{"1": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3229", "width": "2323", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0001.jp2"}, "2": {"fulltext": "I LIBRARY OF CONGRESS.\\nmm timWp\\nJ UNITED STATES OF AMERICA\\nV", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0002.jp2"}, "3": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0003.jp2"}, "4": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0004.jp2"}, "5": {"fulltext": "A", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0005.jp2"}, "6": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0006.jp2"}, "7": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0007.jp2"}, "8": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0008.jp2"}, "9": {"fulltext": "SELECT POEMS\\nOF\\nOLIVER GOLDSMITH.\\nEdited, with Notes,\\nBY\\nWILLIAM J. ROLFE, A.M.,\\nFORMERLY HEAD MASTER OF THE HIGH SCHOOL, CAMBRIDGE, MASS.\\nWITH ENGRAVINGS.\\nY\\nNEW YORK.\\nHARPER BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS,\\nFRANKLIN SQUARE.", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0009.jp2"}, "10": {"fulltext": "Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1875, by\\nHarper Brothers,\\nIn the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0010.jp2"}, "11": {"fulltext": "P REFACE.\\nThe plan of this little book is similar to that of my edition of The\\nMerchant of Venice and other of Shakespeare s plays.\\nThe text is based on Cunningham s, which is the most accurate of the\\nrecent editions. This has been carefully collated with Prior s, Corney s,\\nand the Globe edition, and also with many of the early editions, for\\nwhich I have been especially indebted to the Harvard College Library\\nand to the Athenaeum and Public Libraries of Boston. Among these are\\nthe ist, 3d, 4th, and 13th editions of The Traveller, the 1st, 4th, and 7th\\n(an American reprint in quarto, published at Springfield, Mass., 1783)\\nof The Deserted Village, and the 4th of Retaliation.\\nThe 13th edition of The Traveller (in the Athenaeum library) contains\\nsome readings, including one entire couplet (see note on line 374), which\\nI have found in no other edition, early or recent. This edition is un-\\ndated, and bears no name of publisher or printer. The title-page is as\\nfollows The Traveller, or, A Prospect of Society. A Poem. By Dr.\\nGoldsmith. The thirteenth edition. London Printed for the Booksellers\\nin Town and Country.\\nThe notes are fuller than in any other edition known to me. Many of\\nthem are original the rest have been drawn from every accessible source,\\ncredit being given in all cases where justice to others or to myself seemed\\nto require it.\\nCambridge, July 30, 1875.", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0011.jp2"}, "12": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0012.jp2"}, "13": {"fulltext": "CONTENTS.\\nPAGE\\nOLIVER GOLDSMITH, by T. B. Macaulay 9\\nSELECTIONS FROM OTHER MEMOIRS OF GOLDSMITH 28\\nFrom Thackeray s English Humourists 28\\nFrom Random Recollections, by George Colman the\\nYounger 35\\nFrom Campbell s British Poets 36\\nFrom Forster s Life of the Poet 39\\nFrom Irving s Life of the Poet. 40\\nTHE TRAVELLER 47\\nTHE DESERTED VILLAGE 71\\nRETALIATION 97\\nNOTES 107\\nThe Traveller 109\\nThe Deserted Tillage 122\\nRetaliation 139\\nINDEX 145", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0013.jp2"}, "14": {"fulltext": "LY.]", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0014.jp2"}, "15": {"fulltext": "OLIVER GOLDSMITH. [FROM A PAINTING BY SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS.]\\nOLIVER GOLDSMITH.\\nBy Thomas Babington Macaulay.\\nOliver Goldsmith was one of the most pleasing English\\nwriters of the eighteenth century. He was of a Protestant\\nand Saxon family which had been long settled in Ireland,\\nand which had, like most other Protestant and Saxon fam-\\nilies, been in troubled times harassed and put in fear by the\\nnative population. His father, Charles Goldsmith, studied\\nin the reign of Queen Anne at the diocesan school of Elphin,\\nbecame attached to the daughter of the schoolmaster, mar-\\nried her, took orders, and settled at a place called Pallas in\\nthe County of Longford. There he with difficulty support-\\ned his wife and children on what he could earn, partly as a\\ncurate and partly as a farmer.\\nAt Pallas Oliver Goldsmith was born in November, 1728.\\nThat spot was then, for all practical purposes, almost as re-\\nmote from the busy and splendid capital in which his later", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0015.jp2"}, "16": {"fulltext": "IO\\nOLIVER GOLDSMITH.\\nyears were passed as any clearing in Upper Canada or any\\nsheep-walk in Australasia now is. Even at this day those\\nenthusiasts who venture to make a pilgrimage to the birth-\\nplace of the poet are forced to perform the latter part of\\ntheir journey on foot. The hamlet lies far from any high-\\nroad, on a dreary plain, which in wet weather is often a\\nlake. The lanes would break any jaunting-car to pieces;\\nand there are ruts and sloughs through which the most\\nstrongly built wheels cannot be dragged.\\nWhen Oliver was still a child his father was presented to\\na living worth about ^200 a year in the County of West-\\nmeath. The family accordingly quitted their cottage in the\\nwilderness for a spacious house on a frequented road, near\\nthe village of Lissoy. Here the boy was taught his letters\\nby a maid-servant, and was sent in his seventh year to a vil-\\nlage school kept by an old quartermaster on half-pay, who\\nprofessed to teach nothing but reading, writing, and arith-\\nmetic, but who had an inexhaustible fund of stories about\\nghosts, banshees, and fairie^, about the great Rapparee chiefs,\\nBaldearg O Donnell and galloping Hogan, and about the ex-\\nploits of Peterborough and Stanhope, the surprise of Mon-\\njuich, and the glorious disaster of Brihuega. This man must\\nhave been of the Protestant religion but he was of the ab-\\noriginal race, and not only spoke the Irish language, but\\ncould pour forth unpremeditated Irish verses. Oliver early\\nbecame, and through life continued to be, a passionate ad-\\nmirer of the Irish music, and especially of the compositions\\nof Carolan, some of the last notes of whose harp he heard.\\nIt ought to be added that Oliver, though by birth one of the\\nEnglishry, and though connected by numerous ties with the\\nEstablished Church, never showed the least sign of that con-\\ntemptuous antipathy with which in his days the ruling mi-\\nnority in Ireland too generally regarded the subject majority.\\nSo far indeed was he from sharing in the opinions and feel-\\nings of the caste to which he belonged that he conceived an", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0016.jp2"}, "17": {"fulltext": "OLIVER GOLDSMITH. Ir\\naversion to the Glorious and Immortal Memory, and, even\\nwhen George the Third was on the throne, maintained that\\nnothing but the restoration of the banished dynasty could\\nsave the country.\\nFrom the humble academy kept by the old soldier Gold-\\nsmith was removed in his ninth year. He went to several\\ngrammar-schools, and acquired some knowledge of the ancient\\nlanguages. His life at this time seems to have been far from\\nhappy. He had, as appears from the admirable portrait of\\nhim at Knowle, features harsh even to ugliness. The small-\\npox had set its mark upon him with more than usual severity.