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AME
Gems of Goldsmith
Oliver Goldsmith



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GEMS OF GOLDSMITH.
f
THE TRAVELLER,
THE DESERTED VILLAGE,
THE HERMIT.
With Lotes and Illustrations.
TOGETHER WITH A SKETCH OF THE GREAT AUTHOR.
NEW YORK:
SAMUEL R. WELLS, PUBLISHER,
389 BROADWAY.
1873.


AND thou, sweet Poetry, thou loveliest maid,
Still first to fly where sensual joys invade ;—
*
*
*
*
*
*
Teach erring man to spurn the rage of gain;
Teach him, that states of native strength possest,
Though very poor, may still be very blest;
That trade's proud empire hastes to swift decay,
As ocean sweeps the labor'd mole away;
While self-dependent power can time defy,
As rocks resist the billows and the sky.
JOHN KENT,
STEREOTYPER AND ELECTROTYPER,
13 FRANKFORT ST., N. Y.


BZ 3,3
G624
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101240
INTRODUCTION.
HIS Poem is said by the biographers of Goldsmith to be founded
on his adventurous wanderings, "flute in hand," on the conti-
nent of Europe in the years 1754 and 1755. One says: "In
these wanderings he encountered many privations. After a hard
day's toil he knew what it was to be refused a night's shelter at a
peasant's cottage. His flute did him good service except while in
Italy, where, as he says, 'every peasant was a better musician than
I." He had also become a good disputant; and by maintaining his
ground in the open discussions going on in the universities and con-
vents on certain days, he was open to claim the gratuity of a small
sum of money, a dinner, and a bed for one night."
แ "The Traveller was published in December, 1764, and for the
first time Goldsmith's name appeared as an author, the numerous
works which he had written previously having been published by
the booksellers without allusion to their authorship. Dr. Johnson
examined the proof-sheets, and favorably considered it in the Crit-
ical Review. The Poem proved a great success, and made Gold-
smith's name famous. It had been his dream for eight years, and
the writing of it his principal solace in many hours of affliction.
So much care did he bestow upon the work, that Johnson pro-
nounced it to be "a poem to which it would not be easy to find
anything equal since the death of Pope;" and Charles Fox said
that "The Traveller" was 66
one of the first poems in the English
language." Up to the time of its author's death there were nine


iv
INTRODUCTION.
editions published; and yet it is said that all Goldsmith received
for this Poem was twenty guineas, in small installments,-
-a marked
exhibition of the estimate then placed on poetry by either the pub-
lishers or the reading public.
66
"The Traveller" was dedicated to "The Rev. Henry Goldsmith,”
brother of the author, at that time a curate in Kilkenny, a man
who, despising fame and fortune, has retired early to happiness and
obscurity, with an income of forty pounds a year." A summary of
the nature and aim of the work is contained in the closing para-
graph of the dedication, which is as follows: "What reception a
Poem may find which has neither abuse, party, nor blank verse to
support it I can not tell, nor am I solicitous to know. My aims are
right. Without espousing the cause of any party, I have attempted
to moderate the rage of all. I have endeavored to show that there
may be equal happiness in states that are differently governed from
our own; that each state has a particular principle of happiness,
and that this principle in each may be carried to a mischievous
There are few that can judge better than yourself how far
these positions are illustrated in this Poem."
excess.


THE TRAVELLER;
OR,
A PROSPECT OF SOCIETY.
EMOTE, unfriended, melan-

choly, slow,
Or by the lazy Scheld, or
wandering Po;
Or onward, where the rude
Carinthian boor
Against the houseless stranger
shuts the door;
Or where Campania's plain
forsaken lies,
A weary waste expanding to the skies;
Where'er I roam, whatever realms to see,
My heart, untravell'd, fondly turns to thee;
Still to my brother turns, with ceaseless pain,
And drags at each remove a lengthening chain.
Eternal blessings crown my earliest friend,
And round his dwelling guardian saints attend:
Blest be that spot, where cheerful guests retire
To pause from toil, and trim their evening fire:


6
THE TRAVELLER; OR,
Blest that abode, where want and pain repair,
And every stranger finds a ready chair;
Blest be those feasts with simple plenty crown'd,
Where all the ruddy family around

Laugh at the jests or pranks that never fail,
Or sigh with pity at some mournful tale;
Or press the bashful stranger to his food,
And learn the luxury of doing good.
But me, not destined such delights to share,
My prime of life in wandering spent and care;
Impell'd, with steps unceasing, to pursue
Some fleeting good, that mocks me with the view;
That, like the circle bounding earth and skies,
Allures from far, yet, as I follow, flies;
My fortune leads to traverse realms alone,
And find no spot of all the world my own.
E'en now, where Alpine solitudes ascend,
I sit me down a pensive hour to spend;


A PROSPECT OF SOCIETY.
And plac'd on high above the storm's career,
Look downward where a hundred realms appear;
Lakes, forests, cities, plains extending wide,
The pomp of kings, the shepherd's humbler pride.

When thus Creation's charms around combine,.
Amidst the store, should thankless Pride repine?
Say, should the philosophic mind disdain
That good which makes each humbler bosom vain ?
Let school-taught pride dissemble all it can,
These little things are great to little man;
And wiser he, whose sympathetic mind
Exults in all the good of all mankind.
Ye glittering towns, with wealth and splendor crown'd;
Ye fields, where summer spreads profusion round;
Ye lakes, whose vessels catch the busy gale;
Ye bending swains, that dress the flowery vale;


*8
THE TRAVELLER; OR,
For me your tributary stores combine:
Creation's heir, the world, the world is mine.
As some lone miser, visiting his store,
Bends at his treasure, counts, recounts it o'er;
Hoards after hoards his rising raptures fill,
Yet still he sighs, for hoards are wanting still :
Thus to my breast alternate passions rise,
Pleas'd with each good that Heaven to man supplies:
Yet oft a sigh prevails, and sorrows fall,
To see the hoard of human bliss so small;
And oft I wish, amidst the scene, to find
Some spot to real happiness consign'd,
Where my worn soul, each wandering hope at rest,
May gather bliss to see my fellows blest.

But where to find that happiest spot below,
Who can direct, when all pretend to know?


A PROSPECT OF SOCIETY
9
The shudd'ring tenant of the frigid zone
Boldly proclaims that happiest spot his own;
Extols the treasures of his stormy seas,
And his long nights of revelry and ease:
The naked negro, panting at the line,
Boasts of his golden sands and palmy wine,
Basks in the glare, or stems the tepid wave,
And thanks his gods for all the good they gave.
Such is the patriot's boast, where'er we roam,
His first, best country, ever is at home.
And yet, perhaps, if countries we compare,
And estimate the blessings which they share,
Though patriots flatter, still shall wisdom find
An equal portion dealt to all mankind:
As different good, by art or nature given,
To different nations makes their blessing even.
Nature, a mother kind alike to all,
Still grants her bliss at labor's earnest call;
With food as well the peasant is supplied
On Idra's cliffs as Arno's shelvy side
And though the rocky-crested summits frown,
These rocks, by custom, turn to beds of down.
From art more various are the blessings sent;
Wealth, commerce, honor, liberty, content.
Yet these each other's power so strong contest,
That either seems destructive of the rest.
Where wealth and freedom reign, contentment fails;
And honor sinks where commerce long prevails;
Hence every state to one lov'd blessing prone,
Conforms and models life to that alone.
Each to the fav'rite happiness attends,
And spurns the plan that aims at other ends:


10
THE TRAVELLER; OR,
Till carried to excess in each domain,
This fav'rite good begets peculiar pain.
But let us try these truths with closer eyes,
And trace them through the prospect as it lies.
Here for a while, my proper cares resign'd,
Here let me sit in sorrow for mankind;
Like yon neglected shrub at random cast,
That shades the steep, and sighs at every blast.
Far to the right where Apennine ascends,
Bright as the summer, Italy extends;
Its uplands sloping deck the mountain's side,
Woods over woods in gay theatric pride;

While oft some temple's mould'ring tops between
With venerable grandeur mark the scene.
Could Nature's bounty satisfy the breast,
The sons of Italy were surely blest.


A PROSPECT OF SOCIETY.
11
Whatever fruits in different climes are found,
That proudly rise, or humbly court the ground;
Whatever blooms in torrid tracts appear,
Whose bright succession decks the varied year;
Whatever sweets salute the northern sky
With vernal lives, that blossom but to die;
These here disporting own the kindred soil,
Nor ask luxuriance from the planter's toil;
While sea-born gales their gelid wings expand
To winnow fragrance round the smiling land.
But small the bliss that sense alone bestows,
And sensual bliss is all the nation knows.
In florid beauty groves and fields appear,
Man seems the only growth that dwindles here.
Contrasted faults through all his manners reign;
Though poor, luxurious; though submissive, vain;
Though grave, yet trifling; zealous, yet untrue;
And e'en in penance planning sins anew.
All evils here contaminate the mind,
That opulence departed leaves behind;
For wealth was theirs, not far remov'd the date,
When commerce proudly flourish'd through the state;
At her command the palace learnt to rise,
Again the long-fall'n column sought the skies;
The canvas glow'd beyond e'en Nature warm,
The pregnant quarry teem'd with human form.
Till, more unsteady than the southern gale,
Commerce on other shores display'd her sail;
While nought remain'd of all that riches gave,
But towns unmanned, and lords without a slave:
And late the nation found with fruitless skill
Its former strength was but plethoric ill.


