thoughts to keep Which never a bound will overpass, And which are innocent as those That feed among Arcadian valleys Upon the dewy grass?"