to seize such a very early opportunity. But his attention

Sweet Swan of Avon, come to us again.

Teach us to write, and writing, to be men.

Would I might wake in you the whirl-wind soul

Of Michelangelo, who hewed the stone

And Night and Day revealed, whose arm alone

Could draw the face of God, the titan high

Whose genius smote like lightning from the sky --

And shall he mold like dead leaves in the grave?