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OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 1728-1774.
REMOTE, unfriended, melancholy, slow.
Where'er I roam, whatever realms to see,
And learn the luxury of doing good.*
Some fleeting good, that mocks me with the view.
Such is the patriot's boast, where'er we roam,
By sports like these are all their cares beguiled ;
But winter lingering chills the lap of May.
So the loud torrent, and the whirlwind's roar,
Alike all ages : dames of ancient days
* For all their luxury was doing good.
Garth. Claremont, Line 148. He tried the luxury of doing good.
CRABBE. Tales of the Hall, Book iii.
And the gay grandsire, skilled in gestic lore,
Embosom'd in the deep where Holland lies,
Pride in their port, defiance in their eye,
The land of scholars, and the nurse of arms.
For just experience tells, in every soil,
Laws grind the poor, and rich men rule the law.
Forced from their homes, a melancholy train. Line
Vain, very vain, my weary search to find
THE DESERTED VILLAGE.
The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade,
Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey,
* Lord of human kind.--DRYDEN.
The Spanish Friar, Act iSc. i.
Princes and lords may flourish, or may fade,
And his best riches, ignorance of wealth.
How blest is he who crowns, in shades like these,
While resignation gently slopes the way,—
The watch-dog's voice that bayed the whispering wind, And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind.
A man he was to all the country dear,
Wept o'er his wounds, or, tales of sorrow done, Shouldered his crutch and showed how fields were
Careless their merits or their faults to scan,
And e'en his failings leaned to virtue's side.
* C'est un verre qui luit,
De Caux. (Comparing the world to his hour-glass.)
POPE. Horace. Book i. Epistle 1.
Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way.
Truth from his lips prevailed with double sway,
And plucked his gown, to share the good man's smile.
Eternal sunshine settles on its head.
Full well the busy whisper, circling round,
In arguing, too, the parson owned his skill,
The whitewashed wall, the nicely sanded floor,
To me more dear, congenial to my heart,
And e'en while fashion's brightest arts decoy,
Her modest looks the cottage might adorn,
O Luxury! thou cursed by Heaven's decree.
That found'st me poor at first, and keep’st me so.
Who mixed reason with pleasure, and wisdom with
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;
His conduct still right with his argument wrong.
A flattering painter who made it his care,
An abridgment of all that was pleasant in man.
As a wit, if not first, in the very first line.
He cast off his friends, as a huntsman his pack,
VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.
Man wants but little here below,
* Cf. YOUNG, page 208.