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Les diagrammes suivants illustrent la m^thode. 1 2 3 32X 1 2 3 4 5 6 l^€c^ y^yTTic^ 2Di)e Hitier^iue iitterature fern'cfl; THE DESERTED VILLAGE THE TRAVELLER AND OTHER POEMS BY OLIVER GOLDSMITH WITH A BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH, INTRO- DUCTIONS AND NOTES t^cKittfrsi^ePreag HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY Boston : 4 Park Street ; New York : 85 Fifth Avenu<> Chicago: 378-38S Wabash Avenue (€bc J^iticrieiiOc press CamUridge /v; J. '. ^ I. V7 2629()2 Cr^/^''C/. /^'. Copyright, 1894, By HOUGHTON, MIFP^LIN & CC» .<4tf righi& reserved* CONTENTS. BiO(}RAPHicAL Sketch ob' Olivkk Goldsmith ... 5 The Desertkd Villl.v«e. Introductory Note .IJ? Dedication 17 The Deserted Village J<> The Traveller ; or a Prospect of Society. Introductory Note lij Dedication 41 The Traveller 44 Edwin and Angelina: A Ballad. Introductory Note «... 63 I^]dwin and Angelina 66 Retaliation. Introductory Note 72 Retaliation 74 An Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog . . . .82 An Elegy on the Glory of her Sex, Mrs. Mary Blaize 84 The Clown's Reply 86 Stanzas on the Taking of Quebec 87 A Description op an Author's Bed-Chamber . • . • 88 Familiar Quotations from Goldsmith . • • • • 89 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF OLIVER GOLDSMITH. Oliver Goldsmith, the son of a humble village preacher, was l)()in at tlie jKirsonage in Pallas, the property of the Edgeworths of Edgevvorthstown, in the county of Longford, Ireland, November 10, 17*28. He died in London, wept over by Johnson, J^urke, Reynolds, and Garrick, Aju-il 4, 1774, live months over his forty-fifth year. Bi tvveen t\u) obscure Irish village birthplace and the monument in Westminster Abbey stretched a career which was lialf in clouds and half in sunshine, a lainbow of tears and smiles. He had no advantages of birth other than the priceless one of a simple-liearted father, '' passing rich witli forty pounds a year," who lives again in the preacher of the " Deserted Village " and more minutely in the hero of the " Vicar of Wakefield." His life to outward seem- ing; was a series of blunders. He was tossed about from one school to another, learning many things which somehow seem more in his life than Latin or Greek. He learned to play the flute, and he fell in love with vagrancy, or rather the vagrant in liim was carefully nourished by an unworldly, unsophisticated father, a merry-andrew of a teacher, and by fickle For- tune herself. An uncle, the Rev. Mr. Contarine, was the prudent man of the family, always appearing as the necessary counterpoise to prevent Oliver from flying off 6 BIOGRAPHTCAL SKETCH. into inueovenil. wamlciiiif]^. By his advice and help the hid passed from his sciiools to Trinity College, Dublin, i)erhaps a neeroportion to their wants. Whrn( ver 1 appi'oat'hcd a j)easant's house towards ni<;htfall, 1 played out; of my niost merry tunes, and that procaired me not only a lod«;in^', but subsistence! for the next day. I onee or twiee at> tfmi)ted to play for peojde of fnshinn, but they always thou«'ht my perfo!*manee (xlious, nnd never i"*wardeu me even with a triHe." Althou;j;h (loldsmitlTs medi- eal knowledi»e was scareolv iiu^reased by Ids eontinen- tal experience, lie was wittin<;ly or unwittingly adding dally to that knowledge of men and natinc whieb shines throngh bis lightest wiitings. *" The Traveller " is a liiiii, ill (lir '' Vicar of WakcfioM," "' this is ii\(!«M'(l a vory pretty rarcer that has Ixmmj oh(*ck(»(l out for yon. I liavc^ Ihmmi an nshcr at a hoard ing-school myself, and may I die hy an anodynes noek- hice, hut I had rather he an nnder-turnkey in New- gate. T was n|> early and late ; I was hrow-heat by the mast«*r, hited for my n^ly faeci hy tlu^ mistn'ss, worried hy the hoys within, and never permitted to stir out to meet civility nhvoad. But ai'e you sure you are fit for a school ? Ii(^t me examine; you a littU;. Have you been hred apprentice; to the business? No. Then you won't do for a school, (^an you dress the boys' hair? No. Then you won't do for a school. Have you had the smallpox ? No. Then you won't do for a school. (\in you lit; three in a bed ? No. Then you will n(;v(;r do for a school. Have you got a good stomach? Yes. Then you will by no means do for a school. No, sir, if you are for a genteel, easy profession, bind yourself seven years as an a])pr(Mitico to turn a cutler's wheel, but avoid a school by any means." In the same conversation the city cousin ad- vises George to take up authorsiiip for a trade, and it was indeed by the humblest entrance that Goldsmith passed into the domain where afterward he was to be recognized as master. Griffiths, the; bookseller, dined one day at the school where CJoldsmith was usher. The conversation turned upon the '• Monthly Review," owned and conducted by Griffiths. Something said by Goldsmith led to further consideration, and the usher left the school to board and lodge with the book- seller, to have a small regular salary, and to devote himself to the " Monthly He view." 10 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. The hist'^^'v of literature at this time in England ^ves muc. pace necessarily to the bookseller. In the transition period of authorship, this middleman occupied a position of power and authority not since accorded to him ; it was a singular relation which the drudging author held to his employer, and Goldsmith from this time forward was scarcely ever free from 2 dependence upon the autocrats of the book trade. He entered the profession of literature as upon something which was a little more profitable and certainly more agreeable than the occupation of an usher in a board- ing-school, or the profession of a doctor without pay- ing clients. A profession which now dignifies its members was then without respect socially, and at- tended by all the meanness which springs from a false position. The rich and powerful in government looked upon it as a])pointed only to serve the ends of the am- bitious, and th(^ ])oor author had to struggle to main- tain his independence of nature. The men who could sell their talents and their self-respect for gold and place jostled roughly tlieir nobler comrades who served literature faithfully in poverty, and it was only now and then that the fickle breath of po])ular favor wi»^ted some author's book into warmer waters. So crowding was this Grub Street life tliat Goldsmith sought release from it in a vain attempt after a gov 3rnment appointment as medical officer at (voromandel He was driven back into the galleys from which he was striving to escape, yet out of rhis life there began to issue the true })roducts of his genius. He brooded over his own and his fellows' condition. Something within him made protest against the ignoble state of. literature, and he wrote the first book which gave him a name, — " An Enquiry into the Present State 0/ BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. II Polite Learning in Europe." The subject was wrur.^ from his fortunes, but the style was the music which he had never failed to hear from boyhood. Style, bred of no special study at Trinity College, nor too closely allied with learning, but a gift of nature, guarded well and cherished by tlie varying fortune which was moulding his mind in the secret fashion that makes a genuine surprise when discovered : this was seen in his book, and justified his place in the great profession of authorship. There is in Gold- smith's life, as in Andersen's, and in that of many a man of genius, the sad, sweet story of the Ugly Duck- ling. Pecked at and scorned by meaner associates, conscious of disadvantages and of inferiority in infe- rior things, a divine ray of hope and longing never left hiiii ; and when at last he f^ave outward expression to the genius in him, he found liiniself amongst his true fellows, recognized by nu'u of genius as their as- sociate. From this time forward Goldsmith knew his place and took it. lie was thirty-one years of age, and in the remainder of liis life he W:ote his essays in " The Bee " and - The Citizen of the World ; " '^ The Vicar of Wakefield,'' " The Traveller/' '* The Deserted Village:" his shorter poems ; and the two comedies, " A Good-natured Man " and " She Stoops to Con quer." In quantity not a large showing, but glisten ing with that pure fancy and happy temper which are among the choicest gifts of literature to a tired world. These are his works which give him his place in liter- ature, but during the time wlien they were composed he was constantly at work upon tasks, lie wrote his histories of England and Rome and his " Animated Nature," which, despite its unscientific! cast, is a store* house of delightful reading; and he wrote reviewSi 12 BTOGRA PHICA L SKE TCR . essays, prefaces, translations, and the like, quite beyond record. Yet all this time he was in deht. PTe did not want because his work was ill paid or he was not indus- trious, but because his money slipped through his fingers, too volatile to hold it fast. Some of it went upon his back in the odd finery which has stuck tc his reputation, but a large share went to the poor and miserable. Look at the poor man lying dead in his solitary chamber. " The staircase of Birch Court is said to have been filled with mourners, the reverse of domestic : women without a home, without domesticity of any kind, with no friend but him they had come to weep for, outcasts of that great, solitary, wicked city, to whom he had never forgotten to be kind and char- itable."! There were two sets of people who looked upon Oliver Goldsmith the poet, and each saw correctly enough what each was capable of seeing. One saw in him a shiftless, vain, awkward, homely fellow, thrust- ing himself into good company, blundering, blurting out nonsense or malapx'opos sayings, a gooseberry fool. The other, containing men of genius, laughed at "poor Goldy," but never failed to seek his com- pany and to receive him as their equal. When Bvrke was told of his death, he burst into tears. Reynolds was painting when the news was brought to him ; he laid his pencil aside and would not go back that day to his studio, a sign of grief never shown in times of deep family distress. Johnson never ceased to mourn him, and cast his profoundest conviction of the poet's genius into the monumental lines which form one of the noblest of elegies. ^ Forster's The. Life and Ti.aes of Oliver Golffsniith, ii. 467- THE DESERTED VILLAGE. INTRODUCTORY NOTE. *' The Deserted Village " was not Goldsmith's first considerable poem; that was "The Traveller," pub- lished five or six years earlier ; but it is the produc- tion which has endeared him most to readers, and it is in form and content one of the most melodious and at the same time thoughtful poems in the English lan- guage. Its foundations are laid deep in human na- ture, for it is at once the refiection of a man upon the beginning of his life, and the return in thought of one who has seen much of the world to tliose simple de- lights which are most elemental, least dependent uj)()n the conventions of complex society. The poem is, be- sides, the contribution of an earnest thinker toward the solution of great national and social problems. Goldsmith had already shown in " The Traveller " not only that he was a clear-sighted observer of scenes in various lands and an interpreter of national character- istics, but that his mind had been at work on the great ijuestion of what constitutes the real prosperity of na- tions. In this poem he returns to the subject and makes his thought still more luminous by drawing a contrast between two separate conditions in the same nation, rather than instituting a comparison among several nations. Never was the truth of literary art, that the great- est success is attained when form and content ar»* 14 INTRODUCTORY NOTE. inseparably joined, better exemplified than in "The Deserted Village." Here is serious thought, but it is presented in such exquisite language, it is illustrated by such a series of charming pictures that one scarcely perceives at first the solidity of the structure of the poem. A