\\nHis stature was small, and his limbs ill put together. Among\\nboys little tenderness is shown to personal defects and the\\nridicule excited by poor Oliver s appearance was heightened\\nby a peculiar simplicity and a disposition to blunder which\\nhe retained to the last. He became the common butt of\\nboys and masters, was pointed at as a fright in the play-\\nground, and flogged as a dunce in the school-room. When\\nhe had risen to eminence, those who once derided him ran-\\nsacked their memory for the events of his early years, and\\nrecited repartees and couplets which had dropped from him,\\nand which, though little noticed at the time, were supposed,\\na quarter of a century later, to indicate the powers which\\nproduced The Vicar of Wakefield and 2 n he Deserted Village.\\nIn his seventeenth year Oliver went up to Trinity College,\\nDublin, as a sizar. The sizars paid nothing for food and\\ntuition, and very little for lodging but they had to perform\\nsome menial services, from which they have long been re-\\nlieved. They swept the court; they carried up the dinner to\\nthe fellows table, and changed the plates and poured out the\\nale of the rulers of the society. Goldsmith was quartered\\nnot alone, in a garret, on the window of which his name,\\nscrawled by himself, is still read with interest. From such\\ngarrets many men of less parts than his have made their way\\nto the woolsack or to the episcopal bench. But Goldsmith,", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0017.jp2"}, "18": {"fulltext": "12\\nOLIVER GOLDSMITH.\\nwhile he suffered all the humiliations, threw away all the\\nadvantages of his situation. He neglected the studies of\\nthe place, stood low at the examinations, was turned down\\nto the bottom of his class for playing the buffoon in the\\nlecture-room, was severely reprimanded for pumping on a\\nconstable, and was caned by a brutal tutor for giving a\\nball in the attic story of the college to some gay youths and\\ndamsels from the city.\\nWhile Oliver was leading at Dublin a life divided between\\nsqualid distress and squalid dissipation, his father died, leav-\\ning a mere pittance. The youth obtained his bachelor s de-\\ngree, and left the university. During some time the humble\\ndwelling to which his widowed mother had retired was his\\nhome. He was now in his twenty-first year it was neces-\\nsary that he should do something; and his edu-\\ncation seemed to have fitted him to do nothing\\nbut to dress himself in gaudy colours, of which he\\nwas as fond as a magpie, to take a hand at cards,\\nto sing Irish airs, to play the flute, to angle in\\nsummer, and to tell ghost stories by the fire in\\nwinter. He tried five or six professions in turn\\nwithout success. He applied for ordi-\\nnation; but, as he applied in scarlet\\nclothes, he was speedily turned out of\\nthe episcopal palace. He then\\nbecame tutor in an opulent\\nfamily, but soon quitted his\\nsituation in consequence\\nof a dispute about play.\\nThen he determined to\\nemigrate to America. His\\nrelations, with much sat- _j\\nisfaction, saw him set i\\nout for Cork on a good\\nhorse, with thirty pounds", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0018.jp2"}, "19": {"fulltext": "OLIVER GOLDSMITH.\\n*3\\nin his pocket. But in six weeks he came back on a misera-\\nble hack without a penny, and informed his mother that the\\nship in which he had taken his passage, having got a fair\\nwind while he was at a party of pleasure, had sailed with-\\nout him. Then he resolved to study the law. A generous\\nkinsman advanced fifty pounds. With this sum Goldsmith\\nwent to Dublin, was enticed into a gambling- house, and\\nlost every shilling. He then thought of medicine. A small\\npurse was made up; and in his twenty-fourth year he was\\nsent to Edinburgh. At Edinburgh he passed eighteen\\nmonths in nominal attendance on lectures, and picked up\\nsome superficial information about chemistry and natural\\nhistory. Thence he went to Leyden, still pretending to\\nstudy physic. He left that celebrated university the third\\nuniversity at which he had resided in his twenty-seventh\\nyear, without a degree, with the merest smattering of medi-\\ncal knowledge, and with no property but his clothes and his\\nflute. His flute, however, proved a useful friend. He ram-\\nbled on foot through Flanders, France, and Switzerland,\\nplaying tunes which everywhere set the peasantry dancing,\\nand which often procured for him a supper and a bed. He\\nwandered as far as Italy. His musical performances, in-\\ndeed, were not to the taste of the Italians but he contrived\\nto live on the alms which he obtained at the gates of con-\\nvents.\\nIn 1756 the wanderer landed at Dover, without a shilling,\\nwithout a friend, and without a calling. He had, indeed, if\\nhis own unsupported evidence may be trusted, obtained from\\nthe University of Padua a doctor s degree but this dignity\\nproved utterly useless to him. In England his flute was not\\nin request; there were no convents; and he was forced to\\nhave recourse to a series of desperate expedients. He turn-\\ned strolling player but his face and figure were ill-suited to\\nthe boards even of the humblest theatre. He pounded drugs\\nand ran about London with phials for charitable chemists.", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0019.jp2"}, "20": {"fulltext": "14\\nOLIVER GOLDSMITH.\\nHe joined a swarm of beggars, which made its nest in Axe\\nYard. He was for a time usher of a school, and felt the\\nmiseries and humiliations of this situation so keenly that he\\nthought it a promotion to be permitted to earn his bread as\\na bookseller s hack but he soon found the new yoke more\\ngalling than the old one, and was glad to become an usher\\nagain. He obtained a medical appointment in the service\\nof the East India Company but the appointment was speed-\\nily revoked. Why it was revoked we are not told. The sub-\\nject was one on which he never liked to talk. It is probable\\nthat he was incompetent to perform the duties of the place.\\nThen he presented himself at Surgeons Hall for examina-\\ntion as mate to a naval hospital. Even to so humble a post\\nhe was found unequal. By this time the schoolmaster whom\\nhe had served for a morsel of food and the third part of a\\nbed was no more. Nothing remained but to return to the\\nlowest drudgery of literature. Goldsmith took a garret in a\\nIN GREEN ARBOUR COURT.", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0020.jp2"}, "21": {"fulltext": "OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 15\\nmiserable court, to which he had to climb from the brink of\\nFleet Ditch by a dizzy ladder of flagstones called Breakneck\\nSteps. The court and the ascent have long disappeared;\\nbut old Londoners well remember both. Here, at thirty,\\nthe unlucky adventurer sat down to toil like a galley-slave.\\nIn the succeeding six years he sent to the press some\\nthings which have survived, and many which have perished.