12
THE TRAVELLER; OR,
Yet, still the loss of wealth is here supplied
By arts, the splendid wrecks of former pride;
From these the feeble heart and long-fall'n mind
An easy compensation seem to find.
Here may be seen, in bloodless pomp array'd,
The pasteboard triumph and the cavalcade;
Processions form'd for piety and love,
A mistress or a saint in every grove.
By sports like these are all their cares beguil❜d,
The sports of children satisfy the child;
Each nobler aim, represt by long control,
Now sinks at last, or feebly mans the soul;
While low delights succeeding fast behind,
In happier meanness occupy the mind:
As in those domes, where Caesars once bore sway,
Defac'd by time and tott'ring in decay,
There in the ruin, heedless of the dead,
The shelter-seeking peasant builds his shed:
And, wondering man could want the larger pile,
Exults, and owns his cottage with a smile.
My soul, turn from them; turn we to survey
Where rougher climes a nobler race display,
Where the bleak Swiss their stormy mansion tread,
And force a churlish soil for scanty bread;
No product here the barren hills afford,
But man and steel, the soldier and his sword.
No vernal blooms their torpid rocks array,
But winter lingering chills the lap of May;
No zephyr fondly sues the mountain's breast,
But meteors glare, and stormy glooms invest.
Yet still, e'en here, content can spread a charm,
Redress the clime, and all its rage disarm.


A PROSPECT OF SOCIETY.
13
Though poor the peasant's hut, his feasts though small,
He sees his little lot the lot of all;
Sees no contiguous palace rear its head
To shame the meanness of his humble shed;
No costly lord the sumptuous banquet deal,
To make him loath his vegetable meal;
But calm, and bred in ignorance and toil,
Each wish contracting, fits him to the soil.
Cheerful at morn, he wakes from short repose,
Breathes the keen air, and carols as he goes;
With patient angle trolls the finny deep,
Or drives his vent'rous ploughshare to the steep;

Or seeks the den where snow-tracks mark the way,
And drags the struggling savage into day.
At night returning, every labor sped,
He sits him down the monarch of a shed;


14
THE TRAVELLER; OR,
Smiles by his cheerful fire, and round surveys
His children's looks, that brighten at the blaze;
While his lov'd partner, boastful of her hoard,
Displays her cleanly platter on the board:
And haply too some pilgrim, thither led,
With many a tale repays the nightly bed.
Thus every good his native wilds impart,
Imprints the patriot passion on his heart:
And e'en those ills, that round his mansion rise,
Enhance the bliss his scanty fund supplies.
Dear is that shed to which his soul conforms,
And dear that hill which lifts him to the storms;
And as a child, when scaring sounds molest,
Clings close and closer to the mother's breast,
So the loud torrent, and the whirlwind's roar,
But bind him to his native mountains more.
Such are the charms to barren states assign'd;
Their wants but few, their wishes all confin'd.
Yet let them only share the praises due,
If few their wants, their pleasures are but few;
For every want that stimulates the breast,
Becomes a source of pleasure when redrest,
Whence from such lands each pleasing science flies,
That first excites desire, and then supplies;
Unknown to them, when sensual pleasures cloy,
To fill the languid pause with finer joy;
Unknown those powers that raise the soul to flame,
Catch every nerve, and vibrate through the frame.
Their level life is but a mouldering fire,
Unquench'd by want, unfann'd by strong desire;
Unfit for raptures, or, if raptures cheer
On some high festival of once a year,


A PROSPECT OF SOCIETY.
15
In wild excess the vulgar breast takes fire,
Till, buried in debauch, the bliss expire.
But not their joys alone thus coarsely flow:
Their morals, like their pleasures, are but low;
For, as refinement stops, from sire to son
Unalter'd, unimprov'd the manners run;
And love's and friendship's finely pointed dart
Falls blunted from each indurated heart.
Some sterner virtues o'er the mountain's breast
May sit, like falcons cowering on the nest;
But all the gentler morals, such as play
Thro' life's more cultur'd walks, and charm the way,
These, far dispers'd on timorous pinions fly,
To sport and flutter in a kinder sky.

To kinder skies, where gentler manners reign,
I turn; and France displays her bright domain.


16
THE TRAVELLER; OR,
Gay, sprightly land of mirth and social ease,
Pleas'd with thyself, whom all the world can please,
How often have I led thy sportive choir,
With tuneless pipe, beside the murmuring Loire !
Where shading elms along the margin grew,
And freshen'd from the wave the zephyr flew;
And haply, though my harsh touch falt'ring still,
But mock'd all tune, and marr'd the dancer's skill;
Yet would the village praise my wondrous power,
And dance, forgetful of the noontide hour.
Alike all ages. Dames of ancient days
Have led their children through the mirthful maze;
And the gay grandsire, skill'd in gestic lore,
Has frisk'd beneath the burden of threescore.
So blest a life these thoughtless realms display,
Thus idly busy rolls their world away;
Theirs are those arts that mind to mind endear,
For honor forms the social temper here.
Honor, that praise which real merit gains,
Or e'en imaginary worth obtains,
Here passes current; paid from hand to hand,
It shifts in splendid traffic round the land;
From courts to camps, to cottages it strays,
And all are taught an avarice of praise;
They please, are pleas'd, they give to get esteem,
Till, seeming blest, they grow to what they seem.
But while this softer art their bliss supplies,
It gives their follies also room to rise;
For praise too dearly lov'd, or warmly sought,
Enfeebles all internal strength of thought,
And the weak soul, within itself unblest,
Leans for all pleasure on another's breast.


A PROSPECT OF SOCIETY.
17
Hence ostentation here, with tawdry art,
Pants for the vulgar praise which fools impart;
Here vanity assumes her pert grimace,
And trims her robes of frieze with copper lace;
Here beggar pride defrauds her daily cheer,
To boast one splendid banquet once a year;
The mind still turns where shifting fashion draws,
Nor weighs the solid worth of self-applause.
To men of other minds my fancy flies,
Embosom'd in the deep where Holland lies.
Methinks her patient sons before me stand,
Where the broad ocean leans against the land,

And sedulous to stop the coming tide,
Lift the tall rampire's artificial pride.
Onward methinks, and diligently slow,
The firm connected bulwark seems to grow;


18
THE TRAVELLER; OR,
Spreads its long arms amidst the watery roar,
Scoops out an empire, and usurps the shore:
While the pent ocean rising o'er the pile,
Sees an amphibious world beneath him smile;
The slow canal, the yellow-blossom'd vale,
The willow-tufted bank, the gliding sail,
The crowded mart, the cultivated plain,
A new creation rescued from his reign.
Thus while around the wave-subjected soil
Impels the native to repeated toil,
Industrious habits in each bosom reign,
And industry begets a love of gain.
Hence all the good from opulence that springs,
With all those ills superfluous treasure brings,
Are here display'd. Their much-lov'd wealth imparts
Convenience, plenty, elegance, and arts:
But view them closer, craft and fraud appear;
E'en liberty itself is bartered here.
At gold's superior charms all freedom flies,
The needy sell it, and the rich man buys;
A land of tyrants, and a den of slaves,
Here wretches seek dishonorable graves,
And calmly bent, to servitude conform,
Dull as their lakes that slumber in the storm.
Heavens! how unlike their Belgic sires of old!
Rough, poor, content, ungovernably bold;
War in each breast, and freedom on each brow;
How much unlike the sons of Britain now!
Fir'd at the sound, my genius spreads her wing,
And flies where Britain courts the western spring;
Where lawns extend that scorn Arcadian pride,
And brighter streams than fam'd Hydaspes glide;


A PROSPECT OF SOCIETY.
19
There all around the gentlest breezes stray,
There gentlest music melts on every spray;
Creation's mildest charms are there combin'd,
Extremes are only in the master's mind!
Stern o'er each bosom Reason holds her state,
With daring aims irregularly great;
Pride in their port, defiance in their eye,
I see the lords of human kind pass by;
Intent on high designs, a thoughtful band,
By forms unfashion'd, fresh from Nature's hand,
Fierce in their native hardiness of soul,
True to imagin'd right, above control,
While e'en the peasant boasts these rights to scan,
And learns to venerate himself as man.
Thine, Freedom, thine the blessings pictur'd here,
Thine are those charms that dazzle and endear;
Too blest, indeed, were such without alloy,
But foster'd e'en by Freedom ills annoy;
That independence Britons prize too high,
Keeps man from man, and breaks the social tie;
The self-dependent lordlings stand alone,
All claims that bind and sweeten life unknown;
Here by the bonds of nature feebly held,
Minds combat minds, repelling and repell'd.
Ferments arise, imprison'd factions roar,
Represt ambition struggles round her shore,
Till, over-wrought, the general system feels,
Its motions stop, or phrenzy fire the wheels.
Nor this the worst. As nature's ties decay,
As duty, love, and honor fail to sway,
Fictitious bonds, the bonds of wealth and law,
Still gather strength, and force unwilling awe.