great contemporary of Goldsmith's, Dr. Samuel Johnson, wrote a sonorous and thoughtful poem called " The Vanity of Human Wishes," but though it was greatly and justly praised at the time, ^1 has failed to fasten itself on the affection of readers for lack of that translucent beauty of form which has preserved " The Deserted Village " and " The Trav- eller." For Goldsmith was preemiiuMitly a poet ; in his trav- els he saw into the soul of things ; in his reflection he penetrated beneath the surface, and in his expres- sion, both as regards words, phrases, and construction, he had the intuitive sense which chose the right word, g.tve music to his phrase, and made the whole poem a work of art. This poem, therefore, like any great imaginative piece, must not be examined too closely for an identity with prosaic fact. There is a likeness, unquestionably, between Sweet Auburn, and Lissoy, the village where Goldsmith passed his childhood ; the portrait of the village preacher might readily be taken for a sketch either of Goldsmith's father or his brother Henry; enthusiastic investigators even give the actual name of the " wretched matron, forced in age, for bread. To strip the brook with mantling ^iresses spread ; *' but one must never forget, if he would enter most com= pletely into the poet's way of looking at life, that all these facts of experience are transmuted into vivid INTRODUCTORY NOTE. If he IS images, creations of the poet's mind out of material afforded him by memory and observation. When* Goldsmith wrote ''The Deserted Village," he was at the height of his fame and his power. He was now in his forty-seeond year ; he had produced in close proximity to each other a few years before, u. notable poem, '' The i raveller," and a still more nota ble piece of fiction, ''Tlie Vicar of Wakefield." He was the friend of the literary nobility of the day, and was regarded by the booksellers as an important liter- ary workman. The poem was published May 26, 1770. Its success was immediate and great. Within three months five editions were called for, and though we do not know the size of the editions, it is easy to see from tliis statement that each time the bookseller.} printed, public interest ran ahead of their calculations. The poem was dedicated to the great English painter, Sir Joshua Reynolds, who returned the compliment by painting a picture, '' Resignation," to be engraved by Thomas Watson and inscribed with these words: " This attempt to express a character in ' The De- serted Village ' is dedicated to Doctor Goldsmith, by his sincere friend and admirer, Joshua Reynolds." There was another ]ioet whose name is easily linked with that of Goldsmith, Thomas Gray, the author of *' An Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard." He had distilled his precious verse, and was now passing what proved to be the last sunnner of his life with his friend Nicholls at Malvern, when the poem came out. He asked to hear it read ; and listening attentively to it, he gave the emphatic verdict, which was much from Gray, " That man is a poet." The fame of the poem extended far, for Goethe in liis autobiographic memoir refers to it thus : '' A 16 iNTuui>ucr(fHy note. poetical production, wlii(!h our little circle hailed witli transport, now occui)ic{l our attention : this was Goldsmith's ' TIte Deserted Village.' This poem seemed perfectly adapted to the sentiments which then actuated us. The pi(;tures which it represented were those which we loved to contemplate and sought with avidity, in order to enjoy them with all the zest of youth.'' Goethe's attitude toward the poem suggests a line of research for the student who wishes to carry his study of the poem beyond the ordinary limits, and that is, an inquiry into the temper of the most thoughtful English, German, and French writers just prior to that ui)heaval of society which found its most violent expression in the French Kevolution. The reader of the poem, as well as of Goldsmith's verse in general, if he is unfamiliar with any other than nineteenth-century poetry, will very likely be puzzled by the use of words in senses unfamiliar. Some of these uses are pointed out in the notes, but many more will be learned by recourse ,to a good dic- tionary. Next to a reading of the poem for delight comes the scrutiny of the language, and the reader is advised to look closely at the words, since in many instances an apparent meaning will be found to be more modern ; the real meaning to be an historical one, familiar to Goldsmith, but antiquated now. In- deed, in some respects Goldsmith's language is more likely to be misinterpreted than Shakespeare's. DEDICATION. TO SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. Dear Sir, — I can have no expectations, in ar 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 in- dulged at present in following my affections. The only dedication I ever made was to my brother, be- cause I loved him better than most other men. He is since dead. Permit me to inscribe 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 no- where to be seen, and the disorders it laments are only to be found in the poet's own imagination. To this I can scarce make any other answer than that T 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 18 DEDICATION. iiiqiiiry, whether the country he tlep()]>ulatiiig or not; the discussion would take up nnich room, unci I should prove myself, at hest, 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 in- veigh against the increase of our luxuries ; and here also I ex])ect the shout of modern politicians against me. For twenty or thirty years past, it has been the fashion to consider luxury as one of the greatest na- tional 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 luxuries prejudicial to states by which so many vices are introduced, and so many kingdoms have been undone. Inc'eed, 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. Sweet Aulmrn ! loveliest village^ of the plain, Where health aiul plenty cheerM the lalDoring swain, Where smiling spring its earliest visit paid, And parting summer's lingering blooms delay'd ; 5 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 ! aIow often have I pausM on every charm, 10 The shelter'd cot, the cultivated farm, The never-failing brook, the busy mill. The decent church that topt the neighboring hill, The hawthorn bush with seats beneath the shade, For talking age and whispering lovers made ! 15 How often have I blest 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, ?o The young contending as the old survey'd ; 4. Parting, i. e., departing, much as we use the phrase " to part with." Here summer parts with us. 12. Decent. Following its Latin origin, the word was most commonly used in the eighteenth century in its sense of becom- ing, fit. 19. Circled. See an equivalent phrase in line 22. 20 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 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 ; 2s The dancing pair that sim])ly sought renown, By holding out, to tire each other down ; The swain mistrustless of his smutted face, Wljile secret laughter titter'd round the place; The bashful virgin's sidelong looks of love, 30 The matron's glance that would those looks re- prove : 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. 35 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, io 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 ; 27. The rude sports of the village no doubt survive iu English country life ; any one who reads the chapter A London Suburb in Hawthorne's Our Old Home will recognize a likeness between Greenwich Fair as Hawthorne saw it and the Sweet Auburn of Goldsmith's recollection. And American readers could supply from boyish pranks the explanation of **The swain mistrustless of bis smutted face.'* THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 21 Along thy glades, a solitary guest, The hollow-sounding bittern guards its nest ; 46 Amidst *liy 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'ertons the mouldering wall ; And, trembling, shrinking from the spoiler's hand 30 Far, far away thy children leave the land. Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey, Where wealth accumulates, and men decay ; Princes and lords may flourish, or may fade : A breath can make them, as w breath has made 65 But a bold peasantry, their country's pride, When once destroy'd, can never, be supplied. A time there was, ere p]ngland*s griefs began, When every rood of ground maintain'd its man ; For him light labor spread her wholesome store, «o Just gave what life requir'd, but gave no more ; His best companions, innocence and health ; And his best r'^hes, ignorance of wealth. But times are alter'd ; trade's unfeeling train Usurp the land, and dispossess the swain ; 44. In his Animated Nature, which is a book of descriptive natural history, Gohlsinith uses the same term to characterizu the bittern, " Of all these sounds," he says, " there is none so dis- mally hollow as the booming of the bittern. ... I remember in the place where I was a boy, with what terror this bird's note affected the whole village." 52. Goldsmith wrote earnestly and at some length on this theme in the nineteenth chapter of The Vicar of Wakefield. 63. The plural idea in train was uppermost in Goldsmith's mind, so that he uses the plural form in the verbs in the next line. 22 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 63 Along the lawn, where scjitter'd hiiuilt'ts rose, Unwieldy wealth and ciunbrous poMip repose; And every want to opulenee allied, A:id every l)ang that folly pays to pride. Those gentle hours that plenty bade to bloom w Tliose calm desires that ask'd but little room, Those healthful sports that gracM the peaceful scene, Liv'd in ea'v^h look, and brighteuM all the green : These, far departing, s(?ek a kinder shore, And rural mirth and manners are no more. 76 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 80 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 wanderings round this world of care, In all my griefs — and God has given 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 — 90 Amidst the swains to show iny 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, 74. Maimers has here the meaning' of customs rather than be« havior. THE DESERTED VILLAGE. Pants to i\\i\ pliiee f lom wiu'iufc iit first she flew, M I still hail h()|)t\s, my loii^' vexations past, Hero to return, — an I die at hon\e at last. O blest retirement ! friend to life's decline, Retreat from care, that never must be mine. How blest is he who crowns in shades like these 1(H) A youth of labor with an age of ease ; Who quits a worhl where strong temptations tryj And, since 't is hard to cond)at, learns to fly I For him no wretches, born to work and weep. Explore the mine, or temi)t the dangerous deep j 105 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 ; Bends to the grave with unperceiv'd decay, 110 While resignation gently slopes the way ; And, all his prospects brightening to the last, His heaven commences ere the world be past. Sweet was the sound, when oft at evening's close Up yonder hill the village murmur rose. 115 There, as I pass'd with careless steps and slow. The mingling notes came sof ten'd from below : The swain responsive as the milkmaid sung. The sober herd that low'd to meet their young; The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool ; 120 The playful children just let loose from school; 101. Goldsniltli, writing one may say almost as a journalist, gave little heed to possible repetitions of his phrases, and in Thb Bee he wrote : '* By struggling wi^h n'isfortunes, we are sure to receive some wound in the conflict : the only method to come oflf victorious is by running away." 24 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. The watch-dog's voice that bay'd the whispering wind, And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind : These all in sweet confusion sought the shade, And fiird each i)ause the nightingale had made. I2r. But now the sounds of population fail, No cheerful murmurs fluctuate in the gale, No busy steps the grass-grown footway tread, But all the bloomy flush of life is fled. All but yon widow'd, solitary thing 130 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 — i;{5 She only left of all the harmless train, The sael historian of the pensile plain. Near yonder copse, w^here once the garden smiPd* And still where many a garden flow^er grows wild. There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, 140 The village preacher's modest mansion rose. A man he was to all the country dear. And passing rich with forty pounds a year. 121. " I had rjitlier Le a dog, and Lay the moon, than such a Roman." — Shakespeare, Julius Ccesar, Act iv. Scene iii. 1. 