Part I

"THE Work is done, the Structure is complete—
"Long may this Produce of my humble Toil
"Un-injur'd stand, and Echo long repeat,
"Round the dear Walls, Benevolence and MOYLE!"

So RICHARD spake, as he survey'd
The Dwelling he had rais'd;
And, in the Fullness of his Heart,
His gen'rous Patron prais'd.

Him MOYLE o'erheard, whose wand'ring Step
Chance guided had that Way;
The Workman's Mien he ey'd intent,
Then earnest thus did say:

"My Mind, I see, misgave me not,
"My Doubtings now are clear,
"Thou oughtest not, in poor Attire,
"Have dwelt a Menial here.

"To Drudgery, and servile Toil,
"Thou couldst not be decreed
"By Birth and Blood, but thereto wrought
"By hard o'er-ruling Need.

"Is it not so? That crimson Glow,
"That flushes o'er thy Cheek,
"And down-cast Eye, true Answer give,
"And thy Tongue need not speak.

"Oft have I mark'd thee, when unseen
"Thou thought'st thyself by all,
"What Time the Workman from his Task
"The Ev'ning Bell did call;

"Hast thou not shunn'd thy untaught Mates,
"And to some secret Nook,
"With drooping Gait, and musing Eye,
"Thy lonely Step betook?

"There hath not thy Attention dwelt
"Upon the letter'd Page,
"Lost, as it seem'd to all beside,
"Like some sequester'd Sage?

"And wouldst thou not, with eager Haste,
"The precious Volume hide,
"If sudden some Intruder's Eye
"Thy Musings hath descried?

"Oft have I deem'd thou couldst explore
"The Greek and Roman Page,
"And oft have yearn'd to view the Theme,
"That did thy Hours engage.

"But Sorrow, greedy, grudging, coy,
"Esteems of mighty Price
"It's treasur'd Cares, and to the World
"The scantiest Share denies;

"All as the Miser's heaped Hoards,
"To him alone confin'd,
"They serve, at once, to soothe and pain
"The wretched Owner's Mind.

"Me had capricious Fortune doom'd
"Thine equal in Degree,
"Long, long e're now, I had desir'd
"To know thine History;

"But who their worldly Honors wear
"With Meekness chaste and due,
"Decline to ask, lest the Request
"Should bear Commandment's Hue.

"Yet now thy Tongue hath spoke aloud
"Thy grateful Piety,
"No longer be thy Story kept
"In painful Secrecy.

"Give me to know thy Dawn of Life;
"Unfold, with simple Truth,
"Not to thy Master, but thy Friend,
"The Promise of thy Youth.

"Now, late in Life, 'tis Time, I ween,
"To give thy Labours o'er;
"Thy well-worn Implements lay by,
"And drudge and toil no more.

"Here shalt thou find a quiet Rest,
"For all thy Days to come,
"And every Comfort, that may serve
"T'endear thy humble Home.

"Hast thou a Wish, a Hope to frame,
"Beyond this neat Abode?
"Is there a Good, a higher Bliss,
"By me may be bestow'd?

"Is there within thine aged Breast
" "The smallest aching Void?
Give me to know thy Longings all,
"And see them all supply'd.

"All I entreat, in Lieu, is this,
"Unfold, with simple Truth,
"Not to thy Master, but thy Friend,
"The Promise of thy Youth."

So gen'rous MOYLE intent bespake
The long-enduring Man,
Who rais'd, at length, his drooping Head,
And, sighing, thus began.