DR. OLIVER GOLDSMITH. BORN 1728. DIED 1774. -01 PRINCIPAL WRITINGS:-The Traveller; The Deserted Village; Edwin and Angelina; She Stoops to Conquer; The Vicar of Sweet Auburn." * (From "The Deserted Village."†) WEET Auburn! loveliest village of the plain, Where health and plenty cheer'd the labouring swain, Where smiling Spring its earliest visit paid, And parting Summer's lingering blooms delay'd; Seats of my youth, when every sport could please, The shelter'd cot, the cultivated farm, * AUBURN,-Goldsmith describes Lissoy, in Ireland, under this name. "The Deserted Village" (perhaps one of the most favourite poems in the English language) describes the happy condition of a country village in the olden time, and laments the changes which have since taken place. The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade, For talking age and whispering lovers made! And all the village train, from labour free, While many a pastime circled in the shade, And still, as each repeated pleasure tired, reprove : These were thy charms, sweet village! sports like these With sweet succession taught e'en toil to please: These round thy bowers their cheerful influence shed, These were thy charms-but all these charms are fled. The Village Preacher. (From "The Deserted Village.") EAR yonder copse, where once the garden smiled, And still where many a garden flower grows wild; There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, The village preacher's modest mansion rose. A man he was to all the country dear, And passing rich with forty pounds a year; Remote from towns he ran his godly race, Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change, his place; Unskilful he to fawn, or seek for power, By doctrines fashion'd to the varying hour; Far other aims his heart had learnt to prize, More bent to raise the wretched than to rise. His house was known to all the vagrant train, He chid their wanderings, but relieved their pain; The long-remember'd beggar was his guest, Whose beard descending swept his agèd breast; The ruin'd spendthrift, now no longer proud, Claim'd kindred there, and had his claims allow'd; The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay, Sat by his fire, and talk'd the night away; Wept o'er his wounds, or tales of sorrow done, Shoulder'd his crutch, and showed how fields were won. Pleased with nis guests, the good man learn'd to glow, And quite forgot their vices in their woe; Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, He watch'd and wept, he pray'd and felt for all; The Village Schoolmaster. (From "The Deserted Village.") ESIDE yon straggling fence, that skirts the way With blossom'd furze, unprofitably gay, There, in his noisy mansion, skilled to rule, The village master taught his little school: A man severe he was, and stern to view, I knew him well, and every truant knew; Well had the boding tremblers learned to trace The day's disasters in his morning face; Full well they laughed, with counterfeited glee, At all his jokes-for many a joke had he; Full well the busy whisper, circling round, For e'en though vanquished, he could argue still; While words of learnèd length and thundering sound Amazed the gazing rustics ranged around; And still they gazed; and still the wonder grew, That one small head--could carry all he knew. Switzerland. (From "The Traveller.") Y soul, turn from them; turn we to survey, Where rougher climes a nobler race display. Where the bleak Swiss their stormy mansion tread, And force a churlish soil for scanty bread: No product here the barren hills afford, But man and steel, the soldier and his sword. No vernal blooms their torpid rocks array, But winter, lingering, chills the lap of May; |