20
THE TRAVELLER; OR,
Hence all obedience bows to thee alone,
And talent sinks, and merit weeps unknown:
Till time may come, when, stript of all her charms,
The land of scholars, and the nurse of arms,
Where noble stems transmit the patriot flame,
Where kings have toil'd, and poets wrote for fame,
One sink of level avarice shall lie,
And scholars, soldiers, kings, unhonor'd die.

Yet think not thus, when Freedom's ills I state,
I mean to flatter kings, or court the great;
Ye powers of truth, that bid my soul aspire,
Far from my bosom drive the low desire;
And thou, fair Freedom, taught alike to feel
The rabble's rage, and tyrant's angry steel;
Thou transitory flower, alike undone
By proud contempt, or favor's fostering sun,


A PROSPECT OF SOCIETY.
21
Still may thy blooms the changeful clime endure;
I only would repress them to secure;
For just experience tells, in every soil,
That those that think must govern those that toil:
And all that freedom's highest aims can reach,
Is but to lay proportion'd loads on each.
Hence, should one order disproportion'd grow,
Its double weight must ruin all below.
O then how blind to all that truth requires,
Who think it freedom when a part aspires!
Calm is my soul, nor apt to rise in arms,
Except when fast approaching danger warms;
But when contending chiefs blockade the throne,
Contracting regal power to stretch their own,
When I behold a factious band agree
To call it freedom when themselves are free;
Each wanton judge new penal statutes draw,
Laws grind the poor, and rich men rule the law:
The wealth of climes, where savage nations roam,
Pillag'd from slaves to purchase slaves at home;
Fear, pity, justice, indignation start,
Tear off reserve, and bare my swelling heart;
Till half a patriot, half
coward grown,
I fly from petty tyrants to the throne.
Yes, brother, curse with me that baleful hour
When first ambition struck at regal power;
And thus polluting honor in its source,
Gave wealth to sway the mind with double force.
Have we not seen, round Britain's peopled shore,
Her useful sons exchang'd for useless ore?
Seen all her triumphs but destruction haste,
Like flaring tapers bright'ning as they waste;


22
THE TRAVELLER; OR,
Seen opulence, her grandeur to maintain,
Lead stern depopulation in her train,
And over fields where scatter'd hamlets rose,
In barren solitary pomp repose?
Have we not seen at pleasure's lordly call,
The smiling, long-frequented village fall?
Beheld the duteous son, the sire decay'd,
The modest matron, and the blushing maid,
Forc'd from their homes, a melancholy train,
To traverse climes beyond the western main;
Where wild Oswego spreads her swamp around,
And Niagara stuns with thund'ring sound?
E'en now, perhaps, as there some pilgrim strays,
Through tangled forests and through dangerous ways;

Where beasts with man divided empire claim,
And the brown Indian marks with murd'rous aim;


A PROSPECT OF SOCIETY.
23
There, while above the giddy tempest flies,
And all around distressful yells arise,
The pensive exile, bending with his woe,
To stop too fearful, and too faint to
Casts a long look where England's glories shine,
And bids his bosom sympathize with mine.
go,
Vain, very vain, my weary search to find.
That bliss which only centres in the mind:
Why have I stray'd from pleasure and repose,
To seek a good each government bestows?
In every government, though terrors reign,
Though tyrant kings, or tyrant laws restrain,
How small of all that human hearts endure,
That part which laws or kings can cause or cure.
Still to ourselves in every place consign'd,
Our own felicity we make or find:
With secret course, which no loud storms annoy,
Glides the smooth current of domestic joy.
The lifted axe, the agonizing wheel,
Luke's iron crown, and Damien's bed of steel,
To men remote from power but rarely known,
Leave reason, faith, and conscience all our own.

OR





THE
DESERTED VILLAGE.





INTRODUCTION.
'HIS Poem, which is universally acknowledged to be one of the
sweetest in the English language, was produced in 1770, although
written for the most part in the intervals of leisure from the
monotonous drudgery of engagements to furnish certain volumes of
history, polite literature, etc., to publishers, engagements, however,
upon which the poet was dependent for personal support. Its re-
ception by the public was most cordial. Between the months of
May and August five editions were published, and it was “spoken
on all sides as being one of the most beautiful poems ever written."
Goethe, the eminent German poet, hailed it with delight, and at
once set to work to translate it into German.
With the passage of time, its hold upon the literary world has
increased instead of diminishing. No critic has disallowed the
high merits of “The Deserted Village" as a poetical composition,
and all who have feeling hearts and emotional natures own its
power. As one says, "It teems with tender and pathetic sentiment
and touches of the finest humor; with high moral feeling; with
noble and effective imagery; with portraitures of character that
exhibit the conception of a genius and the hand of a master.
Goldsmith dedicated this Poem to one of his associates in the
celebrated "Literary Club," Sir Joshua Reynolds, who proved him-
self a friend to the poet in more than one of the latter's embarrass-
ments. This dedication discloses so much of the author's purpose.
VNICE
CICAL SEMN


28
INTRODUCTION.
in writing the Poem, and that, too, with so much elegance, that it
would be a mistake on our part not to make it what it properly is,
he introduction to the Poem.
TO SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS.
DEAR SIR-I can have no expectations in an address of this kind, either
to add to your reputation, or to establish my own. You can gain nothing
from my admiration, as I am ignorant of that art in which you are said to
excel; and I may lose much by the severity of your judgment, as few have
a juster taste in poetry than you. Setting interest therefore aside, to which
I never paid much attention, I must be indulged at present in following my
affections. The only dedication I ever made was to my brother, because I
loved him better than most other men. He is since dead. Permit me to in-
scribe this Poem to you.
How far you may be pleased with the versification and mere mechanical
parts of this attempt, I do not pretend to inquire; but I know you will
object (and indeed several of our best and wisest friends concur in the
opinion) that the depopulation it deplores is nowhere to be seen, and the
disorders it laments are only to be found in the poet's own imagination.
To this I can scarcely make any other answer than that I sincerely believe
what I have written; that I have taken all possible pains, in my country
excursions, for these four or five years past, to be certain of what I allege,
and that all my views and inquiries have led me to believe those miseries
real which I here attempt to display. But this is not the place to enter
into an inquiry, whether the country be depopulating or not; the discussion
would take up much room, and I should prove myself, at best, an indifferent
politician to tire the reader with a long preface when I want his unfatigued
attention to a long poem.
In regretting the depopulation of the country, I inveigh against the
increase of our luxuries; and here also I expect the shout of modern poli-
ticians against me. For twenty or thirty years past it has been the fashion
to consider luxury as one of the greatest national advantages; and all the
wisdom of antiquity in that particular, as erroneous. Still, however, I must
remain a professed ancient on that head, and continue to think those luxu-
ries prejudicial to states by which so many vices are introduced and so
many kingdoms have been undone. Indeed, so much has been poured out
of late on the other side of the question, that, merely for the sake of novelty
and variety, one would sometimes wish to be in the right.
I am, dear sir, your sincere friend and ardent admirer,
OLIVER GOLDSMITH.


THE
DESERTED VILLAGE.

WEET Auburn! loveliest village
of the plain,
Where health and plenty cheer'd
the laboring swain,
Where smiling spring its earliest
visit paid,
And parting summer's ling'ring
blooms delay'd;
Dear lovely bowers of innocence
and ease,
-
Seats of my youth,* when every sport could please,
How often have I loiter'd o'er thy green,
Where humble happiness endear'd each scene!
How often have I paus'd on every charm,
The shelter'd cot, the cultivated farm,
The never-failing brook, the busy mill,
The decent church that topp'd the neighb'ring hill,
The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade,
For talking age and whisp'ring lovers made!
*"Seats of my youth."-This epithet seems most likely to point at Lissoy or Bally-
oughter as the region of country designated as Auburn. The general characteristics
of the scenery in the place first mentioned are very similar to those portrayed so
vividly in the poem, while some contend that the description is as appropriate to the
other.


30
THE DESERTED VILLAGE.
How often have I bless'd the coming day,*
When toil remitting lent its turn to play,
And all the village train, from labor free,
Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree,
While many a pastime circled in the shade,
The young contending as the old survey'd ;
And many a gambol frolick'd o'er the ground,
And sleights of art and feats of strength went round;
And still as each repeated pleasure tir'd,
Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspir'd;

J.A.COUGHLAN-CO.NY
The dancing pair that simply sought renown,
By holding out, to tire each other down;
*There is no good reason for the inference some have drawn here, that Goldsmith
alluded to saints' days. At the date of this poem, and later, recreations of the kind
alluded to were customary in Ireland on Sunday.


