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OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 1728-1774.

THE TRAVELLER.

REMOTE, unfriended, melancholy, slow.

Where'er I roam, whatever realms to see,
My heart untravelled fondly turns to thee;
Still to my brother turns, with ceaseless pain,

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And drags at each remove a lengthening chain. Line 7.

And learn the luxury of doing good.*

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Some fleeting good, that mocks me with the view.

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Such is the patriot's boast, where'er we roam,
His first, best country ever is at home.

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By sports like these are all their cares beguiled;

The sports of children satisfy the child.

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But winter lingering chills the lap of May.

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So the loud torrent, and the whirlwind's roar,
But bind him to his native mountains more.

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Alike all ages: dames of ancient days

Have led their children through the mirthful maze ;

For all their luxury was doing good.

GARTH. Claremont, Line 148.

CRABBE. Tales of the Hall, Book .

He tried the luxury of doing good.

And the gay grandsire, skilled in gestic lore,

Has frisked beneath the burden of threescore. Line 251.

Embosom'd in the deep where Holland lies,
Methinks her patient sons before me stand
Where the broad ocean leans against the land.

Pride in their port, defiance in their eye,
I see the lords of human kind pass by.*

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The land of scholars, and the nurse of arms.

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For just experience tells, in every soil,

That those that think must govern those that toil.

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Laws grind the poor, and rich men rule the law.

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Forced from their homes, a melancholy train. Line 409.

Vain, very vain, my weary search to find
That bliss which only centres in the mind.

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THE DESERTED VILLAGE.

The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade,
For talking age and whispering lovers made.

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Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey,
Where wealth accumulates, and men decay.

* Lord of human kind.--DRYDEN. The Spanish Friar, Act ii. Sc. 1.

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Princes and lords may flourish, or may fade,

A breath can make them as a breath has made ;*
But a bold peasantry, their country's pride,

When once destroyed, can never be supplied.

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And his best riches, ignorance of wealth.

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How blest is he who crowns, in shades like these,
A youth of labour with an age of ease.

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While resignation gently slopes the way,

And, all his prospects brightening to the last,

His heaven commences ere the world be past. Line 100.

The watch-dog's voice that bayed the whispering wind, And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind.

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A man he was to all the country dear,
And passing rich with forty pounds a year.

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Wept o'er his wounds, or, tales of sorrow done, Shouldered his crutch and showed how fields were

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Qu'un souffle peut détruire, et qu'un souffle a produit.

DE CAUX. (Comparing the world to his hour-glass.) pants for glory finds but short repose;

Who
A breath revives him, or a breath o'erthrows.

POPE. Horace. Book . Epistle 1.

Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way.

Truth from his lips prevailed with double sway,
And fools who came to scoff, remained to pray.

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And plucked his gown, to share the good man's smile.

Eternal sunshine settles on its head.

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Full well the busy whisper, circling round,

Conveyed the dismal tidings when he frowned. Line 203.

In arguing, too, the parson owned his skill,

For e'en though vanquished, he could argue still;
While words of learned 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. Line 211.

The whitewashed wall, the nicely sanded floor,
The varnished clock that clicked behind the door,
The chest contrived a double debt to pay,
A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day.

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To me more dear, congenial to my heart,
One native charm, than all the gloss of art.
And e'en while fashion's brightest arts decoy,
The heart distrusting asks, if this be joy?

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Her modest looks the cottage might adorn,
Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn.

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O Luxury thou cursed by Heaven's decree.

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That found'st me poor at first, and keep'st me so.

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RETALIATION.

Who mixed reason with pleasure, and wisdom with

mirth.

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Who, born for the universe, narrowed his mind, And to party gave up what was meant for mankind.

Though equal to all things, for all things unfit;
Too nice for a statesman, too proud for a wit.

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His conduct still right with his argument wrong.

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A flattering painter who made it his care,

To draw men as they ought to be, not as they are.

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An abridgment of all that was pleasant in man.

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As a wit, if not first, in the very first line.

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He cast off his friends, as a huntsman his pack,

For he knew, when he pleased, he could whistle them

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