\\nHe produced articles for reviews, magazines, and newspa-\\npers children s books, which, bound in gilt paper and adorn-\\ned with hideous wood-cuts, appeared in the window of the\\nonce far-famed shop at the corner of Saint Paul s Church-\\nyard; An Inquiry into the State of Polite Learning in Europe,\\nwhich, though of little or no value, is still* reprinted among\\nhis works a Life of Beau Nash, which is not reprinted,*\\nthough it well deserves to be so a superficial and incorrect,\\nbut very readable, History of England, in a series of letters\\npurporting to be addressed by a nobleman to his son and\\nsome very lively and amusing Sketches of London Society, in\\na series of letters purporting to be addressed by a Chinese\\ntraveller to his friends. All these works were anonymous;\\nbut some of them were well known to be Goldsmith s and\\nhe gradually rose in the estimation of the booksellers for\\nwhom he drudged. He was, indeed, emphatically a popular\\nwriter. For accurate research or grave disquisition he was\\nnot well qualified by nature or by education. He knew\\nnothing accurately his reading had been desultory nor\\nhad he meditated deeply on what he had read. He had\\nseen much of the world but he had noticed and retained\\nlittle more of what he had seen than some grotesque in-\\ncidents and characters which happened to strike his fancy.\\nBut, though his mind was very scantily stored with materials,\\nThe Life of Nash has been reprinted at least three times in Prior s\\nedition (vol. iii. p. 249) in Cunningham s (vol. iv. p. 35) and in the\\nGlobe edition (p. 513). This last, however, has appeared (1869) since\\nMacaulay wrote the above.", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0021.jp2"}, "22": {"fulltext": "r 6 OLIVER GOLDSMITH.\\nhe used what materials he had in such a way as to produce\\na wonderful effect. There have been many greater writers;\\nbut perhaps no writer was ever more uniformly agreeable.\\nHis style was always pure and easy, and on proper occasions\\npointed and energetic. His narratives were always amusing,\\nhis descriptions always grotesque, his humour rich and joy-\\nous, yet not without an occasional tinge of amiable sadness.\\nAbout everything that he wrote, serious or sportive, there\\nwas a certain natural grace and decorum, hardly to be ex-\\npected from a man a great part of whose life had been passed\\namong thieves and beggars, street-walkers and merry-andrews,\\nin those squalid dens which are the reproach of great capitals.\\nAs his name gradually became known, the circle of his\\nacquaintance widened. He was introduced to Johnson, who\\nwas then considered as the first of living English writers to\\nReynolds, the first of English painters and to Burke, who\\nhad not yet entered Parliament, but had distinguished him-\\nself greatly by his writings and by the eloquence of his con-\\nversation. With these eminent men Goldsmith became in-\\ntimate. In 1763 he was one of the nine original members\\nof that celebrated fraternity which has sometimes been called\\nthe Literary Club, but which has always disclaimed that epi-\\nthet, and still glories in the simple name of The Club.\\nBy this time Goldsmith had quitted his miserable dwelling\\nat the top of Breakneck Steps, and had taken chambers in\\nthe more civilized region of the Inns of Court. But he was\\nstill often reduced to pitiable shifts. Towards the close of\\n1764 his rent was so long in arrear that his landlady one\\nmorning called in the help of a sheriffs officer. The debtor,\\nin great perplexity, despatched a messenger to Johnson and\\nJohnson, always friendly, though often surly, sent back the\\nmessenger with a guinea, and promised to follow speedily.\\nHe came, and found that Goldsmith had changed the guinea,\\nand was railing at the landlady over a bottle of Madeira.\\nJohnson put the cork into the bottle, and entreated his friend", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0022.jp2"}, "23": {"fulltext": "OLIVER GOLDSMITH.\\n17\\nto consider calmly how money was to be procured. Gold-\\nsmith said that he had a novel ready for the press. Johnson\\nglanced at the manuscript, saw that there were good things\\nJOHNSON READING THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD.\\nin it, took it to a bookseller, sold it for \u00c2\u00a360, and soon return-\\ned with the money. The rent was paid, and the sheriff s\\nofficer withdrew. According to one story, Goldsmith gave\\nhis landlady a sharp reprimand for her treatment of him\\naccording to another, he insisted on her joining him in a\\nbowl of punch. Both stories are probably true. The novel\\nwhich was thus ushered into the world was The Vicar of\\nWakefield.\\nBut before The Vicar of Wakefield appeared in print came\\nthe great crisis of Goldsmith s literary life. In Christmas\\nweek, 1764, he published a poem, entitled The Traveller. It\\nB", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0023.jp2"}, "24": {"fulltext": "x g OLIVER GOLDSMITH.\\nwas the first work to which he had put his name and it at\\nonce raised him to the rank of a legitimate English classic.\\nThe opinion of the most skilful critics was that nothing finer\\nhad appeared in verse since the fourth book of The Dunciad.\\nIn one respect The Traveller differs from all Goldsmith s other\\nwritings. In general his designs were bad, and his execution\\ngood. In The Traveller the execution, though deserving of\\nmuch praise, is far inferior to the design. No philosophical\\npoem, ancient or modern, has a plan so noble, and at the\\nsame time so simple. An English wanderer, seated on a\\ncrag among the Alps, near the point where three great coun-\\ntries meet, looks down on the boundless prospect, reviews\\nhis long pilgrimage, recalls the varieties of scenery, of cli-\\nmate, of government, of religion, of national character, which\\nhe has observed, and comes to the conclusion, just^or unjust,\\nthat our happiness depends little on political institutions, and\\nmuch on the temper and regulation of our minds.\\nWhile the fourth edition of The Traveller was on the coun-\\nters of the booksellers, The Vicar of Wakefield appeared, and\\nrapidly obtained a popularity which has lasted down to our\\nown time, and which is likely to last as long as our lan-\\nguage.\\nThe success which had attended Goldsmith as a novelist\\nemboldened him to try his fortune as a dramatist. He wrote\\nThe Good-Natured Man a piece which had a worse fate than\\nit deserved. Garrick refused to produce it at Drury Lane.\\nIt was acted at Covent Garden in 1768, but was coldly re-\\nceived. The author, however, cleared by his benefit nights,\\nand by the sale of the copyright, not less than 500 five\\ntimes as much as he had made by The Traveller and The Vicar\\nof Wakefield. The plot of The Good-Natured Man is, like\\nalmost all Goldsmith s plots, very ill-constructed. But some\\npassages are exquisitely ludicrous; much more ludicrous,\\nindeed, than suited the taste of the town at that time. A\\ncanting, mawkish play, entitled False Delicacy, had just had", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0024.jp2"}, "25": {"fulltext": "OLIVER GOLDSMITH.\\n19\\nan immense run. Sentimentality was all the mode. Dur-\\ning some years, more tears were shed at comedies than at\\ntragedies and a pleasantry which moved the audience to\\nany thing more than a grave smile was reprobated as low.\\nIt is not strange, therefore, that the very best scene in The\\nGood-Natured Man, that in which Miss Richland finds her\\nlover attended by the bailiff and the bailiff s follower in full\\ncourt dresses, should have been mercilessly hissed, and\\nshould have been omitted after the first night.\\nIn 1770 appeared The Deserted Village. In mere diction\\nand versification this celebrated poem is fully equal, perhaps\\nsuperior, to The Traveller, and it is generally preferred to The\\nTraveller by that large class of readers who think, with Bayes\\nin The Rehearsal, that the only use of a plan is to bring in\\nfine things. More discerning judges, however, while they\\nadmire the beauty of the details, are shocked by one unpar-\\ndonable fault which pervades the whole. It is made up\\nof incongruous parts. The village in its happy days is a true\\nEnglish village. The village in its decay is an Irish village.