As I grew up, it was my best delight
To be his chosen comrade. Many a time,
On holidays, we rambled through the woods:
We sate—we walked; he pleased me with report[15]
Of things which he had seen; and often touched
Abstrusest matter, reasonings of the mind
Turned inward; or at my request would sing[16]
Old songs, the product of his native hills;[17]
A skilful distribution of sweet sounds,
Feeding the soul, and eagerly imbibed