27. 124. Again in his Animated Nature, Goldsmith says: "The nightingale's pausing song would he the proper epithet for this bird's music." 141. One needs but to read Goldsmith's dedication of The Traveller to see how closely he copied from life in drawing this portrait of the village preacher. Goldsmith's use of " passing" ia as Shakespeare's "She awuru, in faith, 'twaa atrange, 'twaa pasHing strange." Otbellu, Aut 1. Scene iii. 1. 16a THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 25 ReiiiOte from towns he ran his godly race, Nor e'er had chang'd, nor wishM to change, his place; 145 Unpractis'd he to fawn, or seek for power, By doctrines fashioned to the varying hour ; Far other aims his heart had learn'd to prize, More skill'd to raise the wretched than to rise. His house was known to all the vagrant train, irx) He chid their wanderings, but relievM their pain* The long-remember'd beggar was his guest. Whose beard descending swept his aged breast ; The ruin'd spendthrift, now no longer proud, Claimed kindred there, and had his claims allow'di uvThe 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 shew'd how fields were won. Pleas'd with his guests, the good man learn'd to glow, 160 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 : 165 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, I'O AUur'd to brighter worlds, and led the way. Beside the bed where parting life was laid. And sorrow, guilt, and pain, by turns dismay'd. 171. f^ee note on line 4, 20 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. The reverend champion stood. At his control, Despair and anguisli fled the struggling soul ; 175 Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise, And his last faltering 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, 130 And fools, who came to scoff, remain'd to pray. The service past, around the pious man. With steady zeal, each honest rustic ran; Even children follow'd, with endearing wile. And pluck'd his gown, to share the good man's smile. 1S5 His ready smile a parent's warmth exprest. Their welfare pleas'd him, and their cares di trest ; 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, 190 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 g?y, ' ' 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 everv truant knew : Well had the boding tremblers h^arn'd to trace 2W The day's disasters in his morning face ; Full well they laughM, with countorfinted glee, At all his jokes, for many a joke had lie ; THE DESEHTEl) VILLAGE. 27 Full well the busy whisper, circling round, Convey'd the dismal tidings when lie frown'd. i!05 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 ; 'T was certain he could write, and cipher too ; Lands he could measure, terms and tides presage, no And even the story ran that he could gauge ; In arguing, too, the parson ownVl his skill. For even though vanquisli'd he could argue still ; While words of 'earned length and thundering sound Amaz'd the gazing rustics rang'd around ; 215 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 triumpli'd, is forgot. Near yonder thorn, that lifts its head on high, m Where once the sign -post caught the passing eye, Low lies that house where nut-brown draughts in- spired, Where gray-beard mirth and smiling toil retir'd, Where village statesmen talk'd with looks pro- found, And news much older than their ale went round. 225 Imagination fondly stoops to trace 209. The terms were sc>,sioiis of law courts cand universities The tides were times and seasons, especially in the ecclesias- tical year. He could tell when Eastertide, for instance, would come. 210. A ganger is in some places a sworn officer, whose duty it is to measure the contents of hogsheads, barrels, or casks. 28 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. The parlor spJondors of that festive place : The whitewash'd wall, the nicely sanded floor, The varnish'd clock that click'd behind the door 3 The chest contriv'd a double debt to pay, m 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, isr, While broken teacups, wisely kept for show, Eang\l o'er the chimney, glisten'd in a row. Vain, transitory splendors ! could not all Reprieve the tottering mansion from its fall? Obscure it sinks, nor shall it more impart no 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 ; 245 No more the smith his dusky brow shall clear, Relax his ponderous strength, and lean to hear ; The host himself no longer shall be found Careful to see the mantling bliss go round ; 226-236. The first form of this description will be found itr the verses given later, page 88. 232. The twelve rules ascribed to Charles I. were : 1. Urge no healths. 2. Profane no divine ordinances. 3. Touch no state matters. 4. Keveal no secrets. 5. Pick no quarrels. 6. Make no companions. 7. Maintain no ill opinions. 8. Keep no bad company. 9. Encourage no vice. 10. Make no long meal. 11. Repeat no grievances. 12. Lay no wagers. Tlie royal game of goose was a species of checkers. 244, Woodman's ; that is, a man versed in woodcraft, as a hunter, not necessarily a wood-chopper. THE DESERVED VILLAGE. ^ Nor the coy maid, half willing to be prest, 250 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. 255 Spontaneous joys, where nature has its play, The soul adopts, and owns their first-born swayj Lightly they frolic o'er the vacant mind, Unenvied, unmolested, unconfm'd. But the long pomp, the midnight masquerade, 260 With all the freaks of wanton wealth array 'd, — In these, ere triflers half their wish obtain, The toiling pleasure sickens into pain ; And even while fashion's brightest arts decoy, The heart, distrusting, ask if this be joy. 866 Ye friends to truth, ye statesmen, who survey The rich man's joys increase, the poor's decay, 'T is yours to judge how wide the limits stand Between a splendid and a happy land. Proud swells the tide with loads of freighted ore- ro 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. 250. To kiss the cup was to touch it with the lips before ptisH^ ing. Ben Jonson's well-known verses to Celia begin : — "Drink to me only with thine eyes, And I will pledge with mine ; Or leave a kiss but in the cup, And I '11 not look for wine." 268. Goldsmith says a similar thing in the Citizen of the World, when he makes the sententious remark : " There is a wide difference between a conquering and a flourishing empire-*' 80 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 280 ©5 Yet count our gains : this wealth is but a name, That leaves our useful products still the same. Not so the loss. The man of wealth and pride Takes up a space that many poor supplied ; Space for his lake, his park's extended boundsc, Space for his horses, equipage, and hounds : The robe that wraps his limbs in silken sloth Has robb'd the neighboring fields of half theii 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. Wliile thus the land, adorn'd for pleasure, all In b^.rren s2)lendor feebly waits the fall. As some fair female, unadorned and plain, Secure to })lease while youth confirms her reign, Slights every borrow'd charm that dress supplies, »o 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 im])otence of dress : ws 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, i'Oo The mournful peasant leads his humble band ; And while he sinks, without one arm to save. The country blooms — a garden and a grave. 287. The use of " female " for " woman " was common as late as Walter Scott. THE DESi^RTED VILLAGE, 31 Where then, ah ! where shall poverty reside, To 'scape the pressure of contiguous pride ? 305 If to some common's fenceless limits stray'd, He drives his flock to pick the scanty blade, Those fenceless fiekls the sons of wealth divide* And even the bare-worn common is d«nied. If to the city sped, what waits him there ? 310 To see profusion that he must not share ; To see ten thousand baneful arts combin'd. To pamper luxury, and thin mankind ; To see those joys the sons of pleasure know Extorted from his fellow-creature's woe. lUE TRAVELLER; OR A PROSPECT OF SOCIETY. INTRODUCTORY NOTE. "The Deserted Village " is used in this little vol uiiie to iiitroduc*^ the reader to Goldsmitirs poetry, be« cause it is the more delightful of the two j)oems ; and yet we doubt if any one who has enjoyed it will lose his interest as he goes on and reads " The Traveller." Dr. Johnson, no mean critic, was disposed to ])refer it to the other poem. " Take him as a poet," he said ; "his 'Traveller* is a very fine performance; ay, and so is his ' Deserted Village,' were it not sometimes too much the echo of his ' Traveller.' " And at an. other time, when the poem first appeared, he exclaimed, " There has not been so fine a poem since Pope's time." ** The Deserted Village " is not so much an echo of " The Traveller " as it is a restatement of the funda- mental idea in that poem under another light, as we have noticed in the " Introductory Note." Its form was determined in part by the mode of its composition. It would be too bald a phrase to say that it is a poeti cal diary, and Goldsmith had too fine a sense of po etic art to make it such ; but it follows, as it were» the course of its author's wanderings, and is a poetic epi- gram of his observations and reflections in various countries. It was begun in Switzerland in 1755, but not com- pleted until 1764 ; and though Goldsmith had written 38 INTRODUCTORY NOTE. and printed Diucli prior to tluit time, this was the first work which bore his name and was therefore his introduction as an author to tlie reading public. The effect of the poem upon his own reputation was great. He had been in the eyes of those about him a blunder- ing good fellow, a newspaper essayist and bookseller's drudge. He belonged indeed to the Literary Club, but it was by virtae of his complete absorption in lit* erary pursuits, rather than because of any separate and distinguished work. Now he began to be estimated at his real worth. " Goldsmith being mentioned,*' says Boswell, who spoke the truth In spite of his preju^ dices, — a sort of Balaam in literature, — " Johnson observed that it was long before his merit came to be acknowledged. That he once complained to him, in ludicrous terms of distress, ' AVhenever I write any- thing, the public mal\:e a point to know nothing about it ; * but that his * Traveller ' brought him into high reputation. Langton. 'There is not one bad line in that poem ; not one of Dryden's careless verses.* Sir Joshua. ' I was glad to hear Chavles Fox say, it was one of the finest poems in the Englisli language.' Langton. ' Why was you glad ? You surely had no doubt of this before.' Johnson. ' No ; the merit of *'The Traveller" is so well established that Mr. Fox's praise cannot augment it, nor his censure diminish it.' Sir Joshua. ' But his friends may suspect they had too great partiality for him.' Johnson. * Nay, sir. the partiality of his friends was always against him. It was with tlifficulty we could give him a hearing. Goldsmith liad no settled notions upon any subject ; so he talked always at random. It seemed to be his intention to blurt out whatever was in his mind, and see what would become of it. He was angry, fxtix INTRODUCTORY^ NOTE. 39 when oatched in tin absurdity ; but it did not prevent him from fallin<;- into another tlie next minute.'"