\\nThe felicity and the misery which Goldsmith has brought\\nclose together belong to two different countries, and to two\\ndifferent stages in the progress of society. He had assured-\\nly never seen in his native island such a rural paradise, such\\na seat of plenty, content, and tranquillity, as his Auburn. He\\nhad assuredly never seen in England all the inhabitants of\\nsuch a paradise turned out of their homes in one day and\\nforced to emigrate in a body to America. The hamlet he\\nhad probably seen in Kent the ejectment he had probably\\nseen in Munster; but by joining the two he has produced\\nsomething which never was and never will be seen in any\\npart of the world.\\nIn 1773 Goldsmith tried his chance at Covent Garden\\nwith a second play, She Stoops to Conquer. The manager\\nwas not without great difficulty induced to bring this piece\\nout. The sentimental comedy still reigned, and Goldsmith s", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0025.jp2"}, "26": {"fulltext": "2 o OLIVER GOLDSMITH.\\ncomedies were not sentimental. The Good-Natitred Man\\nhad been too funny to succeed yet the mirth of The Good-\\nNatured Man was sober when compared with the rich droll-\\nery of She Stoops to Conquer, which is, in truth, an incom-\\nparable farce in five acts. On this occasion, however, gen-\\nius triumphed. Pit, boxes, and galleries were in a constant\\nroar of laughter. If any bigoted admirer of Kelly and Cum-\\nberland ventured to hiss or groan, he was speedily silenced\\nby a general cry of Turn him out, or Throw him over.\\nTwo generations have since confirmed the verdict which\\nwas pronounced on that night.\\nWhile Goldsmith was writing The Deserted Village and\\nShe Stoops to Cofiquer, he was employed on works of a very\\ndifferent kind works from which he derived little reputation\\nbut much profit. He compiled for the use of schools a His-\\ntory of Rome, by which he made ^300; a .History of England,\\nby which he made \u00c2\u00a3600; a History of Greece, for which he\\nreceived ^250; a Natural History, for which the booksellers\\ncovenanted to pay him 800 guineas. These works he pro-\\nduced without any elaborate research, by merely selecting,\\nabridging, and translating into his own clear, pure, and flow-\\ning language what he found in books well known to the\\nworld, but too bulky or too dry for boys and girls. He\\ncommitted some strange blunders; for he knew nothing\\nwith accuracy. Thus in his History of Eftgland he tells us\\nthat Naseby is in Yorkshire nor did he correct this mistake\\nwhen the book was reprinted. He was very nearly hoaxed\\ninto putting into The History of Greece an account of a bat-\\ntle between Alexander the Great and Montezuma. In his\\nAnimated Nature he relates, with faith and with perfect grav-\\nity, all the most absurd lies which he could find in books of\\ntravels about gigantic Patagonians, monkeys that preach ser-\\nmons, nightingales that repeat long conversations. If he\\ncan tell a horse from a cow, says Johnson, that is the ex-\\ntent of his knowledge of zoology. How little Goldsmith", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0026.jp2"}, "27": {"fulltext": "OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 21\\nwas qualified to write about the physical sciences is suffi-\\nciently proved by two anecdotes. He on one occasion de-\\nnied that the sun is longer in the northern than in the south-\\nern signs. It was vain to cite the authority of Maupertuis.\\nMaupertuis he cried, I understand those matters better\\nthan Maupertuis. On another occasion he, in defiance of\\nthe evidence of his own senses, maintained obstinately, and\\neven angrily, that he chewed his dinner by moving his upper\\njaw.\\nYet, ignorant as Goldsmith was, few writers have done\\nmore to make the first steps in the laborious road to knowl-\\nedge easy and pleasant. His compilations are widely dis-\\ntinguished from the compilations of ordinary book-makers.\\nHe was a great, perhaps an unequalled, master of the arts of\\nselection and condensation. In these respects his histories\\nof Rome and of England, and still more his own abridg-\\nments of these histories, well deserve to be studied. In\\ngeneral nothing is less attractive than an epitome; but the\\nepitomes of Goldsmith, even when most concise, are always\\namusing; and to read them is considered by intelligent chil-\\ndren not as a task but as a pleasure.\\nGoldsmith might now be considered as a prosperous man.\\nHe had the means of living in comfort, and even in what to\\none who had so often slept in barns and on bulks must have\\nbeen luxury. His fame was great and was constantly ris-\\ning. He lived in what was intellectually far the best soci-\\nety of the kingdom in a society in which no talent or ac-\\ncomplishment was wanting, and in which the art of conver-\\nsation was cultivated with splendid success. There prob-\\nably were never four talkers more admirable in four differ-\\nent ways than Johnson, Burke, Beauclerk, and Garrick; and\\nGoldsmith was on terms of intimacy with all the four. He\\naspired to share in their colloquial renown but never was\\nambition more unfortunate. It may seem strange that a\\nman who wrote with so much perspicuity, vivacity, and grace", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0027.jp2"}, "28": {"fulltext": "22 OLIVER GOLDSMITH.\\nshould have been, whenever he took a part in conversation,\\nan empty, noisy, blundering rattle. But on this point the\\nevidence is overwhelming. So extraordinary was the con-\\ntrast between Goldsmith s published works and the silly\\nthings which he said, that Horace Walpole described him\\nas an inspired idiot. Noll, said Garrick, wrote like an\\nangel, and talked like poor Pol. Chamier declared that\\nit was a hard exercise of faith to believe that so foolish a\\nchatterer could have really written The Traveller. Even Bos-\\nwell could say, with contemptuous compassion, that he liked\\nvery well to hear honest Goldsmith run on. Yes, sir,\\nsaid Johnson, but he should not like to hear himself.\\nMinds differ as rivers differ. There are transparent and\\nsparkling rivers from which it is delightful, to drink as they\\nflow; to such rivers the minds of such men as Burke and\\nJohnson may be compared. But there are rivers of which\\nthe water when first drawn is turbid and noisome, but be-\\ncomes pellucid as crystal and delicious to the taste if it be\\nsuffered to stand till it has deposited a sediment; and such\\na river is a type of the mind of Goldsmith. His first thoughts\\non every subject were confused even to absurdity, but they\\nrequired only a little time to work themselves clear. When\\nhe wrote they had that time, and therefore his readers pro-\\nnounced him a man of genius but when he talked he talked\\nnonsense, and made himself the laughing-stock of his hear-\\ners. He was painfully sensible of his inferiority in conver-\\nsation he felt every failure keenly yet he had not suffi-\\ncient judgment and self-command to hold his tongue. His\\nanimal spirits and vanity were always impelling him to try\\nto do the one thing which he could not do. After every at-\\ntempt he felt that he had exposed himself, and writhed with\\nshame and vexation yet the next moment he began again.