THE DESERTED VILLAGE.
31
The swain mistrustless of his smutted face,
While secret laughter titter'd round the place;
The bashful virgin's sidelong looks of love,
The matron's glance that would those looks reprove.
These were thy charms, sweet village! sports like these
With sweet succession, taught e'en toil to please;
These round thy bowers their cheerful influence shed,
These were thy charms,---but all these charms are fled!
Sweet smiling village, loveliest of the lawn,
Thy sports are fled, and all thy charms withdrawn ;
Amidst thy bowers the tyrant's hand is seen,
And desolation saddens all thy green:
One only master grasps the whole domain,*
And half a tillage stints thy smiling plain;
No more thy glassy brook reflects the day,
But, chok'd with sedges, works its weedy way;
Along thy glades, a solitary guest,
The hollow-sounding bittern guards its nest;
Amidst thy desert walks the lapwing flies,
And tires their echoes with unvaried cries.
Sunk are thy bowers in shapeless ruin all,
And the long grass o'ertops the mould'ring wall,
And, trembling, shrinking from the spoiler's hand,
Far, far away thy children leave the land.
Ill fares the land, to hast'ning ills a prey,
Where wealth accumulates, and men decay:
Princes and lords may flourish, or may fade;
A breath can make them, as a breath has made;
* This keen reproach seems to refer to General Robert Napier, who purchased a
large Irish estate, including Lissoy, in 1730. Desiring to inclose a considerable park,
he ejected all the tenants (the Goldsmiths excepted), numbering upward of a hundred
persons, many of whom emigrated to America.


32
THE DESERTED VILLAGE.
But a bold peasantry, their country's pride,
When once destroy'd, can never be supplied.
A time there was, ere England's griefs began,*
When every rood of ground maintain'd its man;
For him light labor spread her wholesome store,
Just gave what life requir'd, but gave no more
His best companions, innocence and health;
And his best riches, ignorance of wealth.
ة
But times are alter'd; trade's unfeeling train
Usurp the land and dispossess the swain;

Along the lawn, where scatter'd hamlets rose,
Unwieldy wealth and cumb'rous pomp repose;
* From this assertion, and what follows, it is apparent that the principle intended
to be illustrated in the poem by a particular place, wherever it may be, is applied to
England as well as to Ireland.


THE DESERTED VILLAGE.
3333
And every want to luxury allied,
And every pang that folly pays to pride.
Those gentle hours that plenty bade to bloom,
Those calm desires that ask'd but little room,
Those healthful sports that grac'd the peaceful scene,
Liv'd in each look, and brighten'd all the green;
These, far departing, seek a kinder shore,
And rural mirth and manners are no more.
Sweet Auburn! parent of the blissful hour,
Thy glades forlorn confess the tyrant's power.
Here, as I take my solitary rounds,
Amidst thy tangling walks, and ruin'd grounds,
And, many a year elaps'd, return to view
Where once the cottage stood, the hawthorn grew,
Remembrance wakes with all her busy train
Swells at my breast, and turns the past to pain.
In all my wand'rings round this world of care,
In all my griefs, and God has giv'n my share,-
I still had hopes my latest hours to crown,
Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down;
To husband out life's taper at the close,
And keep the flame from wasting by repose;
I still had hopes, for pride attends us still,
Amidst the swains to show my book-learn'd skill,
Around my fire an evening group to draw,
And tell of all I felt, and all I saw ;
And, as a hare whom hounds and horns pursue,
Pants to the place from whence at first he flew,
I still had hopes, my long vexations past,
Here to return,-and die at home at last.
O blest retirement, friend to life's decline,
Retreats from care, that never must be mine,
2*


34
THE DESERTED VILLAGE.
How blest is he who crowns in shades like these,
A youth of labor with an age of ease;
Who quits a world where strong temptations try,
And, since 'tis hard to combat, learns to fly!
For him no wretches, born to work and weep,
Explore the mine, or tempt the dang'rous deep;
No surly porter stands in guilty state,
To spurn imploring famine from the gate:
But on he moves to meet his latter end,
Angels around befriending Virtue's friend;
Sinks to the grave with unperceiv'd decay,
While resignation gently slopes the way;*
And, all his prospects bright'ning to the last,
His heaven commences ere the world be past.
Sweet was the sound, when oft, at ev'ning's close,
Up yonder hill the village murmur rose;
There, as I pass'd with careless steps and slow,
The mingling notes came soften'd from below;
The swain responsive as the milk-maid sung,
The sober herd that low'd to meet their young;
The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool,
The playful children just let loose from school;
The watch-dog's voice that bay'd the whisp'ring wind;
And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind;
These all in sweet confusion sought the shade,
And fill'd each pause the nightingale had made.
But now the sounds of population fail,
No cheerful murmurs fluctuate in the gale,
No busy steps the grass-grown foot-way tread,
But all the bloomy flush of life is fled.
*The famous painting "Resignation," which Sir Joshua Reynolds dedicated to
Goldsmith, was suggested by this passage.


THE DESERTED VILLAGE.
35
All but yon widow'd, solitary thing,
That feebly bends beside the plashy spring;
She, wretched matron, forc'd in age, for bread,
To strip the brook with mantling cresses spread,

To pick her wintry fagot from the thorn,
To seek her nightly shed, and weep till morn;
She only left of all the harmless train,
The sad historian of the pensive plain.*
Near yonder copse, where once the garden smil'd,
And still where many a garden-flower grows wild;
There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose,
The village preacher's modest mansion rose.
*This powerful picture of contrasted conditions brings vividly to the reader's
mind the village once teeming with good cheer and happiness, and the painful after-
desolation. The allusion to the "widow'd, solitary thing" is believed to be made of
a poor widow by the name of Catherine Geraghty, who remained at Lissoy.


36
THE DESERTED VILLAGE.
A man he was to all the country dear,
And passing rich with forty pounds a year;
Remote from towns he ran his godly race,
Nor e'er had chang'd, nor wish'd to change his place;
Unskilful he to fawn, or seek for power,
By doctrines fashion'd to the varying hour;
Far other aims his heart had learn'd to prize,
More bent to raise the wretched than to rise.
His house was known to all the vagrant train,
He chid their wand'rings, but reliev'd their pain;
The long remembered beggar was his guest,
Whose beard descending swept his aged breast.
The ruin'd spendthrift, now no longer proud,
Claim'd kindred there, and had his claims allow'd;
The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay,
Sate by his fire, and talk'd the night away;
Wept o'er his wounds, or tales of sorrow done,
Shoulder'd his crutch, and show'd how fields were won.
Pleas'd with his guests, the good man learn'd to glow;
And quite forgot their vices in their woe;
Careless their merits, or their faults to scan,
His pity gave ere charity began.*
Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride,
And e'en his failings lean'd to Virtue's side:
But in his duty prompt at every call,
He watch'd and wept, he pray'd and felt for all;
And, as a bird each fond endearment tries,
To tempt its new-fledg'd offspring to the skies,
He tried each art, reprov'd each dull delay,
Allur'd to brighter worlds, and led the way.
The poet's father, Charles Goldsmith, who was a country curate, doubtless was
the original from which was drawn this delightful portrait.


THE DESERTED VILLAGE.
37
Beside the bed where parting life was laid,
And sorrow, guilt, and pain, by turns dismay'd,
The rev'rend champion stood. At his control
Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul;
Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise,
And his last falt'ring accents whisper'd praise.

At church, with meek and unaffected grace,
His looks adorn'd the venerable place;
Truth from his lips prevail'd with double sway,
And fools, who came to scoff, remain'd to pray.
The service past, around the pious man,
With steady zeal, each honest rustic ran;
E'en children follow'd with endearing wile,
And pluck'd his gown, to share the good man's smile.


38
THE DESERTED VILLAGE.
His ready smile a parent's warmth express'd,
Their welfare pleas'd him, and their cares distress'd;
To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given,
But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven.
As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form,
Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm,
Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread,
Eternal sunshine settles on its head.*
Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way,
With blossom'd furze unprofitably gay,
There, in his noisy mansion, skill'd to rule,
The village master taught his little school; †
A man severe he was, and stern to view,
I knew him well, and every truant knew;
Well had the boding tremblers learn'd to trace
The day's disasters in his morning face;
Full well they laugh'd with counterfeited glee
At all his jokes, for many a joke had he;
Full well the busy whisper circling round,
Convey'd the dismal tidings when he frown'd;
Yet he was kind, or if severe in aught,
The love he bore to learning was in fault;
The village all declar'd how much he knew;
'Twas certain he could write, and cypher too;
Lands he could measure, terms and tides presage,
And e'en the story ran that he could guage;
* There is scarcely anything to be met with in all the range of English poetry
which equals the simple grandeur and beauty of the simile introduced in these four
lines. It has been remarked that a similar comparison occurs in the verse of the
Latin poet Claudian, and might have suggested the thought of Goldsmith.
↑ Goldsmith's first male teacher was Quarter-Master Byrne, to whom the graceful
and humorous pen-portrait was said to bear a striking likeness.


