Classic Poem

How easily may some contentment preach,
When secret hopes meanwhile inspire their tongue!
For even while the good man made this speech
A ragged urchin on his garments hung;
And, as aside its sunburnt locks he flung,
My poor, unconscious, ragged boy, thought he,
How oft in care for thee my heart's been wrung!
But Fortune smiles;—to morrow thou may'st be
Heir to such splendid wealth that kings might envy thee.