RICHARD PLANTAGENET. A LEGENDARY TALE. "THE work is done, the structure is complete, So Richard spake, as he survey'd The dwelling he had rais'd; And, in the fullness of his heart, Him Moyle o'erheard, whose wand'ring step Chance guided had that way; The workman's mien he ey'd intent, 66 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. * Sir Thomas Moyle, possessor of Eastwell Place, in the county of Kent, in the year 1546, gave Richard Plantagenet (who for many years had been his chief bricklayer) a piece of ground and permission to build himself a house thereon. The poem opens just when Richard is supposed to have finished this task. Eastwell Place has since been in the possession of the Earls of Winchelsea. "To drudgery, and servile toil, Thou could'st not be decreed By birth and blood, but thereto wrought "Is it not so? That crimson glow, And down-cast eye, true answer give, "Oft have I mark'd thee, when unseen 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 4 "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, Its treasur'd cares, and to the world All as the Miser's heaped hoards, To him alone confin'd, They serve, at once, to sooth and pain The wretched owner's mind. "Me had capricious fortune doom'd Thine equal in degree, Long, long ere now, I had desir'd "But who their worldly honours 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, "Now, late in life, 'tis time, I ween, "Here shalt thou find a quiet rest, ; "Hast thou a wish, a hope to frame, "Is there within thy 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 Who rais'd, at length, his drooping head, RICHARD PLANTAGENET RECITETH HIS TALE. HARD task to any, but thyself, to tell Oft have I labour'd to forget my birth, And check'd remembrance, when, in cruel wise, From time's abyss she would the tale draw forth, And place my former self before my eyes. Yet I complain not, tho' I feel anew, All as I speak, fell fortune's bitter spite, Who once set affluence, grandeur, in my view, Then churlish snatch'd them from my cheated sight. And yet it may be-is-nay, must be best, Whate'er heav'n's righteous laws for man ordain; Weak man! who lets one sigh invade his breast, For earthly grandeur, fugitive as vain! * He served near sixty years at Eastwell. |