THE DESERTED VILLAGE.
39
In arguing, too, the parson own'd his skill,
For e'en though vanquished, he could argue still;
While words of learned length, and thund'ring sound,
Amaz'd the gazing rustics rang'd around,

And still they gaz'd, and still the wonder grew,
That one small head could carry all he knew.
But past is all his fame. The very spot
Where many a time he triumph'd is forgot.
Near yonder thorn, that lifts its head on high,
Where once the sign-post caught the passing eye,
Low lies that house where nut-brown draughts inspir'd,
Where grey-beard mirth, and smiling toil retir'd,
Where village statesmen talk'd with looks profound,
And news much older than their ale went round.
Imagination fondly stoops to trace
The parlor splendors of that festive place;


40
THE DESERTED VILLAGE.
The whitewashed wall, the nicely-sanded floor,
The varnished clock that click'd behind the door;
The chest contriv'd a double debt to pay,
A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day;
The pictures plac'd for ornament and use,
The twelve good rules, the royal game of goose;
The hearth, except when winter chill'd the day,
With aspen boughs, and flowers and fennel gay,
With broken tea-cups, wisely kept for show,
Rang'd o'er the chimney, glisten'd in a row.
*
Vain transitory splendors! could not all
Reprieve the tott'ring mansion from its fall!
Obscure it sinks, nor shall it more impart
An hour's importance to the poor man's heart;
Thither no more the peasant shall repair,
To sweet oblivion of his daily care;
No more the farmer's news, the barber's tale,
No more the woodman's ballad shall prevail;
No more the smith his dusky brow shall clear,
Relax his pond'rous strength, and lean to hear;
The host himself no longer shall be found
Careful to see the mantling bliss go round;
Nor the coy maid, half willing to be prest,
Shall kiss the cup to pass it to the rest.
Yes! let the rich deride, the proud disdain,
These simple blessings of the lowly train.
To me more dear, congenial to my heart,
One native charm, than all the gloss of art;
* There is in this description a closer approach, it must be conceded, to an English
inn than to an Irish inn. However, the proprietor of the "Three Jolly Pigeons" at
Lissoy repaired and arranged that "place of entertainment" to suit the descriptior
given in this poem.


THE DESERTED VILLAGE.
41
Spontaneous joys, where Nature has its play,
The soul adopts, and owns their first-born sway;
Lightly they frolic o'er the vacant mind,
Unenvied, unmolested, unconfined.
But the long pomp, the midnight masquerade,
With all the freaks of wanton wealth arrayed,
In these, ere triflers half their wish obtain,
The toiling pleasure sickens into pain:
And, e'en while fashion's brightest arts decoy,
The heart distrusting asks, if this be joy? *
Ye friends to truth, ye statesmen who survey,
The rich man's joy increase, the poor's decay,
'Tis yours to judge, how wide the limits stand
Between a splendid and a happy land.
Proud swells the tide with loads of freighted ore,
And shouting Folly hails them from her shore;
Hoards e'en beyond the miser's wish abound,
And rich men flock from all the world around.
Yet count our gains. This wealth is but a name
That leaves our useful products still the same.
Not so the loss. This man of wealth and pride
Takes up a space that many poor supplied;
Space for his lake, his park's extended bounds,
Space for his horses, equipage and hounds;
The robe that wraps his limbs in silken sloth,
Has robbed the neighboring fields of half their growth;
His seat, where solitary sports are seen,
Indignant spurns the cottage from the green:
Around the world each needful product flies,
For all the luxuries the world supplies.
* Here, by a single master-stroke, the poet contrasts simple rustic enjoyments with
the envious and extravagant dissipation of aristocratic society.


42
THE DESERTED VILLAGE.
While thus the land adorn'd, for pleasure, all
In barren splendor feebly waits the fall. *
As some fair female unadorn'd and plain,
Secure to please while youth confirms her reign,
Slights every borrow'd charm that dress supplies,
Nor shares with art the triumph of her eyes;
But when those charms are past, for charms are frail,
When time advances, and when lovers fail,
She then shines forth, solicitous to bless,
In all the glaring impotence of dress.
Thus fares the land by luxury betray'd,
In nature's simplest charms at first array'd,
But verging to decline, its splendors rise,
Its vistas strike, its palaces surprise:
While, scourged by famine from the smiling land,
The mournful peasant leads his humble band;
And while he sinks, without one arm to save,
The country blooms-a garden and a grave.
Where, then, ah! where shall poverty reside,
To 'scape the pressure of contiguous pride?
If to some common's fenceless limits stray'd
He drives his flock to pick the scanty blade,
Those fenceless fields the sons of wealth divide,
And e'en the bare-worn common is denied.
If to the city sped-what waits him there?
To see profusion that he must not share;
To see ten thousand baneful arts combined
To pamper luxury, and thin mankind;
* A wholesome lesson in political economy is taught in this and following passages.
The same spirit of unscrupulous exaction and appropriation is exhibited by the
wealthy to day, forgetting the principle that in the comfort and security of the lower
classes consists the chief essential to true national prosperity.


THE DESERTED VILLAGE.
43
To see each joy the sons of pleasure know
Extorted from his fellow-creature's woe.
Here, while the courtier glitters in brocade,
There the pale artist plies the sickly trade;
Here, while the proud their long-drawn pomps display,
There the black gibbet glooms beside the way.
The dome where Pleasure holds her midnight reign,
Here, richly deck'd, admits the gorgeous train:
Tumultuous grandeur crowds the blazing square,
The rattling chariots clash, the torches glare.
Sure scenes like these no troubles e'er annoy!
Sure these denote one universal joy!
Are these thy serious thoughts?—Ah, turn thine eyes
Where the poor houseless, shiv'ring female lies.
She once, perhaps, in village plenty blest,
Has wept at tales of innocence distrest;
Her modest looks the cottage might adorn.
Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn,
Now lost to all: her friends, her virtue fled,
Near her betrayer's door she lays her head,
And, pinch'd with cold, and shrinking from the shower,
With heavy heart deplores that luckless hour,
When idly first, ambitious of the town,
She left her wheel and robes of country brown.
Do thine, sweet AUBURN, thine, the loveliest train,
Do thy fair tribes participate her pain?
E'en now, perhaps, by cold and hunger led,
At proud men's doors they ask a little bread!
Ah! no. To distant climes, a dreary scene,
Where half the convex world intrudes between,
Through torrid tracks with fainting steps they go,
Where wild Altama murmurs to their woe.


44
THE DESERTED VILLAGE.
Far different there from all that charmed before,
The various terrors of that horrid shore:
Those blazing suns that dart a downward ray,
And fiercely shed intolerable day;
Those matted woods where birds forget to sing,
But silent bats in drowsy clusters cling;
Those pois'nous fields with rank luxuriance crown'd,
Where the dark scorpion gathers death around;
Where at each step the stranger fears to wake
The rattling terrors of the vengeful snake;
Where crouching tigers wait their hapless prey,
And savage men more murd'rous still than they;
While oft in whirls the mad tornado flies,
Mingling the ravag'd landscape with the skies.
Far different these from every former scene,
The cooling brook, the grassy vested green,
The breezy covert of the warbling grove,
That only shelter'd thefts of harmless love.
Good heavens! what sorrows gloom'd that parting day
That called them from their native walks away;
When the poor exiles, every pleasure past,
Hung round the bowers, and fondly looked their last,
And took a long farewell, and wish'd in vain
For seats like these beyond the western main;
And shudd'ring still to face the distant deep,
Return'd and wept, and still return'd to weep.
The good old sire, the first prepar'd to go
*
To new-found worlds, and wept for others' woe;
But for himself in conscious virtue brave,
He only wish'd for worlds beyond the grave.
* Could anything be conceived more realistic and pathetic than this portraiture of
clinging affection for home?


THE DESERTED VILLAGE.
45
His lovely daughter, lovelier in her tears,
The fond companion of his helpless years,
Silent went next, neglectful of her charms,
And left a lover's for her father's arms,
With louder plaints the mother spoke her woes
And bless'd the cot where every pleasure rose;
And kiss'd her thoughtless babes with many a tear,
And clasp'd them close, in sorrow doubly dear;
While her fond husband strove to lend relief
In all the silent manliness of grief.
O luxury thou curst by heaven's decree,
How ill-exchang'd are things like these for thee!
How do thy potions with insidious joy,
Diffuse their pleasures only to destroy!
Kingdoms by thee, to sickly greatness grown,
Boast of a florid vigor not their own.
At every draught more large and large they grow,
A bloated mass of rank unwieldly woe;
Till sapp'd their strength, and every part unsound,
Down, down they sink, and spread a ruin round.
E'en now the devastation is begun,
And half the business of destruction done;
E'en now, methinks, as pond'ring here I stand,
I see the rural virtues leave the land.
Down where yon anchoring vessel spreads the sail,
That idly waiting flaps with every gale,
Downward they move, a melancholy band,
Pass from the shore, and darken all the strand.
Contented toil, and hospitable care,
And kind connubial tenderness are there;
And piety, with wishes plac'd above,
And steady loyalty, and faithful love.