\\nHis associates seem to have regarded him with kindness,\\nwhich, in spite of their admiration of his writings, was not\\nunmixed with contempt. In truth, there was in his char-", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0028.jp2"}, "29": {"fulltext": "OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 23\\nacter much to love, but very little to respect. His heart\\nwas soft, even to weakness; he was so generous that he quite\\nforgot to be just; he forgave injuries so readily that he\\nmight be said to invite them and was so liberal to beggars\\nthat he had nothing left for his tailor and his butcher. He\\nwas vain, sensual, frivolous, profuse, improvident. One vice\\nof a darker shade was imputed to him envy. But there is\\nnot the least reason to believe that this bad passion, though\\nit sometimes made him wince and utter fretful exclamations,\\never impelled him to injure by wicked arts the reputation\\nof any of his rivals. The truth probably is that he was not\\nmore envious, but merely less prudent than his neighbours.\\nHis heart was on his lips. All those small jealousies which\\nare but too common among men of letters, but which a man\\nof letters who is also a man of the world does his best to\\nconceal, Goldsmith avowed with the simplicity of a child.\\nHe was neither ill-natured enough nor long-headed enough\\nto be guilty of any malicious act which required contrivance\\nand disguise.\\nGoldsmith has sometimes been represented as a man of\\ngenius, cruelly treated by the world, and doomed to struggle\\nwith difficulties which at last broke his heart. But no rep-\\nresentation can be more remote from the truth. He did,\\nindeed, go through much sharp misery before he had done\\nany thing considerable in literature. But after his name\\nhad appeared on the title-page of The Traveller, he had none\\nbut himself to blame for his distresses. His average income\\nduring the last seven years of his life certainly exceeded\\n^400 a year, and ^400 a year ranked among the incomes\\nof that day at least as high as ;\u00c2\u00a38oo a year would rank at\\npresent. A single man living in the Temple with ^400 a\\nyear might then be called opulent. Not one in ten of the\\nyoung gentlemen of good families who were studying the\\nlaw there had so much. But all the wealth which Lord\\nClive had brought from Bengal and Sir Lawrence Dundas", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0029.jp2"}, "30": {"fulltext": "24 OLIVER GOLDSMITH.\\nfrom Germany joined together would not have sufficed for\\nGoldsmith. He spent twice as much as he had. He wore\\nfine clothes, gave dinners of several courses, paid court to\\nvenal beauties. He had also, it should be remembered to\\nthe honour of his heart, though not of his head, a guinea, or\\nfive, or ten, according to the state of his purse, ready for any\\ntale of distress, true or false. But it was not in dress or\\nfeasting, in promiscuous amours or promiscuous charities,\\nthat his chief expense lay. He had been from boyhood a\\ngambler, and at once the most sanguine and the most un-\\nskilful of gamblers.* For a time he put off the day of inev-\\nitable ruin by temporary expedients. He obtained advances\\nfrom booksellers by promising to execute works which he\\nnever began. But at length this source of supply failed.\\nHe owed more than ^2000, and he saw no hope of extrica-\\ntion from his embarrassments. His spirits and health gave\\nway. He was attacked by a nervous fever, which he thought\\nhimself competent to treat. It would have been happy for\\nhim if his medical skill had been appreciated as justly by\\nhimself as by others. Notwithstanding the degree which he\\npretended to have received at Padua, he could procure no\\npatients. I do not practice, he once said; I make it\\na rule to prescribe only for my friends. Pray, dear Doc-\\ntor, said Beauclerk, alter your rule, and prescribe only\\nfor your enemies. Goldsmith now, in spite of this excel-\\nlent advice, prescribed for himself. The remedy aggravated\\nthe malady. The sick man was induced to call in real phy-\\nsicians, and they at one time imagined that they had cured\\nthe disease. Still his weakness and restlessness continued.\\nHe could get no sleep he could take no food. You are\\nworse, said one of his medical attendants, than you should\\nbe from the degree of fever which you have. Is your mind\\nat ease No, it is not, were the last recorded words of\\nOliver Goldsmith. He died on the 3d of April, 1774, in his\\nSee extract from Irving, p. 140.", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0030.jp2"}, "31": {"fulltext": "OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 2 5\\nforty -sixth year. He was laid in the churchyard of the\\nTemple but the spot was not marked by any inscription,\\nand is now forgotten. The coffin was followed by Burke\\nand Reynolds. Both these great men were sincere mourn-\\ners. Burke, when he heard of Goldsmith s death, had burst\\ninto a flood of tears. Reynolds had been so much moved\\nby the news that he had flung aside his brush and pallet\\nfor the day.\\nA short time after Goldsmith s death a little poem ap-\\npeared, which will, as long as our language lasts, associate\\nthe names of his two illustrious friends with his own. It\\nhas already been mentioned that he sometimes felt keenly\\nthe sarcasm which his wild, blundering talk brought upon\\nhim. He was, not long before his last illness, provoked\\ninto retaliating. He wisely betook himself to his pen, and\\nat that weapon he proved himself a match for air his as-\\nsailants together. Within a small compass .he drew with\\na singularly easy and vigorous pencil the characters of\\nnine or ten of his intimate associates. Though this little\\nwork did not receive his last touches, it must always be\\nregarded as a masterpiece. It is impossible, however, not\\nto wish that four or five likenesses which have no interest\\nfor posterity were wanting to that noble gallery, and that\\ntheir places were supplied by sketches of Johnson and Gib-\\nbon, as happy and vivid as the sketches of Burke and Garrick.\\nSome of Goldsmith s friends and admirers honoured him\\nwith a cenotaph in Westminster Abbey. Nollekens was the\\nsculptor, and Johnson wrote the inscription. It is much to\\nbe lamented that Johnson did not leave to posterity a more\\ndurable and a more valuable memorial of his friend. A life\\nof Goldsmith would have been an inestimable addition to\\nthe Lives of the Poets. No man appreciated Goldsmith s\\nwritings more justly than Johnson; no man was better ac-\\nquainted with Goldsmith s character and habits; and no\\nman was more competent to delineate with truth and spirit", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0031.jp2"}, "32": {"fulltext": "26\\nOLIVER GOLDSMITH.\\nthe peculiarities of a mind in which great powers were found\\nin company with great weaknesses. But the list of poets to\\nwhose works Johnson was requested by the booksellers to\\nfurnish prefaces ended with Lyttleton, who died in 1773.\\nThe line seems to have been drawn expressly for the pur-\\npose of excluding the person whose portrait would have\\nmost fitly closed the series. Goldsmith, however, has been\\nfortunate in his biographers. Within a few years his life\\nhas been written by Mr. Prior, by Mr. Washington Irving,\\nand by Mr. Forster. The diligence of Mr. Prior deserves\\ngreat praise the style of Mr. Washington Irving is always\\npleasing but the highest place must in justice be assigned\\nto the eminently interesting work of Mr. Forster.