^ All this was said four years after Goldsmith's death, but it sets before us in lively fashion the contrast he presented between a consummate artist in his work and an impetuous, half stannnering talker. He was plainly at a disadvantage amongst men who miale con- versation a fine art, but his spontaneity, nevertheless, must have made him a delightful companion. ^^ The Traveller," as we have said, gave him at once intel- lectual repute among his peers. It gave him |)lace a little more slowly with the general public, but it needed only '' The Vicar of Wakefield " shortly after to give him an established reputation. It will be noticed that Goldsmith in his dedication of " The Traveller '' had some bitter words to say regarding ChurchllL Mr. Forster in his " Life and Adventures of Oliver Goldsmith " has taken excep- tion not to Goldsmitli's scorn, but to his application of it. "To Charles Ilanbury Williams," he says, "but not to Charles Churchill, sr.ch epithets belong. . . . Never, that he might merely fawn upon power or trample upon weakness, had Churchill let loose his pen. There was not a form of mean pretence or ser- vile assumption, which he did not use it to denounce. Low, pimping politics he abhorred ; and that their worthless abettors, to whose exposure his works are so incessantly devoted, have not carried him into oblivion with themselves, argues something for the sound mo- rality and permanent truth expressed in his manly verse. By these the new poet was to profit ; as much by the faidts which perished with the satirist, and ^ BosweWs Life of Johnson, edited by George Eirkbeck I J ill, fii. 252. 40 lUTRODUCTORY NOTE, left the lesson of avoidance to liis successoi's. In the interval since Pope's and Thomson's death, since Col- lins's faint, sweet song, since the silence of Young, of Akenside, and of Gray, no such easy, familiar, and vigorous verse as Churchill's had dwelt in the public ear. The less likely was it now to turn awav, impa- tient or intolerant of * The Traveller.'" 1^ the Joi- ,of and bllo I DEDICATION. TO THE REV. HENRY (40LDSMITH. Dear Sir, — I am scnsibk' tliat the friendship be tween ns can acqnire no new force from tlie cere- monies of a dedicatioji ; and perhaps it demands an excuse thus to iirefix your name to my attempts, which you decline giving with your own. But as a part of this poem was formerly written to you from Switzer- land, the whole can now, with propriety, be only in- scribed to you. It will also throw a light upon many parts of it, when the reader understands that it is ad- dressed to a man who, despising fame and fortune, has retired early to happiness and obscurity, with an income of forty pounds a year. I now perceivx% my dear brother, the wisdom of your humhle choice. You have entered upon a sacred office, where the harvest is great, and the laborers are but few ; while you have left the field of and)ition, where the laborers are many, and the harvest not worth carrying away. But of all kinds of ambition. — what from the refinement of the times, from differ- ent systems of criticism, and from the divisions oi party, — that which pursues })oetical fame is the wild- est. Poetry makes a principal amusement among unpol- ished nations *, but in a country verging to the extremes of refinement, painting and nuisic come in for a share. As these offer the feeble mind a less laborious enter 42 DEDTCATTON'. tainment, they at first rival poetry, and at length sup* plant her : they engross all that favor once shown to her, and, though but younger sisters, seize upon the elder's birthright. Yet, however this art may be neglected by the pow- erful, it is still in greater danger from the mistaken efforts of the learned to improve it. What criticisms liave we not heard of late in favor of blank verse and Pindaric odes, choruses, anapests and iambics, alliter- ative care and happy negligence ! Every absurdity has now a champion to defend it ; and as he is gener- ally much in the wrong, so he has always much to say ; for error is ever talkative. But there is an enemy to this art still more danger- ous — I mean party. Party entirely distorts the judg- ment, and destroys the taste. When the mind is once infected with this disease, it can only find pleasure in what contributes to increase the distemper. Like the tiger, that seldom desists from pursuing man after having once preyed upon human flesh, the reader, who has once gratified his appetite with calumny, makes, ever after, the most agreeable feast upon murdered rep- utation. Such readers generally admire some half- witted thing, who wants to be thought a bold man,^ having lost the character of a wise one. Him they dignify with the name of poet : his tawdry lampoons are called satires ; his turbulence is said to be force, and his frenzy fire. What reception a poem may find, which has neither abuse, party, nor blank verse to support it, I cannot tell, nor am I solicitous to know. My aims are right. * Churchill, at whom all this is aimed, died 4th November, 1764, wliile the first edition of " The Traveller " was passing through the press. — Peter Cunnin(;ham, J)h:niCATlON, 43 Without espoiisino^ iljo v'au?a^ of nny jmrty, I have at< tempted to moderate the ijjge of alL I have endeav- ored to show, that there may be equal happiness in states that are differently governed from our own ; that every state has a particular ])rinci])le of hap])iness, and that this i)rinciple in eaeli may be carried to a mischievous excess. There are few can judge, better than yourself, how far these positions are illustrated in this poem. I am, dear Sir, Your most affectionate Brother, Oliver Goldsmith, THE TRAVELLER. Remote, unfriended, melancholy, slow, — - Or by the lazy Scheldt or wandering Po ; Or onward, where the rude Carinthian boor Against the houseless stranger shuts the door; 5 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 ; 1 . There are few lines in English verse that compel a correct reading so certainly as this. It is almost impossible for the most heedless not to read it with a lingering emphasis on each word. The story is told by Boswell that at a meeting of the Lit- erary Club just after the publication of the poem somebody asked Goldsmith what he meant by the word *' slow ; *' did he mean tardiness of locomotion ? *' 1^ es," replied Goldsmith, but Johnson caught him up, saying : " No sir, you did not mean tardiness of locomotion ; you meant that sluggishness of mind which comes upon a man in solitude." " Ah, that was what I meant," Goldsmith rejoined, accepting the more subtile inter- pretation. His answer gave rise to a suspicion that Johnson wrote the line as well as many others, but Johnson afterward in- dicated just what lines he did write, and they are named in the notes. Both the answers were correct; one does not exclude the other. The main thing to be noted is that the poet instinct- ively used the right word. 2. "r ... or — a Latin form, which has pretty much dropped out of English use. 3. Peter Cunningham, one of Goldsmith's editors, writing in 1853, says : " Carinthia [east of the Tyrol] was visited by Gold* smith in 1755 and still retains its character for iuhospitality/' THE TRAVELLEH, 45 Still to my brother turns, with ceaseless pain, 10 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 ; 15 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, M 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 destin'd such delights to share. My prime of life in wandering spent and care — 86 Impelled, 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, so And find no spot of all the world my own. Ev'n now, where Alpine solitudes ascend, 10. In his Citizen of the World, Goldsmith repeats this senti- tneiit in prose : " The farther I travel I feel the pain of sepa ration with stronger force. Those ties that bind nie to my na tive country and you are still unbroken; by every remove Ionl> drag a greater length of chain." 13-22. Goldsmith returns to this theme with more specific Urords in The Deserted Village, lines 149-152. 24. The dashes used here and four lines below serve almost as marks of parenthesis, and enable the reader to perceive that a sentence has been suspended, and that it finds completion io Uues 29. 30. 46 OLIVER GOLDSMITH, I sit me down a ])ensive houi' to speiul ; And, plac'd on lii<>h above the storm's career^ Look downward where an hundred realms appear; io Lakes, forests, eities, plains, extending wide, The pomp of kings, the shepherd's hnmbler pride. When thus creation's charms around cond)ine, Amidst the store, should thankless pride repine ? Say, should tlie })hilosopliic mind disdain 44 That <»ood which makes each humbler bosom vain? Let school-taught })ride 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. 45 Ye glittering towns, with wealth and splendor crown'd. Ye fields, where sunnner spreads profusion round, Ye lakes, whose vessels catch the busy gale. Ye bending swains, that dress the flowery vale ; For me your tributary stores combine : 80 Creation's heir, the world — the world is mine I As some lone miser, visiting his store. Bends at his treasure, counts, recounts it o'er: Hoards after hoards his rising ra})tures fill. Yet still he sighs, for hoards are wanting still : K Thus to my breast alternate passions rise, Pleas'd with each good that Heaven to man swp plies : 41. School-taught pride ; i. e., the prule which he feels who has heen taught in the school of the philosophers, especially of the Stoics. 48. The swains, or peasants, bend at their work, which is that of tilling, or dressing the field, .or the use of the word " dress *' in such meaning, see Genesis ii. 15. } THE TRAVELLER. 47 Yet oft a si<»li prevails, and sorrows fall, To see the hoard of human bliss so small; And oft I wish, amidst the scene, to find 150 Some spot to real happiness consif^n'd, Where my worn soul, each wandering hope at rest May gatiit r bliss to see my fellows blest. But where to find that hai)piest spot below, Who can direct, when all ])retend to know ? 65 The shuddering tenant of the frigid zone Boldly proclaims that hai)piest 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, 70 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 gava Such is the patriot's boast, where'er we roam ; Plis first, best country ever is at home. 'b 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, 30 To different nations makes their blessings 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 57. Prevails, i. e., gets the better of one. Sorrow's fali isantv thetieal to " vising raptures " above. 60. Real must be read as a word of two syllables. 69. The phrase " crossing the line," of a ship sailing into the tropics, intimates what " the line " here is. «8 OLIVER aOLDSMITIl, On Idra's cliffs as Ariio's slu'lvy sule ; fis And, tli<)u«^h the rocky-civsU'd sununits frown. These rocks by custom turn to beds of down. From art more various are the blessings sent : Wealth, connnerce, honor, liberty, content. Yet these each otlicr's i)ower so strong" contest^ wThat either seems destructive of the rest. Where wealth and freedom reign, contentment faik And honor sinks where commerce long prevails. Hence every state, to one lov'd blessing prone, Conforms and models life to that alone: w Each to the favorite happiness attends. And s})urns the plan that aims at other ends ; Till, carried to excess in each domain, This favorite good begets peculiar pain. 1 But let us try these truths with closer eyeis, 100 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. 105 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 mouldering tops between no With venerable grandeur mark the scene. 84. The contrast is between the precipitous side of Idra ano 5;he gently sloping side of Arno. 87. Tlie comparison is between Nature, 81-80, and Art, 87, 88. 91, 92. These lines illustrate the exact meaning of line 90. 98. The pain peculiar to itself. THE TliAVELLEll. 49 ik Coultl nature's bounty satisfy the breast, The sons of Italy were surely blest. Whatever fruits in ditferent elinies are found, That proudly rise, or humbly eourt the ground; 113 Whatever blooms in torrid traets ap^iear, Whose bright sueeession decks the varied year ; Whatever sweets salute the northern sky With vernal lives, that blossom but to die: Those, here disi)orting, own the kindred soil, iJoNor ask hixuriance from the ])lanter\s toil; While sea-born gales their gelid wings expand To winnow fragrance round the smiling land. But small th(5 bliss that sense alone bestows, And sensual bliss is all the nation knows. 