46
THE DESERTED VILLAGE.
And thou, sweet Poetry, thou loveliest maid,
Still first to fly where sensual joys invade;
Unfit in these degenerate times of shame,
To catch the heart, or strike for honest fame;
Dear charming nymph, neglected and decried,
My shame in crowds, my solitary pride,
Thou source of all my bliss, and all my woe,
That found'st me poor at first, and keep'st me so;
Thou guide by which the noble arts excel,
Thou nurse of every virtue, fare thee well!
Farewell, and O! where'er thy voice be tried,
On Torno's cliffs, or Pambamarca's side,
Whether where equinoctial fervors glow,
Or winter wraps the polar world in snow,
Still let thy voice, prevailing over time,
Redress the rigors of th' inclement clime;
Aid slighted truth with thy persuasive strain;
Teach erring man to spurn the rage of gain;
Teach him, that states of native strength possest,
Though very poor, may still be very blest;
That trade's proud empire hastes to swift decay,
As ocean sweeps the labor'd mole away;
While self-dependent power can time defy,
As rocks resist the billows and the sky.*
*It is stated by Boswell, in his "Life of Johnson," Croker's edition, 1835, that
Dr. Johnson marked for him with a pencil the last four lines of the poem as having
been written by him.


THE HERMIT.





THE HERMIT.
THIS poem, as the reader is doubtless aware, occurs in that most remarkable com-
bination of humor and pathos, "THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD," and is introduced not
merely as a graceful decoration in verse of what is most admirable prose, but, as is
apparent from the text of the dialogue immediately preceding it, is introduced to il-
lustrate the advantage of a pure and simple style in poetic composition. To convey
the author's meaning, we can not do better than transcribe the passage with which he
prefaces the "ballad:
"Our family dined in the field, and we sat, or rather inclined, round a temperate
repast, our cloth spread upon the hay, while Mr. Burchell gave cheerfulness to the
feast. To heighten our satisfaction, two blackbirds answered each other from oppo-
site hedges, the familiar redbreast came and pecked the crumbs from our hands, and
every sound seemed but the echo of tranquillity. I never sit thus,' says Sophia,
but I think of the two lovers, so sweetly described by Mr. Gay, who were struck
dead in each other's arms. There is something so pathetic in the description, that I
have read it an hundred times with new rapture. In my opinion,' cried my son,
the finest strokes in that description are much below those in the Acis and Galatea
of Ovid. The Roman poet understands the use of contrast better, and upon that fig-
ure, artfully managed, all strength in the pathetic depends.' It is remarkable,' cried
Mr. Burchell, that both the poets you mention have equally contributed to introduce
a false taste into their respective countries, by loading all their lines with epithet.
Men of little genius found them most easily imitated in their defects, and English
poetry, like that in the latter empire of Rome, is nothing at present but a combina-
tion of luxuriant images, without plot or connection; a string of epithets that im-
prove the sound, without carrying out the sense. But, perhaps, madam, while I thus
reprehend others, you'll think it just that I should give them an opportunity to retal-
iate; and, indeed, I have made this remark only to have an opportunity of introduc-
ing to the company a ballad, which, whatever be its other defects, is, I think, at least
free from those I have mentioned."""
"TURN, gentle. Hermit of the

dale,
And guide my lonely way
To where yon taper cheers the
vale,
With hospitable ray.
"For here forlorn and lost I
tread,
With fainting steps and
slow;
Where wilds immeasurably spread,
Seem length'ning as I go."


50
THE HERMIT.
แ
Forbear, my son," the Hermit cries,
"To tempt the dangerous gloom;
For yonder faithless phantom flies
To lure thee to thy doom.
66 Here to the houseless child of want
My door is open still;
And though my portion is but scant,
I give it with good-will.
"Then turn to-night, and freely share
Whate'er my cell bestows;
My rushy couch and frugal fare,
My blessing and repose.
"No flocks that range the valley free,
To slaughter I condemn;
Taught by that Power that pities me,
I learn to pity them:
"But from the mountain's grassy side
A guiltless feast I bring;
A scrip with herbs and fruits supply'd,
66
And water from the spring.
Then, pilgrim, turn, thy cares forego;
All earth-born cares are wrong;
Man wants but little here below,
Nor wants that little long."
Soft as the dew from heaven descends,
His gentle accents fell;
The modest stranger lowly bends,
And follows to the cell.


THE HERMIT.
51
Far in a wilderness obscure
The lonely mansion lay,
A refuge to the neighb'ring poor
And strangers led astray.
No stores beneath its humble thatch
Requir'd a master's care;
The wicket, op'ning with a latch,
Receiv'd the harmless pair.
And now, when busy crowds retire
To take their ev'ning rest,
The Hermit trimm'd his little fire,
And cheer'd his pensive guest:
And spread his vegetable store,
And gaily press'd, and smil'd;
And skill'd in legendary lore
The ling'ring hours beguil'd.
Around in sympathetic mirth
Its tricks the kitten tries,
The cricket chirrups in the hearth,
The crackling fagot flies.
But nothing could a charm impart
To sooth the stranger's woe;
For grief was heavy at his heart,
And tears began to flow.
His rising cares the Hermit spy'd,
With answ'ring care opprest;
"And whence, unhappy youth," he cry'd,
"The sorrows of thy breast?


52
THE HERMIT.
"From better habitations spurn'd,
Reluctant dost thou rove?
Or grieve for friendship unreturn'd,
Or unregarded love?
"Alas! the joys that fortune brings
Are trifling, and decay;
And those who prize the paltry things,
More trifling still than they.
"And what is friendship but a name,
A charm that lulls to sleep-
A shade that follows wealth or fame,
But leaves the wretch to weep?
"And love is still an emptier sound,
The modern fair-one's jest:
On earth unseen, or only found
To warn the turtle's nest.
"For shame, fond youth! thy sorrows hush,
And spurn the sex," he said;
But while he spoke, a rising blush
His love-lorn guest betray'd.
Surpris'd, he sees new beauties rise,
Swift mantling to the view;
Like colors o'er the morning skies,
As bright, as transient, too.
The bashful look, the rising breast,
Alternate spread alarms:
The lovely stranger stands confest
A maid in all her charms.


THE HERMIT.
53
"And, ah! forgive a stranger rude,
A wretch forlorn," she cry'd;
"Whose feet unhallow'd thus intrude
Where Heav'n and you reside.
"But let a maid thy pity share,
Whom love has taught to stray;
Who seeks for rest, but finds despair
Companion of her way.
"My father lived beside the Tyne:
A wealthy lord was he;
And all his wealth was mark'd as mine,
He had but only me.
"To win me from his tender arms,
Unnumber'd suitors came;
Who prais'd me for imputed charms,
And felt, or feign'd, a flame.
“Each hour a mercenary crowd
With richest proffers strove :
Among the rest young Edwin bow'd,
But never talk'd of love.
“In humble, simplest habit clad,
No wealth nor power had he;
Wisdom and worth were all he had,
But these were all to me
"And when, beside me in the dale,
He carol'd lays of love,
His breath lent fragrance to the gale,
And music to the grove.*
* This stanza, never before printed, was communicated by Richard Archdal, Esq.,
who received it from the author himself.


54
THE HERMIT.
"The blossom opening to the day,
The dews of Heav'n refin'd,
Could nought of purity display
To emulate his mind.
"The dew, the blossom on the tree,
With charms inconstant shine:
Their charms were his, but woe to me,
Their constancy was mine.
"For still I try'd each fickle art,
Importunate and vain;
And while his passion touch'd my heart,
I triumph'd in his pain.
"Till quite dejected with my scorn,
He left me to my pride;
And sought a solitude forlorn,
In secret, where he died.
"But mine the sorrow, mine the fault,
And well my life shall pay;
I'll seek the solitude he sought,
And stretch me where he lay.
"And there forlorn despairing hid,
I'll lay me down and die;
'Twas so for me that Edwin did,
And so for him will I.”
"Forbid it Heav'n!" the Hermit cry'd,
And clasp'd her to his breast:
The wond'ring fair one turn'd to chide,—
'Twas Edwin's self that press'd.


THE HERMIT.
35
55
"Turn, Angelina, ever dear,
My charmer, turn to see
Thy own, thy long-lost Edwin here,
Restor'd to love and thee.
"Thus let me hold thee to my heart,
And every care resign;
And shall we never, never part,
My life, my all that's mine?
"No, never from this hour to part,
We'll live and love so true;
The sigh that rends thy constant heart,
Shall break thy Edwin's too."