\\noetas, Jrnysici,\\nGOLDSMITH S MONUMENT IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY.\\nThe Tablet is over the south door in Poets Corner, between the", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0032.jp2"}, "33": {"fulltext": "OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 2 y\\nmonuments of Gay and the Duke of Argyll. The Latin inscription\\nupon it is as follows\\nOlivarii Goldsmith,\\nPoetae, Physici, Historic],\\nQui nullum fere scribendi genus\\nNon tetigit,\\nNullum quod tetigit non ornavit\\nSive risus essent movendi,\\nSive lacrymae,\\nAffectuum potens at lenis dominator\\nIngenio sublimis, vividus, versatilis,\\nOratione grandis, nitidus, venustus\\nHoc monumento memoriam coluit\\nSodalium amor,\\nAmicorum fides,\\nLectorum veneratio.\\nNatus in Hibernia, Fornias Longfordiensis\\nIn loco cui nomen Pallas,\\nNov. xxix. MDCCXXXI.\\nEblanae literis institutus\\nObiit Londini,\\nApr. iv. mdcclxxiv.\\nOf Oliver Goldsmith\\nPoet, Naturalist, Historian,\\nWho left scarcely any kind of writing\\nUntouched,\\nAnd touched nothing that he did not adorn\\nWhether smiles were to be stirred\\nOr tears,\\nCommanding our emotions, yet a gentle master:\\nIn genius lofty, lively, versatile,\\nIn style weighty, clear, engaging\\nThe memory in this monument is cherished\\nBy the love of Companions,\\nThe faithfulness of Friends,\\nThe reverence of Readers.\\nHe was born in Ireland,\\nAt a place called Pallas,\\n[In the parish] of Forney, [and county] of Longford,\\nOn Nov. 29th, 1 73 1.\\nTrained in letters at Dublin.\\nDied in London,\\nApril 4th, 1774.", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0033.jp2"}, "34": {"fulltext": "HOGARTH S PORTRAIT OF GOLDSMITH.\\nSELECTIONS FROM OTHER MEMOIRS OF\\nGOLDSMITH.\\nFROM THACKERAY S ENGLISH HUMOURISTS.\\nWho of the millions whom he has amused does not love\\nhim To be the most beloved of English writers, what a\\ntitle that is for a man !f A wild youth, wayward but full of\\nThe English Humourists of the Eighteenth Century. A Series of\\nLectures. By W. M. Thackeray. Harper s edition, p. 248 foil.\\nt He was a friend to virtue, and in his most playful pages never for-\\ngets what is due to it. A gentleness, delicacy, and purity of feeling dis-\\ntinguishes whatever he wrote, and bears a correspondence to the gener-\\nosity of a disposition which knew no bounds but his last guinea.\\nThe admirable ease and grace of the narrative, as well as the pleas-\\ning truth with which the principal characters are designed, make The\\nVicar of Wakefield one of the most delicious morsels of fictitious com-\\nposition on which the human mind was ever employed.\\nWe read The Vicar of Wakefield in youth and in age we return to\\nit again and again, and bless the memory of an author who contrives so\\nwell to reconcile us to human nature. Sir Walter Scott.", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0034.jp2"}, "35": {"fulltext": "OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 29\\ntenderness and affection, quits the country village where his\\nboyhood has been passed in happy musing, in idle shelter,\\nin fond longing to see the great world out of doors, and\\nachieve name and fortune; and after years of dire struggle,\\nand neglect and poverty, his heart turning back as fondly to\\nhis native place as it had longed eagerly for change when\\nsheltered there, he writes a book and a poem, full of the rec-\\nollections and feelings of home he paints the friends and\\nscenes of his youth, and peoples Auburn and Wakefield with\\nremembrances of Lissoy. Wander he must, but he carries\\naway a home-relic with him, and dies with it on his breast.\\nHis nature is truant; in repose it longs for change: as on\\nthe journey it looks back for friends and quiet. He passes\\nto-day in building an air-castle for to-morrow, or in writing\\nyesterday s elegy; and he would fly away this hour, but\\nthat a cage necessity keeps him. What is the charm of his\\nverse, of his style and humour? His sweet regrets, his deli-\\ncate compassion, his soft smile, his tremulous sympathy, the\\nweakness which he owns? Your love for him is half pity.\\nYou come hot and tired from the day s battle, and this sweet\\nminstrel sings to you. Who could harm the kind vagrant\\nharper? Whom did he ever hurt? He carries no weapon\\nsave the harp on which he plays to you; and with which he\\ndelights great and humble, young and old, the captains in\\nthe tents or the soldiers round the fire, or the women and\\nchildren in the villages, at whose porches he stops and sings\\nhis simple songs of love and beauty. With that sweet story\\nof The Vicar of Wakefield he has found entry into every\\ncastle and every hamlet in Europe. Not one of us, however\\nbusy or hard, but once or twice in our lives has passed an\\nevening with him, and undergone the charm of his delightful\\nmusic.\\nThe small-pox, which scourged all Europe at that time,\\nand ravaged the roses off the cheeks of half the world, fell\\nfoul of poor little Oliver s face when the child was eight", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0035.jp2"}, "36": {"fulltext": "3\u00c2\u00b0\\nOLIVER GOLDSMITH.\\nyears old, and left him scarred and disfigured for his life.\\nAn old woman in his father s village taught him his letters,\\nand pronounced him a dunce. Paddy Byrne, the hedge-\\nschoolmaster, took him in hand; and from Paddy Byrne he\\nwas transmitted to a clergyman at Elphin. When a child\\nwas sent to school in those days, the classic phrase was that\\nhe was placed under Mr. So-and-So s ferule. Poor little\\nancestors It is hard to think how ruthlessly you were\\nbirched; and how much of needless whipping and tears our\\nsmall forefathers had to undergo A relative, kind Uncle\\nContarine, took the main charge of little Noll, who went\\nthrough his school-days righteously, doing as little work as\\nhe could robbing orchards, playing at ball, and making his\\npocket-money fly about whenever fortune sent it to him.\\nEverybody knows the story of that famous Mistake of a\\nNight, when the young school-boy, provided with a guinea\\nand a nag, rode up to the best house in Ardagh, called\\nfor the landlord s company over a bottle of wine at supper,\\nand for a hot cake for breakfast in the morning, and found\\nwhen he asked for the bill that the best house was Squire\\nFeatherstone s, and not the inn for which he mistook it.\\nWho does not know every story about Goldsmith? That\\nis a delightful and fantastic picture of the child dancing and\\ncapering about in the kitchen at home, when the old fiddler\\ngibed at him for his ugliness and called him ^Esop, and\\nlittle Noll made his repartee of Heralds proclaim aloud\\nthis saying see ^Esop dancing and his monkey playing.\\nOne can fancy the queer, pitiful look of humour and appeal\\nfrom that little scarred face the funny little dancing figure,\\nthe funny little brogue. In his life, and his writings, which\\nare the honest expression of it, he is constantly bewailing\\nthat homely face and person; anon he surveys them in the\\nglass ruefully, and presently assumes the most comical dig-\\nnity.\\nI spoke in a former lecture of that high courage which", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0036.jp2"}, "37": {"fulltext": "OLIVER GOLDSMITH.