125 In florid beauty groves and fields appear, Man seems the only growth that dwindles here. Contrasted faults through all his numners reign : Though poor, luxurious ; though submissive, vain ; Though grave, yet trifling; zealous, yet untrue; I3t» And even 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 flourished through the state. At her command the palace learnt to rise, 13.J mo 88. 119. Own, i. e., own the soil to be kindred, or of like kind with that which is native to them. 124. Sensual derives its specific meaning here from sense in 1. 123, and must not be taken in an evil significance. 127. See The Deserted Village, 1. 74. 129. Zealous, for r xigion. 132. That opulence [when it has] departed. 60 OLI I ER (iOL DSMirri AgJiin the l(»iit»-fail('ii (lolmiin soii^^Iit the skios; The; <*iiiiv;is i;lo\vM heyoiid cv'n nature wiiriii, The j>r(!^n:int (luiurv teeiiiM with huiiiiin form; Till, iiioi'e unsteady than the soutiiern gale, 1^" C()nnn(4*(!e ou other shoriis display'd her sail; While nonf^ht reniain'd of all that riches jL;ave, Ihit towns ninnann'd, and lords without a slave ; And lat(i the nation found, with fi'uitless skil), Its former strength was hut plethorie ill. 145 Yet still the loss of wealtli is here supplied By arts, the s]>lendid wrecks of formei* j)ride ; From these the feehh^ lieart and long-fallen mind An easy compensation seem to iind. Here may be seen, in bloodless pomp array \l, ISO The pasteboard triumph and the cavalcade ; Processions form'd for pii^ty and love, A mistress or a saint in every grove. By sports like theses are all their cares beguil'd, The sports of children satisfy the cliild ; 156 Each nobler aim, represt l)y long control. Now sinks at last, or feebly mans the soid ; While low delights, succeeding fast behind, In happier mean.iess occu])y the mind. As in those domes where Ciesars once bore sway, 13G. The ruins of one age furnish the buiKling materials foj another. 139. It was the new enterprise of Prince Henry of Portugal and the Spanish sovereigns that wrested the sceptre of commercfl from Venice anil othei* Italian states. 143. Skill — knowledge. 114. In the Citizen of the Worlds Goldsmitli says : "In shorli the state resemhled one of those bodies l)loated with disease, whose bulk is only a symptom of its wretchedness. Their for- Uier opulence only rendered them more impotent." 159. See The Deserted Village, 1. 319. n THE TRAVELLER. 51 Ifw DofacM bv tlino and tottcriiii;' in decay, Tlun^ in the ruin, liccdh'ss of the d»'ad, The Hlii'ltor-stH'kin;;- peasant builds his shed; And, \vond('rin<^^ man could want the larger pile. Exults, and owns his cottaj»e with a sniih'. IS foi •tugal inerc« shorii sease, r for- 165 My soul, ttirn from them ; turn we to survey Where rou<;her 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, uo But man and steel, the soldier and liis sword; No v^ernal blooms their torpid I'ocks array. But winter lin<»ering chills the Lip of May ; No zephyr fondly sues the mountain's breast. But meteors glare, :;nd stormy glooms invest. 175 Yet still, even here, content can s))read a cliann, Redress the clime, and all its riige disarm. Though poor the peasant's hut, liis feasts thougli small, He sees his little lot the lot of all ; Sees no contiguous i)alace rear its head J80 To ijhame the meanness of his humble shed ; No costly lord the sumptuous banquet deal To make him h)athe his vegetable meal ; But calm, and bred in ignorance aiul toil. Each wish contracting, fits him to the soil. 185 Cheerful, at morn, he wakes from short repose, Breasts the keen air, and carols as he goes ; With patient angle troli.j the finny deep. Or drives his venturous ploughshare to the steep ; Or seeks the den where snow-tracks mark the way, 184, Fits him [self] to the soil. I 62 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 190 And drags the struggling savage into day. At nigiifc returning, every labor sped, He sits him down, the nionarcli of a shed ; Smiles by his cheerful fire, and round surveys His children's looks, that brighten at the blaze j 195 While his lov'd partner, boastful of her hoard, Displays her cleanly platter on the board ; And haply too some pilgrim, thitJier led. With many a tale repays the nightly bed. "t. Thus every good his native wilds imparl m Imprints the patriot passion on his heart ; And ev'n those hills 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 : 205 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 ; ao 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. 190. This same use of " savage " for " savage beast " is fol« lowed by Goldsmith in the Citizeii of the Worlds when he says ! " Drive the rehictant savage into the toils." 198. The nightly bed, i. e., ^he bed which each of such pilgrims may have for the niglit. A similar use appears in the petition, ** Give us this day our daily bread." 199. Thus every good [that] his native wilds impart. i THE TRA VELLER. m i\ 5 Whence from such lands each pleasing science flies, That first excites desire, and then snpplies ; Unknown to them, when sensual pleasures cloy, To fill the languid pause with finer joy ; Unknown those powers that raise the soul to flame 82« Catch every nerve, and vibrate through the frame : Their level life is but a smouldering fire, Unquench'd by want, unfann'd by strong desire; Unfit for raptures, or, if rai)tures cheer On some high festival of once a year, 2?5 In wild excess the vulgar breast takes fire, Till, buried in debauch, the bliss expire. But not their joys alone thus coarstdy flow ; Their morals, like their pleasures, are but low: For, as refinement stops, from sire to son, «30 Unalter'd, unimprov'd, the manners I'un ; And love's and friendship's finely pointed dart Fall blunted from each indunited heart. Some sterner virtues o'er the mountain's breast May sit, like falcons cowering on the nest ; B35 But all the gentler morals, such as play Through life's more cultur'd walks, and ch.arni the way, — These, far dispers'd, on timorous pinions fly. To sport and flutter in a kinder sky. 221. Level, not broken by variety. 226. The subjunctive mood was more common in Goldsmith's day than now. Yet we say, " Wait till I go." 232. The plural form in "fall" is nue to the careful separa- tion of " love's "and " friendship's " dart ; i. e., the dart of lova and the dart of friendship. 64 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. To kinder skies, where gentler manners reignr, U9 1 turn ; and France displays her bright domain. Gay, sprightly land of mirth and social ease, Pleas'd with thyself, whom all the world can jdeasCi How often have I led thy sportive choir, With tuneless pipe, beside the nuirnjuring Loire I 45 Where shading elms along the margin grew, And freshen'd from the wave the zephyr flew ; And haply, though my harsh touch, faltering still, But mock'd all tune, and marr'd the dancer's skill, Yet would the vill'.ige praise my wondrous power, }50 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, skillM in gestic lore. Has frisk'd beneath the burthen of threescore. S55 2fifl •Oil So bit-st a life these thoughtless realms displays Tims 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 even 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. 243. For the act.ial basis of this reuiiniscenoe, see the bio graphic sketch. 265, 266. This as well as the passage it sums up must be taken as an Englishman's judgment, though that of a ver}' acute Eng. lishman. THE TRAVELLER. 65 270 J/.) But while tliis softer art their bliss supplies, It gives their follies also room to rise ; For praise too dourly lovVl, or warmly sought, Enfeebles all intei'iial streno-th of tliouiihi : And the weak soul, within itself unblest, Leans for all pleasure on another's bi-east. Hence osteutation here, with tawdry art. Pants for tlie vulgar juaise whi«,'h fools impart; Here vanity assumes her pert grimace, And trims her I'obes of frieze with cop})er lace ; Here beggar pride defrauds her daily cheer. To boast one splendid banquet once a year : The mind still turns where shifting fjishion draws^ Nor weighs the solid worth of self-ap})lause. To men of other minds my fancy flies, Embosoni'd in the deep where Holland lies. Methinks her ])atient sons before me stand. Where the broad ocean leans against the land, 886 And, sedulous to stop the coming tide, Lift the tall ram])ire's artificial pride. Onward methinks, and diligently slow, The firm connected bulwark seems to grow, Spreads its long arms amidst the watery roar^ .J9II 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-})lossom'd vale. The willow-tufted bank, tlie gliding sail, 29. The crowded mart, the cultivated plain, — A new creation rescued from his reign. 273. The origin of tawdry, which the dictioiuirj' will give, is most curious. 56 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. Thus, while around the vvjive-suhjceted soil Impels tlic native to repeated toil, Industrious habits in each bosom reign, •M) And industry begets a love of gain. Hence all the good fi'om opulence that springs, With all those ills superfluous treasure brings, Are here display'd. Their mucli lov'd ^vealth iiL parts Convenience, plenty, elegance, and arts ; m But, view them closer, craft and fraud appear ; Even liberty itself is barter'd 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, 310 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 ; 315 War in each breast, and freedom on each brow ; How nmch unlike the sons of Britain now ! Fir'd at the sound, ni}^ genius spreads her wing, And flies where Britain courts the western spring : Where lawns extend that scorn Arcadian pride, 306. Rof erring possibly to the custom which permitted pai> ents to sell their children's labor for a term of years. 309. In the Citizen of the World, exactly the same words re- cur : " A nation once famous for setting the world an example of freedom is now become a land of tyrants and a den of slaves." 318. So in the Citizefi of the World, in praise of Britain: " Yet from the vernal softness of the air, the verdure of the fields, the transparency of the streams, and the beauty of the womeni h S( THE TRAVELLER. 5T o2l) IHi \m\ And brighter streams than t'ani'd Hydaspes glide. There all around the gentlest breezes stray, There gentle music melts on every spray ; Creation's mildest charms are there combin'd : Extremes are only in the master's mmd ! Stern o'er each bosom rcasan 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, fresli from Nature's hand. Fierce in their native hardiness of soul. True to imagined right, above contio] ; While even the peasant boasts these rights to scan. And learns to venerate himself as man. ssr) ■; 54(1 Thine, Freedom, thine the blessings pictur'd here. Thine are those chiirms that dazzle and endear ; Too blest, indeed, were such without alloy ; But, foster'd even by freedom, ills aniioy. That independence Britons prize too high Keeps man from man, and breaks the social tie ; The self-dependent lordlings stand alone. All claims that l)ind and sweeten life unknown. Here, by the bonds of nature feebly held. Minds combat minds, re])elling and repell'd ; here love might sport among' painted lawns an(^ warbling groves, and carol upon gales wafting at once both fragrance an^/ hfirmony." 330. Mr. Rolfe felicitously calls attention to a line in Tenny- son's Locksley Hall : — *' Cuiaed be the sickly forms that err from honest nature's rule." 58 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. MS Ferments arise, imprlsonM fiictioiis roar, Keprest aiubition struggles rouml lier shore ; Till, over-wrought, the general system feels Its motions stoj), or frenzy fire thc^ wheels. Nor this the worst. As nature's ties decay^ a" As duty, love, and honor fail to sway, Fictitious bonds, the bonds of wealth and law, Still gather strength, and force unwilling awe. Ilence all obedience hows to these alone, And talent sinks, and merit weeps unknown ; 355 Till time may come, when, stri])t 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 auvl poets wrote for fame, One sink of level avarjce shall lie, 3S0 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 Lid my soul aspire. Far from my bosom drive the low desire ; 365 And thou, fair Freedom, taught alike to feel The rabble's rage, and tyrant's angry steel ; Thou transitory flower, alike undone 345. " It is extremely difficult to induce a nuud)er of free beings to co-operate for their mutual benefits : every possible advantage will necessarily be sought, and every attempt to procure it must be attended with a new fermentation." — Citizen of the World. 