1


BIOGRAPHY.
66
OLIVER GOLDSMITH was born at Pallas, or Pallasmore, in the county
of Longford, Ireland, on the 10th of November, 1728. His father, the
Rev. Charles Goldsmith, was a Protestant clergyman. When Oliver
had reached the age of two years his father became rector of Kilkenny
West, and removed to the village of Lissoy, in the county of West-
meath. By this change his circumstances were materially improved.
According to all accounts, Oliver was an exceedingly dull boy." His
first teacher declared him to be "impenetrably stupid." He made but
little progress in his studies while attending the village school, and
was soon removed to a special school at Elphin, where, much to his
distaste, he was put to study Horace and Ovid. He had never been a
good-looking boy, and an attack of the small-pox had left him with
features which too many of his schoolfellows called ugly. He was
generally considered a stupid, heavy blockhead, little better than a
fool, and every one made fun of him. As is evident in his portrait, his
perceptive faculties were but moderately developed as compared with
his reflectives. He was possessed of much more originality in thought
than appreciation of external things and conditions. His tempera-
ment, too, was not of the sharpest type, but partook of the vital in
large proportion, thus inclining him to ease, and perhaps indolence. As
a boy, this temperamental condition was pretty strongly marked, and,
as a consequence, many of the characteristics which provoked the rid-
icule of his schoolmates and the frequent reproofs of his teachers are
accounted for. The latter, to their discredit, it must be said, did not
understand him. In fact, at that time the light which in these latter
days illumines the sphere of the educator, enabling him to discriminate
between the mental capacities of youth, had not then dawned. Had
his teachers possessed a sufficient insight into temperamental adapta-


58
BIOGRAPHY.
tions, Oliver would have enjoyed a training adapted to his abilities and
preferences, and so, doubtless, would have escaped much of the misfor-
tune and chagrin which clouded his adult life.
This treatment made him peevish and irritable, yet at times he was
good-natured, and even good-humored. On one occasion, while danc-
ing a hornpipe, the musician stigmatized him as "ugly Æsop," to which
he retorted to the effect that he was dancing to the music of Esop's
monkey. This repartee has been retained by some of Goldsmith's
biographers in the following couplet:
"Our herald hath proclaimed this saying,
See Æsop dancing, and his monkey playing
At the age of thirteen he was removed to the school of Rev. Patrick
Hughes at Edgeworthstown, where he made considerable progress in
his studies, became fond of Ovid, Horace, and Livy, mastered Tacitus,
but hated Cicero. During the four years he remained here, he con-
quered his shyness and overcame many of his awkward ways, and
even took the leader's part in the sports and depredations of the boys.
We next find him at the Dublin University as a sizar, where he had to
sweep the courts and do all kinds of menial offices.
"The popular
picture of him in these University days," says one authority, "is little
more than a slow, hesitating, somewhat hollow voice, heard seldom,
and always to great disadvantage in the class-rooms; and of a low-
sized, thick, ungainly figure lounging about the College grounds on
the wait for misery and ill-luck."
In 1747, after Oliver had been at school a year and a half, his father
died suddenly, and the hitherto slender means which had supplied the
poor collegian for his daily wants died with him. To keep himself from
actual starvation he took to writing street ballads, which he disposed
of for five shillings a copy, and his greatest delight was to steal out of
college to hear his effusions sung. He found that the listeners around
the ballad-singer were pleased with his songs, and he was now happy
that a small source of income was open to him. Notwithstanding his
extreme poverty, his charity was reckless to the extreme, and he would
frequently dispose of all he possessed, even some of his clothes, to com-
fort some poor, half-starved wretch, and then go calmly without him-
self. On the 27th of February, 1749, he took his degree of Bachelor
of Arts, and soon after returned to his mother's house. His friends
urged him to qualify for holy orders, and he at last consented. As he


BIOGRAPHY.
59
was only twenty-one, he would have to wait two years for this, and to
while away this period, we find him writing verses, learning French
from the Irish priests, fishing, hunting, and forming a club at the village
ale-house, where a few uneasy spirits met to tell stories, sing songs, and
play whist. His application for holy orders was not successful, but for
what cause does not appear. Some say he applied in scarlet knee-
breeches; others, that his old tutor told the Bishop of his irregularities
while in college; but it is well known that Oliver himself had no liking
for the clerical profession.
In 1752 he commenced the study of medicine in Edinburgh, where
he made some progress in chemistry; but was known principally as a
capital teller of humorous stories, and a very good singer of Irish songs.
Becoming involved in debt, he hastily left Edinburgh for Leyden, where
he engaged in teaching, but soon abandoned it; and after various ad-
ventures, in February, 1755, flute in hand, he set out on that renowned
journey which he has immortalized in his “Traveller." Traveling
through Flanders, singing and playing his flute at the houses of the
peasantry, in order to obtain a supper and a night's lodging, he at length
reached Louvain, where, according to some of his biographers, he took
the degree of "Medical Bachelor." He afterward passed through Bel-
gium and other parts of the Continent, and ultimately reached Paris,
where he attended chemical lectures, visited the theaters, and had an
opportunity to study French manners and politics, and to still further
perpetuate his prevailing fault-that of getting into debt. He next
passed to Switzerland, climbed the Alps, visited Basle, Berne, and other
places, and then descended into Piedmont, made his way to Florence,
Mantua, Milan, Padua, etc. In these wanderings he encountered many
privations. After a hard day's toil he knew what it was to be refused
a night's shelter at a peasant's cottage. His flute still did him good
service, except while in Italy, where, as he says, “Every peasant was
a better musician than I." He had also become a good disputant, and
by maintaining his ground in the open discussions going on in the uni-
versities and convents on certain days, he was open to claim his gratu-
ity of a small sum of money, a dinner, and a bed for one night. Fi-
nally, he turned his course toward England, where he landed on the 1st
of February, 1756, and soon found himself alone, friendless, and with-
out a farthing in his pocket in the terribly gloomy streets of London.
He at length succeeded in obtaining a situation as assistant to a chem
3


60
BIOGRAPHY.
66
""
ist, and soon after we find him practicing as a physician in a very
humble way. But being unable to gain a livelihood by his profession,
he soon changed it for a situation as assistant in the scholastic estab-
lishment of Mr. Milner, at Peckham. He was next employed as “lit-
erary hack
for Mr. Griffiths, publisher of The Monthly Review, in Pa-
ternoster Row, where he criticised with general success the works of
Smollett, Johnson, Burke, Gray, and others. But so poorly was he
paid for his literary labor, that after a few months he threw up author-
ship and went back as usher to Dr. Milner's Academy, at Peckham.
Fortunately for the world, however, Goldsmith could not long abandon
the school of literature. In February, 1758, his first book, entitled "The
Memoirs of a Protestant Condemned to the Galleys of France," was
published by Griffiths. On the 2d of April, 1759, his work entitled
Enquiry Into the Present State of Polite Learning in Europe," was
published by Dodsley, In 1759 he was engaged in writing for The Bee,
the Busy Body, and the Ladies' Magazine. In 1760 he was engaged to
contribute two articles per week to the Public Ledger, at a guinea each.
Up to this time he had occupied lodgings in a garret in a miserable lo-
cality called Green Arbor Court, lying between the Old Bailey and Far-
ringdon Street. He now took what he called respectable lodgings in
Wine Office Court, Fleet Street. Of the numerous literary undertak-
ings in which he was engaged, our space will not admit of detailing.
The simple titles of the books and reviews which he wrote would
fill several of these pages. His "History of England, in a Series of
Letters from a Nobleman to his Son," was a great success, and was
translated into the French. About this time he became acquainted
with Dr. Johnson, and laid the foundation for that friendship which
ever after existed between them. As his reputation increased, he also
became associated with Foote, Garrick, Sir Joshua Reynolds, Church-
ill, Burke, and numerous other celebrities. He was one of the founders
of the Turk's Head Club, where such men as Burke, Johnson, Rey-
nolds, and other notables, met to banter wit and repartee, or talk poli-
tics and literature. On the 19th of December, 1764, his “Traveller ”
was issued, and this was the first of his numerous works in connection
with which his name appeared. This poem was a great success.
Johnson pronounced it “a poem to which it would not be easy to find
anything equal since the time of Pope;" and Charles Fox declared it
to be "one of the first poems in the English language." Up to the


