Each in its kind, and strives to scatter round
Throughout his sphere the purest happiness
That earth can own? Sir Arthur, at the Hall!
To him belong the fertile acres round,
To him the village; but he holds them not
In pomp and pride and narrow selfishness,
But as a man amongst his fellowmen,
Knowing and feeling that his hand hath power
To curse or bless, and with determined heart
He chooses blessing. With an eye that beams,