357. Stems, i. e., families. 302. In the Preface to his Histon/ of England, Goldsmith agaii) says : '' In the things I have hitherto written, I have neither allured the vanity of the grejit by flattery, nor satisfied the ma- lignity of the vidgar by scandal ; but have endeavoured to get ao houeat reputation by liberal pursuits." THE TRAVELLER. 59 larins, fame, state, liTO 375 By proud contempt, or favor's fostering sun, Still may thy blooms the changeful clime endure I I only would repress them to secure : For just experience tells, in every soil. That those who think must govern those that toil; And all that Freedom's liighest aims can reach, Is but to lay propo^tion'd loads on each. Hence, should one order dis])roportion'd grow, Its double weidrt nnist ruin all below. Oh, 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, 'ISO Except when fast ap})roaching 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 ; 185 Each wanton judge new penal statutes draw. Laws grind the ])oor, and rich men rule the law ; The wealth of climes, where savage nations roam, Pillag'd from slaves to purchase slaves at home ; e beings Ivantagt it must World. th again neithei the iiia- i to gQi 382. " It is not yet decided in politics, whether the diminution of kingly power in England tends to increase the happiness or freedom of the people. For my own part, from seeing the bad effects of the tyranny of the great in those republican states that pretend to be free, I cannot help wishing that our monarchs may still be allowed to enjoy the power of controlling the en- croachments of the great at home." — I^reface to History oj England. " It is the interest of the great to diminish kingly power as much as possible." — Vicar of Wakefeld. 386. " What they may then expect may be seen by turning cur eyes to Holland, Genoa, or Venice, where the laws govern the poor, and the rich govern the law" — Vicar of Wakefield^ ch. six. 60 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. Feai, pity, justice, iiuligii" ' 'on, start, ffioTear off reserve, and bare my swelling heart; Till, half a patriot, half a 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 , W3 And thus pollnting 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, 400 Like flarrng tapers brightening as they waste , Seen opulence, her grandeui' to maintain, Lead stern depopulation in her train. And over fields where scatter'd hamlett3 rose, In barren, solitary pomp repose ? fi05 Have we not seen, at pleasure's lordly call. The smiling, long frequented village fall ? Beheld tlie duteous son, the sire decay'd. The modest matron, and the blushing maid, Forc'd froui their homes, a melancholy train, 110 To traverse climes beyond the western main ; Where v»'ild Oswego spreads her swamps around, And Niagara stuns with thundering sound ? 396. Gave [to] wealth. Heve, m graimnatical phrdsei ''wealth" is the indirect, and "to sway," etc., the direct object. 397. The thonght in the passage which follows is repeated id The Deserted Village. 411. ** Oh ! let me fly a land that spurrs the brave, Oswego's dreiry shores shall be iny grave.'* Threnodia Augustalis, Goldsmith. 412, Tliis pr(»nunciatio!i is still common in f^ngland and com« mends '^.self as more rotund and sor.orous than our sharper i^i&g'ara- :?-/.'^ > •" THE TRA VEILER, 61 )ur, >rce. iore, ■ f md, ; object, eated ia iMITH. rid com* sharper Even now, pcrliajis, as tliore some pilgrim strays Thro igh tangled forests, and through dangerous ways , ^fj Where beasts with man divided empire claim, And the brown Indian marks with murderous aim ; There, while above the giddy tempest flies, And all around distressful yells arise. The pensive exile, bending with his woe, 420 To stop too fearful, and too faint to go. Casts a long look where England's glories shine, And bids his bosom sympathize with mine. Vain, very vain, my weary search to find That bliss which only centres in the mind : «K 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, «8o That part which laws or kings can cause or cure ! Still to ourselves in every place consigned. Our own felicity we make or find : With secret course, which no loud storms annoy, Glides the smooth current of domestic joy. 435 The lifted axe, the agonizing wheel, Luke's iron crown, and Damiens' bed of steel, 420. One of Dr. Johnson's lines. 427. "Every mind seems capable of entertainingly a certain qnantity or happiness, which no constitntions can increase, no circumstances alter, and entirely independent on fortune." — Citizen of the World. 436. George and Lnke Dosa were two brothers who headed an unsuccessful revolt against the Hungarian nobles at the opening of the sixteenth century ; and George (not Luke) underwent the torture of the red-hot iron-crown, as a punishment for allowing 62 OLIVER GOLDSMITH, To men reinote from i)()vver l)ut rarely known, Leave reason, I'aitli, and conscience, all our own. himself to be procliiimed king of Iliiiigjiry, 1513, by the rebei- lious peasants. — Soe liioyraphie Universelle, xi. G04. The two brothers belonged to one of the native races of Transylvania, called Szecklers or Zecklers. — Foustkk's Goldsmith, i. 395, (ed. 1854.) — Cunningham. Robert Francois Daniiens was put to death with revolting barbarity, in the year 1757, for an attempt to assassinate Louig XV. — Cunningham. 438. Dr. Johnson wrote the last ten liiies, save line* 433, 4.^0 EDWIN AND ANGELINA: A BALLAD. INTHOnrCTORY NOTE. Onk of Goldsmith's friends wiis Tlioinas Percy, e«i. itor and somctinKi iiiitlior of a famous book, '^^Reliquea of Ancient En^^lish Poetry." The book is notabh; as niarkin<;' a revival in taste, for Bishop Percy pointed out the charm and rude beauty which lay in native, spontaneous poetry, desi)ised by English readers as havin<2: nothim*' in common with what was called elo- quent literature. But J5isliop Percy did not always print the old ballads just as he heard them ; he could not quite trust them to people, and therefore touched them up now and then, or wrote parts to fill out, and sometimes tried his hand at a new one in imitation of the old. Goldsmith and he had many talks on bal- lads, and as a consequence Goldsmith wrote and read to him the ballad here printed. It fell into the hands of the Countess of Northumberland whose husband was Percy's patron, and in 17G4, shortly after it was written, it was privately printed, '' for the anmse- » A writer in the newspapers charged Goldsmith with Having copied his ballad from one of Percy's, and the poet, in a letter to the printer of the " St. James's Gazette," answered the charge as follows : " Another correspondent of yours accuses me of having taken a ballad, I published some time ago, from one ^ by the ingenious Mr. Percy. I do not thinls • The Friar qf Orden Jray, of INTRODUCTORY NOTE, d5 there is any great resemblance b(»tween the two pieces in question. If there be any, liis ballad is taken from mine. I read it to Mr. Percy some years ago ; and he (as we both considered these things as trifles at bestj told me with his usual good humor, the next time 1 saw him, that he had taken my plan to form the fragments of Shakespeare into a ballad of his own. lie then read me his little Cento, if I may so call it, and I highly ai)i)rove{l it. Such petty anecdotes as these are scarcely worth printing ; and, were it not for the busy disposition of some of your correspond- ents, the public should never have known that he owes me the hint of his ballad, or that I am obliged to his friendshi]) and learning for communications of a much more important nature.'* EDWIN AND ANGELINA, ** Turn, gentle Hermit of the dale, And guide my lonely way, To where yon taper cheers the vale With hospitable ray. 5 " For here forlorn and lost I tread, With fainting steps and slow ; Where wilds, immeasurably spread.^ Seem lengthening as I go.'* " Forbear, my son," the Hermit cries, ao " To tempt the dangerous gloom ; For yonder faithless phantom flies To lure thee to thy doom. " Here to the houseless child of want My door is open still ; 15 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, 20 My blessing and repose. " No flocks that range the valley free To slaughter I condemn ; 1 L The fcaper which the stranger saw was a will o' the wi«p. IS wisp. EDWIN AND ANGELINA, ti? Tauglit by that Power that pities me, I learn to pity them ; -'^ " But from the mountain's grassy side A g-uiltless feast I bring ; A scrip with herbs and fruits supplied, And water from the spring. " Then, pilgrim, turn, thy cares forego ; 30 All earth-born cares are wrong : Man wants but little here below, Nor wants that little Ions'." Soft as the dew from heaven descends His gentle accents fell : 35 The modest stranger lowly bends And follows to the cell. Far in a wilderness obscure The lonely mansion lay ; A refuge to the neighboring poor^. *b And strangers led astray. No stores beneath its humble thatch Requir'd a master's care : The wicket, opening with a latch, Receiv'd the harmless pair. «5 And now, when busy crowds retire, To take their evenino- rest. The Hermit trimm'd his little fire, And cheer'd his pensive guest ; 31. '* The ruiiiiiii sympathetic mirth, Its tricks the kitten tries ; The cricket chirrups in the hearth ; The crackling fagot flies. But nothing could a charm impart To soothe the stranger's woe ; For grief was heavy at his heart, And tears began to flow. His rising (^ares the Hermit spied, With answering care opprest : '* And whence, unhappy youth," he cried, *^ Tlie sorrows of thy breast ? (i-) " 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 pilze the paltry thinggj More trifling stiil than they. ** And what is friendship but a name, A charm that lulls to bleep ; >■> A shade that follows wealth or fame, But leaves the wretch to weep ? i EDWIN AND ANGELINA. 69 "And love is still {in err ')tier sound. The modern fair-one's jest ; On earth unseen, or only found m To warm 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 lovelorn guest betray 'd. 35 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, 90 Alternate spread alarms : The lovely stranger stands confest A maid in all her charms. "And, ah! forgive a stranger rude, A wretch forlorn," she cried ; 95 " Whose feet unhallow'd thus intrude Where heaven and you reside. " But let a maid thy pity share. Whom love has taught to stray ; Who seeks for rest, but finds despair 100 Companion of her way. '' My father liv'd beside the Tyne, A wealthy lord was he. And all his wealth was mark'd as mine ,r He had but only me. 80. That is, the turtle-dove's. TO OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 106 " To win me from his tender arms, Unnumbered suitors came ; Who prais'd me for im^Mited charms. And felt, or feign 'd, a flame. " Each hour a mercenary crowd 110 With richest proffers strove : Among the rest young Edwin bow'd But never talk'd of love. •* In humble, simplest habit clad, No wealth or power had he ; io Wisdom and worth were all he had, But these were all to me. " And when beside me in the dale He caroU'd lays of love. His breath lent fragrance to the gale, i2o And music to the grove. " The blossom opening to the day, The dews of heaven refin'd, Could not of purity display To emulate his mind. tss ** The dew, the blossom on the tree. With eliarms inconstant shine ; Their charms were his, but, woe to me, Their constancy was mine. •' For still I tried each fickle art, 130 Imjiortunate and vain ; And while his passion toucliM my heart, I triumphed in his pain : 113. We sti]l spealc of a riding-habit. EDWIN AND ANGELINA. 