BIOGRAPHY.
61
time of Goldsmith's death there were nine editions published of "The
Traveller," and yet it is supposed that all he received for it was twenty
guineas. The Duke of Northumberland, then Lord-Lieutenant of Ire-
land, one day sent for him and told him that, hearing he was a native
of that country, and having read his "Traveller" with much interest,
he should be glad to do him any kindness. Here was at once a great
helping hand, and likewise patronage, held out to him; but he simply
said he had a brother in Ireland, a poor clergyman, who stood in need
of help.
Goldsmith now received better pay for his works. For " A
Survey of Experimental Philosophy" he was paid sixty guineas. His
"Vicar of Wakefield" was published in March, 1766. No book has
obtained a wider popularity, and none is more likely to endure, and
yet all Goldsmith received for it was sixty pounds. He now turned
his attention to stage literature. His first production was "The Good-
Natured Man," which proved very successful, and brought him over
five hundred pounds. In 1773 his second comedy, "She Stoops to
Conquer," was brought out. So great was the success of this, that for
the first three nights the author is supposed to have received between
four and five hundred pounds. On the tenth night it was played by
royal command. It ran nearly the whole season, and has ever since
retained its place as one of the greatest favorites of our stock comedies.
He now occupied handsomely furnished chambers in the Brick Court,
Middle Temple, where he might have lived a happy and prosperous
life, but his reckless and generous habits led him still further into debt,
from which he never recovered. Many were the social dinners and
nights of feasting that took place here. In 1769 he was honored with
the degree of M. B. by the Oxford University. "The Deserted Vil-
lage" was published in 1799, and its success was immediate and deci-
sive. It was translated into the German by Goethe. Between the
months of May and August five editions were published, and it was
spoken of on all sides as being one of the most beautiful poems ever
written. Among his other works which attracted particular attention
were histories of England, Rome, and Greece, "Life of Lord Boling-
broke," "Animated Nature," and "Life of Dr. Parnell." In March,
1774, he had a severe attack of an old illness, which resulted in a ner-
vous fever, from which he died on the 4th of the following month, in
the forty-sixth year of his age. He was buried in the ground of Tem-
ple Church. A monument was erected to his memory in Westminster


62
BIOGRAPHY.
Abbey. It consists of a medallion portrait. The epitaph, which is in
Latin, was written by Dr. Johnson. The following is a translation:
OLIVER GOLDSMITH,
POET, NATURALIST, AND HISTORIAN,
WHO LEFT SCARCELY ANY STYLE OF WRITING UNTOUCHED,
AND TOUCHED NOTHING THAT HE DID NOT ADORN;
OF ALL THE PASSIONS,
WHETHER SMILES WERE TO BE MOVED, OR TEARS,
A POWERFUL YET GENTLE MASTER.
IN GENIUS, SUBLIME, VIVID, VERSATILE ;
IN STYLE, ELEVATED, CLEAR, ELEGANT.
THE LOVE OF COMPANIONS, THE FIDELITY OF FRIENDS,
AND THE VENERATION OF READERS,
HAVE BY THIS MONUMENT HONOURED THE
MEMORY.
HE WAS BORN IN IRELAND,
AT A PLACE CALLED PALLAS,
(IN THE PARISH) OF FORNEY, (AND COUNTY)
OF LONGFORD,
ON THE 10TH NOV., 1728.
EDUCATED AT THE (UNIVERSITY OF) DUBLIN.
AND DIED IN LONDON,
4TH APRIL, 1774.


MM
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AESOP'S FABLES.

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Esop's Fables Illustrated.-The People's Pictorial Edition. With
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99
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NEW
PHYSIOGNOME

WKNOWIN
YSE
BY S. R. WELLS,
389 B'WAY, N. Y.


"IT IS AN ILLUSTRATED CYCLOPEDIA."
NEW PHYSIOGNOMY;
OR,
SIGNS OF CHARACTER,
As manifested in Temperament and External Forms, and especially
in the Human Face Divine.
By S. R. WELLS, EDITOR PHRENOLOGICAL JOURNAL.
Large 12mo, 768 pp. With more than 1,000 Engravings.
Illustrating Physiognomy, Anatomy, Physiology, Ethnology, Phrenol-
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A COMPREHENSIVE, thorough, and practical Work, in which all that is
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Physiognomy is here shown to be no mere fanciful speculation, but a consistent and well-
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by everybody and in all places, and made an efficient help in that noblest of all studies-
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Previous Systems given, including
those of all ancient and modern writers.
General Principles of Physiognomy,
or the Physiological laws on which charac-
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Temperaments. The Ancient Doc-
trines - Spurzheim's Description - The
New Classification now in use here.
Practical Physiognomy. - General
Forms of Faces-The Eyes, the Mouth,
the Nose, the Chin, the Jaws and Teeth,
the Cheeks, the Forehead, the Ilair and
Beard, the Complexion, the Neck and
Ears, the Hands and Feet, the Voice, the
Walk, the Laugh, the Mode of Shaking
Hands, Dress, etc., with illustrations.
Ethnology-The Races, including the
Caucasian, the North American Indians,
the Mongolian, the Malay, and the African,
with their numerous subdivisions: also
National Types, each illustrated.
Physiognomy Applied-To Marriage,
to the Training of Children, to Persona
Improvement, to Business, to Insanity and
Idiocy, to Health and Disease, to Classes
and Professions, to Personal Improvement,
and to Character-Reading generally. Util-
ity of Physiognomy, Self-Improvement.
Animal Types.- Grades of Intelli-
gence, Instinct and Reason ALimai
Heads and Animal Types among Meu.
Graphomancy.-Character revealed in
Hand-writing, with Specimens-Palmistry.
"Line of Life" in the human hand.
Character-Reading.-
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hundred noted Men and Women introduc-
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The Great Secret.-How to be Healthy
and How to be Beautiful-Mental Cosmet-
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Head-Views of Life - Illustrative Anec-
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No one can read this Book without interest, without real profit. "Knowledge is
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THE INDISPENSABLE HAND-BOOK.
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and is divided into fuer parts, as follows:
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AS A MANUAL OF LETTER-WRITING AND COMPOSITION, IS FAR SUPERIOR
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THE
NEW TESTAMENT
IN GREEK AND ENGLISH,
ENTITLED
THE EMPHATIC DIAGLOTT,
Containing the Original Greek Text of what is commonly called THE NEW
TESTAMENT, with an Interlineary Word-for-word English Translation; a
New Emphatic Version based on the Interlineary Translation, on the
Readings of Eminent Critics, and on the various Readings of the Vatican
Manuscript (No. 1,209 in the Vatican Library); together with Illustra-
tive and Explanatory Foot Notes, and a copious Selection of References;
to the whole of which is added a valuable Alphabetical Index. By
Benjamin Wilson. One vol., 12mo, pp. 884. Price, $4; extra fine bind-
ing, $5. SAMUEL R. WELLS, Publisher, 389 Broadway, New York.
This valuable work is now complete. The different renderings of various passages
In the New Testament are the foundations on which most of the sects of Christians
have been built up. Without claiming absolute correctness for our author's new and
elaborate version, we present his work so that each reader may judge for himself
whether the words there literally translated are so arranged in the common version as
to express the exact meaning of the New Testament writers.
In regard to Mr. Wilson's translation there will doubtless be differences of opinion
among Greek scholars, but having submitted it to several for examination, their vir-
dict has been so generally in its favor that we have no hesitation in presenting it to
the public.
We have no desire for sectarian controversy, and believe that it is consequent chiefly
upon misinterpretation, or upon variations in the formal presentation of the truths of
Christianity as taught in the New Testament; and it is with the earnest desire that
what appears crooked shall be made straight, that we present this volume to the care-
ful consideration. of an intelligent people.
OPINIONS OF THE CLERGY.
The following extracts from letters just received by the publishers from some of our
most eminent divines will go far to show in what light the new "Emphatic Diaglott"
is regarded by the clergy in general:
From THOMAS ARMITAGE, D.D., Pastor |
of the Fifth Avenue Baptist Church.
GENTLEMEN: I have examined with
much care and great interest the specimen
sheets sent me of The Emphatic Dia-
glott.'*
** I believe that the book
furnishes evidences of purposed faithful-
ness, more than usual scholarship, and re-
markable literary industry. It can not
fail to be an important help to those who
wish to become better acquainted with
the revealed will of God. For these rea-
sons I wish the enterprise of publishing
the work great success."
From REV. JAMES L. HODGE, Pastor of
the First Mariner's Baptist Church, N.
"I have examined these sheets which
you design to be a specimen of the work,
and have to confess myself much pleased
with the arrangement and ability of Mr.
Wilson. * ** I can most cordially
thank Mr. Wilson for his noble work, and
you, gentlemen, for your Christian enter-
prise in bringing the work before the
public. I believe the work will do good,
and aid in the better understanding of the
New Testament."
From SAMUEL OSGOOD, D.D., New York
City.-"I have looked over the specimen
of the new and curious edition of the New
Testament which you propose publishing,
and think that it will be a valuable addi
tion to our Christian literature. It is a
Wo without being sure of agreeing
work of great labor and careful study,
with the author in all his view, I can
commend his brk to all lovers of Biblical
research."


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Date Loaned
BOCT 18 NOV 12
1954
Library Bureau Cat. No. 1138



P14
Goldsmith
Poems
DATE
B
SAPR 5
1948
OCT
198413
R. B
KEEIBRA
BZ3.3
G624
L
101240
ISSUED TO
The Library
Union Theological Seminary
Broadway at 120th Street
New York 27, N. Y.
LIBRARY BUREAU CAT. NO. 1173 L