\\n31\\nenabled Fielding, in spite of disease, remorse, and poverty,\\nalways to retain a cheerful spirit and to keep his manly\\nbenevolence and love of truth intact, as if these treasures\\nhad been confided to him for the public benefit, and he was\\naccountable to posterity for their honourable employ; and\\na constancy equally happy and admirable I think was shown\\nby Goldsmith, whose sweet and friendly nature bloomed\\nkindly always in the midst of a life s storm and rain and\\nbitter weather.* The poor fellow was never so friendless\\nbut he could befriend some one; never so pinched and\\nNIGHT WANDERINGS.\\nAn inspired idiot, Goldsmith, hangs strangely about him [John-\\nson]. Yet, on the whole, there is no evil in the gooseberry-fool,\\nbut rather much good of a finer, if of a weaker sort than Johnson s\\nand all the more genuine that he himself could never become conscious\\nof it though, unhappily, never cease attempting to become so the author", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0037.jp2"}, "38": {"fulltext": "32 OLIVER GOLDSMITH.\\nwretched but he could give of his crust and speak his word\\nof compassion. If he had but his flute left, he could give\\nthat, and make the children happy in the dreary London\\ncourt. He could give the coals in that queer coal-scuttle\\nwe read of to his poor neighbour; he could give away his\\nblankets in college to the poor widow, and warm himself as\\nhe best might in .the feathers; he could pawn his coat to\\nsave his landlord from jail; when he was a school-usher,\\nhe spent his earnings in treats for the boys, and the good-\\nnatured schoolmaster s wife said justly that she ought to keep\\nMr. Goldsmith s money as well as the young gentlemen s.\\nWhen he met his pupils in later life, nothing would satisfy\\nthe Doctor but he must treat them still. Have you seen\\nthe print of me after Sir Joshua Reynolds he asked of one\\nof his old pupils. Not seen it? not bought it? Sure, Jack,\\nif your picture had been published, I d not have been with-\\nout it half an hour. His purse and his heart were every-\\nbody s, and his friends as much as his own. When he was\\nat the height of his reputation, and the Earl of Northumber-\\nland, going as Lord Lieutenant to Ireland, asked if he could\\nbe of any service to Dr. Goldsmith, Goldsmith recommend-\\ned his brother, and not himself, to the great man. My\\npatrons, he gallantly said, are the booksellers, and I want\\nno others. Hard patrons they were, and hard work he did;\\nbut he did not complain much. If in his early writings some\\nbitter words escaped him, some allusions to neglect and pov-\\nerty, he withdrew these expressions when his works were re-\\npublished, and better days seemed to open for him and he\\ndid not care to complain that printer or publisher had over-\\nlooked his merit or left him poor. The Court face was\\nturned from honest Oliver the Court patronized Beattie;\\nthe fashion did not shine on him fashion adored Sterne.\\nof the genuine Vicar of Wakefield, nill he will he, must needs fly towards\\nsuch a mass of genuine manhood. Carlyle s Essays (second edition),\\nvol. iv. p. 91.", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0038.jp2"}, "39": {"fulltext": "OLIVER GOLDSMITH.\\n33\\nFashion pronounced Kelly to be the great writer of comedy\\nof his day. A little not ill-humour, but plaintiveness\\na little betrayal of wounded pride which he showed render\\nhim not the less amiable. The author of The Vicar of Wake-\\nfield had a right to protest when Newbery kept back the\\nMS. for two years; had a right to be a little peevish with\\nSterne; a little angry when Coleman s actors declined their\\nparts in his delightful comedy, when the manager refused to\\nhave a scene painted for it, and pronounced its damnation\\nbefore hearing. He had not the great public with him;\\nbut he had the noble Johnson, and the admirable Reynolds,\\nDR. SAMUEL JOHNSON. [FROM a PAINTING BY SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS, 1778.]\\nand the great Gibbon, and the great Burke, and the great\\nFox friends and admirers illustrious indeed, as famous as\\nthose who, fifty years before, sat round Pope s table.\\nC", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0039.jp2"}, "40": {"fulltext": "34 OLIVER GOLDSMITH.\\nNobody knows, and I dare say Goldsmith s buoyant temper\\nkept no account of all the pains which he endured during\\nthe early period of his literary career. Should any man of\\nletters in our day have to bear up against such, Heaven grant\\nhe may come out of the period of misfortune with such a\\npure, kind heart as that which Goldsmith obstinately bore\\nin his breast. The insults to which he had to submit are\\nshocking to read of\u00e2\u0080\u0094 slander, contumely, vulgar satire, brutal\\nmalignity perverting his commonest motives and actions he\\nhad his share of these, and one s anger is roused at reading\\nof them, as it is at seeing a woman insulted or a child as-\\nsaulted, at the notion that a creature so very gentle and\\nweak and full of love should have had to suffer so. And\\nhe had worse than insult to undergo to own to fault, and\\ndeprecate the anger of ruffians. There is a letter of his ex-\\ntant to one Griffiths, a bookseller, in which poor Goldsmith\\nis forced to confess that certain books sent by Griffiths are\\nin the hands of a friend from whom Goldsmith had been\\nforced to borrow money. He was wild, sir, Johnson said,\\nspeaking of Goldsmith to Boswell, with his great, wise be-\\nnevolence and noble mercifulness of heart Dr. Goldsmith\\nwas wild, sir; but he is so no more. Ah! if we pity the\\ngood and weak man who suffers undeservedly, let us deal\\nvery gently with him from whom misery extorts not only\\ntears, but shame; let us think humbly and charitably of the\\nhuman nature that suffers so sadly and falls so low. Whose\\nturn may it be to-morrow? What weak heart, confident\\nbefore trial, may not succumb under temptation invincible\\nCover the good man who has been vanquished cover his\\nface and pass on.\\nThink of him reckless, thriftless, vain if you like; but\\nmerciful, gentle, generous, full of love and pity. He passes\\nout of our life, and goes to render his account beyond it.\\nThink of the poor pensioners weeping at his grave think\\nof the noble spirits that admired and deplored him think", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0040.jp2"}, "41": {"fulltext": "OLIVER GOLDSMITH.\\n35\\nof the righteous pen that wrote his epitaph and of the won-\\nderful and unanimous response of affection with which the\\nworld has paid back the love he gave it. His humour de-\\nlighting us still; his song fresh and beautiful as when first\\nhe charmed with it; his words in all our mouths; his very-\\nweaknesses beloved and familiar his benevolent spirit seems\\nstill to smile upon us; to do gentle kindnesses; to succour\\nwith sweet charity; to soothe, caress, and forgive; to plead\\nwith the fortunate for the unhappy and the poor.\\nFROM RANDOM RECOLLECTIONS, BY GEORGE COLMAN THE\\nYOUNGER.*\\nI was only five years old when Goldsmith took me on his\\nknee, while he was drinking coffee one evening with my\\nfather, and began to play with me, which amiable act I re-\\nturned with the ingratitude of a peevish brat by giving him\\na very smart slap in the face; it must have been a tingler,\\nfor it left the marks of my little spiteful paw upon his cheek.