Classic Poem

What glory for a boy of ten,1
Who now must three gigantic men,
And two enormous, dapple grey
New Zealand pack-horses, array
And lead, and wisely resolute
Our day-long business execute
In the far shore-side town. His soul
Glows in his bosom like a coal;
His innocent eyes glitter again,
And his hand trembles on the rein.
Once he reviews his whole command
And chivalrously planting hand
On hip — a borrowed attitude —
Rides off downhill into the wood.1 Mrs. Strong's son, Austin, Mrs. Stevenson's grandson.