Nor has he that confiding, easy way,
That might his learning and himself display;
But to his work he from the world retreats,
And frets and glories o’er the favourite sheets. 
   But see! the Man himself; and sure I trace
Signs of new joy exulting in that face
O’er care that sleeps—­we err, or we discern
Life in thy looks—­the reason may we learn? 
   “Yes,” he replied, “I’m happy, I confess,
To learn that some are pleased with happiness
Which others feel—­there are who now combine
The worthiest natures in the best design,
To aid the letter’d poor, and soothe such ills as mine. 
We who more keenly feel the world’s contempt,
And from its miseries are the least exempt;
Now Hope shall whisper to the wounded breast
And Grief, in soothing expectation, rest. 
   “Yes, I am taught that men who think, who feel,
Unite the pains of thoughtful men to heal;
Not with disdainful pride, whose bounties make
The needy curse the benefits they take;
Not with the idle vanity that knows
Only a selfish joy when it bestows;
Not with o’erbearing wealth, that, in disdain,
Hurls the superfluous bliss at groaning pain;
But these are men who yield such blest relief,
That with the grievance they destroy the grief;
Their timely aid the needy sufferers find,
Their generous manner soothes the suffering mind;
There is a gracious bounty, form’d to raise
Him whom it aids; their charity is praise;
A common bounty may relieve distress,
But whom the vulgar succour they oppress;
This though a favour is an honour too,
Though Mercy’s duty, yet ’tis Merit’s due;
When our relief from such resources rise,
All painful sense of obligation dies;
And grateful feelings in the bosom wake,
For ’tis their offerings, not their alms we take. 
   “Long may these founts of Charity remain,
And never shrink, but to be fill’d again;
True! to the Author they are now confined,
To him who gave the treasure of his mind,
His time, his health,—­and thankless found mankind: 
But there is hope that from these founts may flow
A side-way stream, and equal good bestow;
Good that may reach us, whom the day’s distress
Keeps from the fame and perils of the Press;
Whom Study beckons from the Ills of Life,
And they from Study; melancholy strife! 
Who then can say, but bounty now so free,
And so diffused, may find its way to me? 
   “Yes!  I may see my decent table yet
Cheer’d with the meal that adds not to my debt;
May talk of those to whom so much we owe,
And guess their names whom yet we may not know;
Blest, we shall say, are those who thus can give,
And next who thus upon the bounty live;
Then shall I close with thanks my humble meal. 
And feel so well—­Oh, God! how shall I feel!” {2}

LETTER IV.