71 " Till, quite dejected with my scorn, He left me to my pride ; 1S5 And sought a solitude forlorn, In secret, where he died. M " But mine the sorrow, mine the fault. And well my life shall pay ; I '11 seek the solitude he sought, 140 And stretch me where he lay. " And there forlorn, despairing, hid, I '11 lay me down ind die ; 'T was so for me that Edwin did. And so for him will I." t= -Forbid it. Heaven ! " the Hermit cried, And clasp'd her lo his breast : The wondering fair one turn'd to chide, 'T was Edwin's self that prest. " Turn, Angelina, ever dear, 150 My charmer, turn to see Thy own, thy long-lost Edwin here, Restor'd to love and thee. " Thus let me hold thee to mv heart. And every care resign : 1^5 And shall we never, never part. My life — my all that 's mine ? ** No, never from this hour to jmrt. We '11 live and love so true : The sigh that rends thy constant heart IW Shall break thy Edwin's too." RETALIATION. I]STRODUCTORY NOTE. After Goldsmith's death the lines entitled " Retali- ation " were published. They were ineomplete, and they appear to have been written at different times. Indeed it was averred that the poem as originally de- signed by the poet came greatly to exceed his original intention. But against what was the poem in retalia- tion ? It will be remembered that his associates never could quite reconcile Goldsmith's writings, especially his great poems, with his awkward, blundering ways. They seem to have been tempted to measure the poet by the man, instead of the man by the poet. At any rate they could not resist trying their wit on him, and Garrick, the great actor, in particular, was persistent in his rather ill-mannered treatment of Goldsmith, and here is an account in Garrick's handwriting of the origin of the poem : — " As the cause of writing the following printed poem called Retaliation, has not yet been fully ex- plained, a person concerned in the business begs leave to give the following just and minute account of the whole affair. " At a meeting ^ of a company of gentlemen, who were well known to each other, jind diverting them- selves, among many other things, with the peculiar oddities of Dr. Goldsmith, who never woidd allow a * At the St. James's Coffee-House in St. James's Street. INTRODUCTORY NOTE. 73 superior in any art, from writing poetry down to dan- cing a hornpipe, the Doctor with great eagerness in^ sisted upon trying his epigrannnatic powers with Mr, Garrick, and each of them was to write the other's epitaph. Mr. Garrick immediately said that his epi- taph was finished, and spoke the following distich extempore : — Here lies Nolly Goldsmith, for shortness call'd Noll, Who wrote like an angel, but talk'd like poor Poll. Goldsmith, upon the company's laughing very heart- ily, grew very thoughtful, and either would not, or could not, write any thing at that time ; however, he went to work, and some weeks after produced the following printed poem called Retaliation, which has been much admired, and gone through several edi- tions. The publick in general have been mistaken in imagining that this poem was written in anger by the Doctor; it was just the contrary." Whoever reads the poem will see that if Gold- smith set out to pay u]> old scores he ended by draw- ing portraits which -vvere full of fine characterization and noble lines. It belongs thus in the class which includes Leigh Hunt's '' Feast of the Poets " and Lowell's " A Fable f(;r Critics." I RETALIATION. Of old, when Searron liis (•()mi)ain()ns invited, Kacli guest brought his dish, and the feast was united ; If our hx aJljiI :v.!i]>|ji,e.s us with beef and with fishj Let each gue t hiln^j; himself, and he brings the best dish : 5 Our dean shall be venison, just fresh from the plains ; Our Burke shall be tongue, with the garnish of brains ; Our Will shall be wildfowl, of excellent flavor, And Dick with his pepper shall heighten the sa- vor : Our Cumberland's sweetbread its place shall ob- tain, 10 And Douglas is pudding, substantial and plain ; Our Garrick 's a salad ; for in him we see 1 A French comic writer, who died a century or more before this poem was written. 3. The master of the St. James's Coffee-house, where Gold- smith, and the friends he has characterized in this poem occa> sionally dined. 5. Thomas Barnard, Dean of Derry, in Ireland. 6. Edmund Burke. 7. William Burke, late secretary to General Conway, and mem- ber for Bedwin, a kinsman of P^dmund. 8. Richard Burke, a younger brother of p]dmund. 9. Richard Cumberland, an unimportant man of letters. 10. John Douglas, canon of Windsor, afterward Bishop of Cai> lisle, and later still of Salisbury. RETALIATION. 75 was Oil, vinegar^ '/»ugav, and saltiiess agree : To make out the ubt. At least in six weeks I could not find 'eiu out ; Yet some have declar'd, and it can't be denied 'em, That slyboots was cursedly cunning to hide 'em. • Here lies our good Edmund, whose genius was such, 30 We scarcely can praise it or blamo it too much ; Who, born for the universe, narrow'd his mind, And to party gave up what was meant for mankind Though fraught with all learning, yet straining hie throat To persuade Tommy Townshend to lend him a vote ; 14. John Ridge, a memher of the Irish Br.r. 15. Thomas Hiekey, an eminent att' iney, whose liospitality and good humor acquired him in his club the title of " honest Toia Hickey." 23. Vide page 74. 34. Thomas Townshend, a member of Parliament. T6 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 85 Who, too aeep for his hearers, still went on refin« And thoujjfht of convincing, while they thought ot (lining : Though eciuiil to all things, for all things unfit j Too nice for a statesnum, too proud for a wit ; For a patriot too cool ; for a diudge disobedient ; 40 And too fond of the right to pursue the exj)edient- In short, 't was his fate, uneniployM or in place, sir. To eat mutton cold, and cut blocks with a razor. Here lies honest William, whose heart was a mint, While the owner ne'er knew half the good that was in 't ; 4.) The j)upil of impulse, it forc'd him along. His conduct still right, with his argument wrong. Still aiming at honor, yet fearing to roam. The coachman was tipsy, the chariot drove home : Would you ask for his merits? alas ! he had none •, 50 What was ^ood was spontaneous, his faults were his own. Here lies honest Richard, whose fate I must sigh at ; Alas that such frolic shoidd now be so quiet ! W^liat spirits were his ! what wit and what whim, Now breaking a jest, and now breaking a limb ; 55 Now wrangling and grumbling to keep up the ball Now teasiiig and vexing, yet laughing at all I In short so provoking a devil was Dick, That we wish'd him full ten times a day at Old Nick ; fA. As Ilichui'd Burke broke a loo; not long before, this was oa |uke to him. RETALIATION. But, missing liis mirth and ngrcciiblo vein, 80 As often we wi.ili'd to have Dick back again. w Here Cumberland lies, having acted his parts, The Terence of P^ngland, the mender of hearts; A flattering painter, who made it his care To draw men jis they ought to be, not as they are » His gallants are all faultless, his women divine, And comedy wonders at being so fin(^ ; Like a tragedy queen he has dizen'd her out. Or rather like tragedy giving ;\ rout. His fools have their follies so lost in a crowd 70 Of virtues and feelings, that folly grows proud ; And coxcombs, alike in tlieir failings ahme. Adopting Jiis portraits, aro pleasM with their own. Say, where has our poet this malady caught, Or wherefore his characters thus without fault ? ^5 Say, was it that vainly directing his view To find out men's virtues, and finding them few, Quite sick of pursuing each troublesome elf, He grew lazy at last, and drew from himself? Here Douglas retires from his toils to relax, 80 The scourge of impostors, the terror of quacks : Come, all ye quack bards, and ye quacking divines, Come, and dance on the spot where your tyrant re clines : When satire and censure encircled his throne, I fear'd for your safety, I fearM for my own ; » But now he is gone, and we want a detector. Our Dodds shall be pious, our Kenricks shall lec- ture ; 86. Our forefathers had no difficulty in making this line rhyme with the previous. The Rev. Dr. William Dodd was a fashion- 78 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. Maoplierson write l)()iul)aKt, and call it a style; Our Townslieiul make specrhos, and I shall (Compile ; New Landers and iJowers the Tweed shall cross over 80 No eonntryman livinc^ their tricks to discover ; Detection hei* taper shall rpiench tn a spark, And Scotchman meet Scotchman, and cheat in th*- dark. Here lies David Garrick, describe me who can, An abridi^'inent of all that was ])leasant in man ; ii5 As an actor, confest without rival to shine ; As a wit, if not first, in the very first line : Yet, with talents lik(» these, and an excellent heart The man had his failin<;s, a dupe to his art. Like an ill-judging beauty, his colors he spread, 100 And beplaster'd with roniije his own natural red. On the stag(i he was natural, simple, affectino^; 'T was only that when he was off, he was acting. With no reason on earth to go out of his way. He turnVl and he varied full ten times a day : 105 Though secure of our hearts, yet confoundedly sick If they were not his own by finessing and trick. He cast off his friends, as a huntsiiixn his pack ; For he knew, when he pleas'd, he could whistl' them back. Of praise a mere glutton, he swallow'd what came, >i'> And the puff of a dunce he mistook it for fame ; able preacher, but turned out to be a scamp. William Kenrick was a bitter critic of Goldsmith, and a lecturer on Shakespeare. 87. James Macpherson, who persuaded a good many otherwise Rcute men that the poems he wrote were the work of an ancier*. bard named Ossian. 89. Inferior writers whose errors Dr. Douglas had exposed. RETALIATION. 79 Till Ills rdisli ^rowii ciillons, almost to disease, Who j)opp«'i'M the hi«;lu'st was sure.st to ])leaso. But let us Ix; candid, and spoak out our mind, If dunces applauded, he ])aid them in kind. mYe Kenricks, ye Kellys, and \V^)0(U'alls so [i^rave, What a conunerce was yours, while you got and you gave ! How did Grub-street re-echo the shouts that you raisM, While he was he-RosciusM and you were beprais'd! But peace to his spirit, wherever it flies, rioTo act as an angel, and nnx with the skies. Those poets who owe their best fame to his skill, Shall still be his flatterers, go where he will ; Old Shakespeare receive him with praise and with love. And Beaunionts and Bens be Iiis Kellys above. 125 Here Hickey reclines, a most blunt, pleasant crea ture. And slander itself must allow him good nature ; He cherish'd his friend, and he relish'd a bumper. Yet one fault he had, and that one was a thumper. Perhaps you may ask if the man was a miser : 130 1 answer, No, no, for lie always was wiser. Too courteous, perhaps, or obligingly flat ? His ver> worst foe can't accuse him of that. Perhaps h<' confided in men as they go, And so was too foolishly lionest ? Ah, no ! 136 Then what was his failing ? come, tell it, and bura ye: He was — could he help it? — a special attorney. 115. Dramatists and dramatic critics, 124. Beaumont and Ben Jonsoii stood just below Shakespear© Kelly would scarcely be admitted to their company. 80 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. Here Reynolds is laid, and, to tell you my mind. He has not left a wiser or better behind. His pencil was striking, resistless, and grand ; ^40 His manners were gentle, complying, and bland : Still born to improve us in every part. His pencil our faces, his manners our heart. To coxcombs averse, yet most civilly steering. When they judg'd without skill, he was still hard of hearing : '«i When they talk'd of their Raphaels, Correggios, and stuff, He shifted his trumpet, and only took snuff. By flattery unspoiFd FOSrSCRIPT. HerkL Whitefoord reclines, and deny it who can, Though he merrily liv'd, he is now a grave man : 50 Rare compound of oddity, frolic, and fun ! Who relish'd a joke, and rejoic'd in a pun ; Whose temper was generous, open, sincere ; A stranger to flattery, a stranger to fear ; Who scatter'd around wit and humor at will ; ^^ Whose daily bon mots half a column might fill : A Scotchman, from pride and from prejudice free: A scholar, yet surely no pedant was he. 146. Sir Joshua was excessively deaf and obliged to use an ear trumpet. 