Chapter 3 No.3

The fair-hair'd boy is at his mother's knee,

A many-colour'd page before them spread,

Gay summer harvest-field of gold and red,

With lines and staves of ancient minstrelsy.

But through her eyes alone the child can see,

From her sweet lips partake the words of song,

And looks as one who feels a hidden wrong,

Or gazes on some feat of gramarye.

'When thou canst use it, thine the book!' she cried:

He blush'd, and clasp'd it to his breast with pride:-

'Unkingly task!' his comrades cry; In vain;

All work ennobles nobleness, all art,

He sees; Head governs hand; and in his heart

All knowledge for his province he has ta'en.