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in my far enchanted solitude, My long life moves before me like a dream

A child in Ulva, by the Northern sea, I hear my father at our evening prayer, And wild Gael singing of my grandmother. A factory boy upon the banks of Clyde; For all the dissonant whirl of enginery, I seize the food of learning, swiftly glancing On some dear volume, laid upon a marge Of the great spinning-jenny, as I pass, Repassing ever in monotonous toil. Fired with the splendour of the Lord of Love, I long to unfurl His standard in the world: For this I conquer arts laborious Of serviceable healing; and I grow Adept in many a helpful handicraft;