147. Here Goldsmith in his last sickness laid down his pen. 148. Tlie lines that follow were found later and n >'^ printed until after the fourth edition of the poem h?d been published. They hppear to have been a draft intended to be worked in at some poii^t, no one can sr4.y where- Whitefoord was a wine merchant and dabster in letters. RETALIATION, n What pity, alas ! that so liberal a mind Should so lon<;' be to newspaper essays eonfin'd ! 160 Who perhaps to the sunnuit of science could soar, ^et content " if the table he set in a roar ; " Whose talents to fill any station were fit, Yet happy if Woodfall confessed him a wit. Ye newspaper witlings ! ye pert scribblnig folks ! 165 Who copied his squibs, and re-echoed his jokes ; Ye tame imitators, ye servile herd, come. Still follow your master, and visit his tomb : To deck it, bring with you festoons of the vine, And copious libations l)estow on his shrine ; 170 Then strew all around it (you can do no less) Cross reddhu/s, sh'ij) tieics^ and iiustahes of Jte iwess. Merry Whitefoord, farewell ! for thy sake I admit That a Scot may have humor, I had almost said wit ; This debt to thy memory I cannot refuse, iY5 " Thou best humor'd man with the worst humor'd muse. ?» 163. H. S. Woodfall was editor of the Public Advertiser. 171. Whitefoord had freciuently iudidged i-he town u'ith bumor- CMiS pieces under those titles in the Public Advmrtiser, ■*iiit 0immm i kmimm' » i( STANZAS ON THE TAKING OF QUEBEC. Amidst tlie clamor of exulting joys, Whicli triumpli forces from the patriot heart, Grief dares to mingle Jier Houl-i)iercing voice, And quells the ra])tures which from pleasures start. 5 O Wolfe ! to tliee a streaming flood of woe. Sighing we i)ay, and thiidt e\>n conquest dear ; Quebec in vain shall teacli our ])reast to qIow. WJiilst thy sad fate extorts the heart-wrung tear. Alive tlie foe tliy dreadful vigor fled, 10 And saw thee fall witli joy-pronouncing eyes : Yet they shall know tliou conquerest, thougli dead! Since from thy tomb a thousand heroes rise. i,,«f;;*Wift'>»*»<#,»*i'»W**!»i!««J»» a desc^ription of an author's red chambp:r. This is iiitcn'stin^ ;vs the fii-st form of some verses which later urere introdiicod vvitli chiuiges into The Desertnil Village. Where tlie Ketl Lk>n, staring o'tr the way, Invites each passing straii<;eT tliat -an pay ; Where Calvert's butt, and I^arson's black cham- pagne, Resale the drabs and bloods of Drury-lane ; ft There, in a lonely room, frr»m bailiffs snng. The Muse found Scroggen streteh'd })eneath a rug, \ window, patch'd with paper, lent a ray, That dimly sliow'd the state in which he lay ; Th(^ sanded floor that grits beneath the tread ; i< The humid wall with paltry pictures spread; The royai ;^ame of goose was there in view, And the twelve rules the royal martyr drew ; The seasons, f ram'd witli listing, found a place. And brave prince William show'd his lampblack face. 15 The morn was cold ; he views with keen desire Tlie rusty grate unconscious of a fire : With beer and milk arrears the frieze was scor'd. And five crack'd teacups dress'd the chimney board ; A nightcap deck'd his brows instead of bay, 20 A cap by night, — a stocking all the day ! 14. William, Duke of Cumberland, the hero of Culloden, 1765. FAIVULIAR QITOTATIONS FROM GOLD- SMITir. It Is iloubtt'ul if liny Kii^lisli poet, save Gray., has been ([noted ho ahnndantly in proportion to tlie amount lie lias written, as Goldsinitli. Almost every stanza of Gray's " l^^le<;y " is a familiar ipiotation, and the two poems " The Deserted Vilhe^e " and '' Tiie Traveller "* surely stand next in familiarity. In order to show this empliati'*nlly, permission has been ol)- tained from iVIr. John liai'tlett, compiler of that most satisfactory work '•'• Familiar (J[notations : a (A)lk'('tion of Passat»'es, Phrases and i^o verbs traced to their Sources in Ancient and ModtMii Literatnre," to re- print here the pai^es of his b/Ook covering' the ])oems contained in this nnnd)er of thti '' Kiv^erside Litera- ture Series." THE dp:serted village. 1 Sweet Auburn I loveliest village of the plain. fc Tlie hawtlioru bush with seats beneath the Hliade, For talking age and whispering lovers made! 29 The bashful virgin's sidelong l(n>ks of love. 1765. 61 111 fares the land, to hastening ills a prey, Where wealth aocnniulates, and men decisy; Piiiiees and lords lu^i} flourish, or may fade : A breath can make them, as a breatl? has made : J W OLIVKlt GOLDSMITH. But a bold peasantry, tlioir (rountry's pride. When once destroy'd, can never be HU})|)lied. *!i His best companions, innocence and bealth ; And his best riclies, ionoiance oi wcahh. "9 How blest is lu^ who crowns in slwuKs like these A youtli ot" labor with an age of ease I iio AVliib^ resignation gently slopes the way; And, all ills prospects brightcninL'' to tlie last, His heaven commences ere the world be past. '*ji Tlie watcli-doLj's voice that bay'd the whispering wind And tlie loud laugii that spoke the vacant mind. !4i A man he was to all the (lonntry dear. And passing rich witii forty j)()unds a year. ij7 Wept o'er his wounds, or, tales of sorrow done, Shouldered his crutch, and shew'd how fields were won, ic! 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. 11)7 And as a bird each fond endearment tries To tempt its new-fledg'd offspring to the skies, He tried each art, rei)rov'd each dull delay, Allur'd to brighter worlds, and led the way. iT9 Truth from liis lips ])revaird with double sway, 4nd fools, vdio came to scoff, remain'd to pray. i«{ Even children follow'd, with endearing wile, And pluck'd his gown, to share the good man's smile. FA MIL FA J! QUO TA TIONS. 91 189 As some tall clilV that lifts its awful form. Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm, Tiioiigh round its breast the roUinj^ clouds are spread, Eternal sunshine settles on its head. m Well had the hodinj;- tremblers learnM to trace The day's disasters in his mornin«»; face ; Full well they lauj^liM, with counterfeited /^lee, At all his iokes, tor ma.ny a joke had he ; Full well the busy whis|)(>r, circliuL;* round, Conve> "d the dismal tidings when he frown'd. Yet he was kind, or, if severe in auL;ht, The love he bore io Icarninii; was in fault, '['he village all declarM how nmch he knew ; 'T was certain he could write, and cipher too. 211 In arguino', too, the parson own'd his skill, For even though vaiupiish'd he could argue still ; While words of learned length and thundering sound Amaz'd the gazing rustics rang'd aroiuul ; And still they ga/'d, and still the wonder grew That one small head could carry all he knew. 22;5 Where village statesmen talk'd with looks profound, And news much older than their ale went round. '227 The whitewash'd wall, the nicely sanded floor, The varnish'd clock that <'lick'(l behind the door; The chest contriv'd a double debt to }>ay, A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day. 2.'{2 The twelve good rules, the royal game of goose. 25." To me more dear, congenial to my heart. One native charm, than all the gloss of art. 26a And even while fashion's brightest arts decoy, The heart, distrusting, ask \i this be ioy. IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 I.I ■10 |28 125 m m ^ hi 1.25 i 1.4 Ui 1^ 12.2 iiim 1.6 6" III VI /: y /A Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 872-4S03 V iV 4 ^ \\ % V 6^ 92 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 32« Her modest looks the cottage might adora, Sweet as the primrose jjeeps beiieatli the thorn. a43 Through torrid tracts with fainting steps they go. Where wild Altama murmurs to their wot . TS3 In all the silent manliness of grief. ^85 O Luxury ! thou curst by Heaven's decree ! «> Thou source of all my bliss and all my woe, That found'st me poor at first, and kee})'st me so. - THE TRAVELLER. 1 Remote, unfriended, melancholy, slow, — Or by the la/y S<'heldt, or wandering Po. 7 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. «i And learn the luxury of doing good. 90 Some fleeting good, that m(»cks me with the view. 4a These little things are great to little mano so Creation's heir, the world — the world is mine I rs Such is the patriot's boast, where'er we roam ; His first, best country ever is at home. w Where wealth and freedom reign, contentment fails, And honor sinks where commerce long prevails. FAMILIAR QUOTATIONS. J28 Man seems the only growth that dwindles here. 137 The canvas glow'd beyond ev'n nature warm, The pregnant quarry teem'd with human forme ifis By sports like tliese are all their cares beguil'd, The sports of children satisfy the child. 172 But winter lingering chills the lap of May. ifl.5 Cheerful, at morn, he wakes from short repose. Breasts the keen air, and carols as he goes. 207 So the loud torrent and the whirlwind's roar But bind him to his native mountains more. a^ 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 burthen of threescore. 93 sfis They please, are pleas'd ; they give to get esteem, Till, seeming blest, they grow to what they seem. 2R2 Embosom'd in the deep where Holland lies, Methinks her patient sons before me stand, Where the broad ocean leans against the land. 327 Pride in their port, defiance in their eye, I see the lords of human kind pass by. 356 The land of scholars, and the nurse of arms. sn For just experience tells, in every soil. That those who think must govern those that toiL 386 Laws grind the poor, and rich men rule the law. 94 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. ♦x) Forc'd from their homes, a melancholy train, To traverse climes heyond the western main ; Where wild Oswego spreads her swamps around]) And Niagara stuns with thundering sound. m Vain, very vain, my weary search to find That bliss which only centres in the mind. 30 Luke's iron crown, and Damiens' bed of steel RETALIATION. n Our Garrick 's a salad ; for in him we see Oil, vinegar, sugar, and saltness agree ! 24 Who mixt reason with jjleasure, and wisdom with mirth : If he had any faults, he has left us in doubt. 31 Who, born for the universe, narrow'd his mind. And to party gave up what was meant for mankind. Though fraught with all learning, yet straining his throat To persuade Tommy Townshend to lend him a vote ; Who, too deep for his hearers, still went on refining, And thought of convincing while they thought of din* ing: Though equal to all things, for all things unfit ; Too nice for a statesman, too proud for a wit. 46 His conduct still right, with his argument wrong. 63 A flattering painter, who made it his care To draw men as they ought to be, not as they are. «e Here lies David Garrick, describe me who can, An abridgment of all that was pleasant in isxasx. FAMILIAR QUOTATIONS. 96 »(i As a wit, if not first, in the very first line. ]oi On tlie stage lie was natural, sin]])lp, affectinp^ ; 'T was only that when he was oft' he was acting. 107 He cast off his friends as a huntsman his ])ack ; For he knew, when he pleas'd, he could whistle them back. 112 Who pepper'd the highest was surest to please, iir> When they talk'd of their Raphaels, Correggios, and stuff, He shifted his trumpet, and only took snuff. rith POSTSORII^. 175 "Thou best humor'd man, with the worst humor*d Muse." AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A MAD DOG. A kind and gentle heart he had, w To comfort friends and foes : The naked every day he clad, When he put on his clothes. And in that town a dog was founds As many dogs there be, 15 Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and houndj And curs of low degree. The dog, to gain his private ends, ao Went mad, and bit the man. The man recover'd of the bite 5 The dog it was that died |i) 4 96 OLIVER GOLDSMITH, AN ELEGY ON MRS. MARY BLAIZE. 1 Good people all, with one accord, Lament for Madam Blaize, Who never wanted a good word — From those who spoke her praise. The king himself has f oUow'd her -^ ao When she has walk*d before. i>ESCRIPTION OF AN AUTHOR'S BED-CHAMBER A nightcap deck'd his brows instead of bay, 20 A cap by night, — a stocking all the day I 613aa3cy 242 BEB