\\nThis infantile outrage was followed by summary justice, and\\nI was locked up by my indignant father in an adjoining room\\nto undergo solitary imprisonment in the dark. Here I be-\\ngan to howl and scream most abominably... At length a\\ngenerous friend appeared to extricate me from jeopardy\\nit was the tender-hearted Doctor himself, with a lighted candle\\nin his hand, and a smile upon his countenance, which was\\nstill partially red from the effects of my petulance. I sulked\\nand sobbed, and he fondled and soothed until I began to\\nbrighten. Goldsmith, who in regard to children was like\\nthe Village Preacher he has so beautifully described for\\nTheir welfare pleas d him, and their cares distress d\\nseized the propitious moment of returning good-humour; so\\nhe put down the candle and began to conjure. He placed\\nVol. i. p. 63.", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0041.jp2"}, "42": {"fulltext": "3 6 OLIVER GOLDSMITH.\\nthree hats which happened to be in the room upon the car-\\npet, and a shilling under each the shillings, he told me, were\\nEngland, France, and Spain. Hey, presto, cockolorum!\\ncried the Doctor; and, lo! on uncovering the shillings, which\\nhad been dispersed, each beneath a separate hat, they were\\nall found congregated under one. I was no politician at five\\nyears old, and therefore might not have wondered at the\\nsudden revolution which brought England, France, and Spain\\nall under one crown; but, as I was also no conjurer, it\\namazed me beyond measure. From that time, whenever\\nthe Doctor -came to visit my father,\\nI pluck d his gown to share the good man s smile;\\na game of romps constantly ensued, and we were always cor-\\ndial friends and merry playfellows. Our unequal companion-\\nship varied somewhat in point of sports as I grew older, but\\nit did not last long; my senior playmate died, alas! in his\\nforty-fifth year, some months after I had attained my eleventh.\\nHis death, it has been thought, was hastened by mental in-\\nquietude. If this supposition be true, never did the tur-\\nmoils of life subdue a mind more warm with sympathy for\\nthe misfortunes of our fellow-creatures. But his character is\\nfamiliar to every *me who reads. In all the numerous ac-\\ncounts of his virtues and foibles, his genius and absurdities,\\nhis knowledge of nature and his ignorance of the world, his\\ncompassion for another s woe was always predominant;\\nand my trivial story of his humouring a froward child weighs\\nbut a feather in the recorded scale of his benevolence.\\nFROM CAMPBELL S BRITISH POETS.\\nGoldsmith s poetry enjoys a calm and steady popularity.\\nIt inspires us, indeed, with no admiration of daring design\\nor of fertile invention but it presents, within its narrow\\nSpecimens of the British Poets, Cunningham s edit., London, 1841.", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0042.jp2"}, "43": {"fulltext": "OLIVER GOLDSMITH.\\n37\\nlimits, a distinct and unbroken view of poetical delightful-\\nness. His descriptions and sentiments have the pure zest\\nof nature. He is refined without false delicacy, and correct\\nwithout insipidity. Perhaps there is an intellectual com-\\nposure in his manner, which may in some passages be said\\nto approach to the reserved and prosaic but he unbends\\nfrom this graver strain of reflection to tenderness, and even\\nto playfulness, with an ease and grace almost exclusively his\\nown, and connects extensive views of the happiness and in-\\nterests of society with pictures of life that touch the heart\\nby their familiarity. His language is certainly simple,\\nthough it is not cast in a rugged or careless mould. He is\\nno disciple of the gaunt and famished school of simplicity.\\nDeliberately as he wrote, he can not be accused of wanting\\nnatural and idiomatic expression; but still it is select and\\nrefined expression. He uses the ornaments which must\\nalways distinguish true poetry from prose and when he\\nadopts colloquial plainness, it is with the utmost care and\\nskill to avoid a vulgar humility. There is more of this sus-\\ntained simplicity, of this chaste economy and choice of\\nwords, in Goldsmith than in any modern poet, or perhaps\\nthan would be attainable or desirable as a standard for\\nevery writer of rhyme. In extensive narrative poems such\\na style would be too difficult. There is a noble propriety\\neven in the careless strength of great poems, as in the rough-\\nness of castle walls and, generally speaking, where there is\\na long course of story or observation of life to be pursued,\\nsuch exquisite touches as those of Goldsmith would be too\\ncostly materials for sustaining it. But let us not imagine\\nthat the serene graces of this poet were not admirably\\nadapted to his subjects. His poetry is not that of impetu-\\nous, but of contemplative sensibility; of a spirit breathing\\nits regrets and recollections in a tone that has no disso-\\nnance with the calm of philosophical reflection. He takes\\nrather elevated speculative views of the causes of good and", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0043.jp2"}, "44": {"fulltext": "38 OLIVER GOLDSMITH.\\nevil in society; at the same time the objects which are most\\nendeared to his imagination are those of familiar and simple\\ninterest; and the domestic affections may be said to be the\\nonly genii of his romance. The tendency towards abstract-\\ned observation in his poetry agrees peculiarly with the com-\\npendious form of expression which he studied while the\\nhome-felt joys, on which his fancy loved to repose, required\\nat once the chastest and sweetest colours of language to\\nmake them harmonize with the dignity of a philosophical\\npoem. His whole manner has a still depth of feeling and\\nreflection, which gives back the image of nature unruffled\\nand minutely. He has no redundant thoughts or false\\ntransports but seems on every occasion to have weighed\\nthe impulse to which he surrendered himself. Whatever\\nardour or casual felicities he may have thus sacrificed, he\\ngained a high degree of purity and self-possession. His\\nchaste pathos makes him an insinuating moralist, and throws\\na charm of Claude-like softness over his descriptions of\\nhomely objects that would seem only fit to be the subjects\\nof Dutch painting. But his quiet enthusiasm leads the af-\\nfections to humble things without a vulgar association; and\\nhe inspires us with a fondness to trace the simplest recol-\\nlections of Auburn, till we count the furniture of its ale-\\nhouse and listen to\\nThe varnish d clock that click d behind the door.\\nHe betrays so little effort to make us visionary by the\\nusual and palpable fictions of his art; he keeps apparently\\nso close to realities, and draws certain conclusions respect-\\ning the radical interests of man so boldly and decidedly,\\nThere is perhaps no couplet in English rhyme more perspicuously\\ncondensed than those two lines of The Traveller in which he describes\\nthe once flattering, vain, and happy character of the French\\nThey please, are pleas d, they give to get esteem,\\nTill, seeming blest, they grow to what they seem.", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0044.jp2"}, "45": {"fulltext": "OLIVER GOLDSMITH.\\n39\\nthat we pay him a compliment, not always extended to the\\ntuneful tribe that of judging his sentiments by their strict\\nand logical interpretation. In thus judging him by the test\\nof his philosophical spirit, I am not prepared to say that he\\nis a purely impartial theorist. He advances general posi-\\ntions respecting the happiness of society, founded on limited\\nviews of truth, and under the bias of local feelings. He\\ncontemplates only one side of the question. It must be al-\\nways thus in poetry. Let the mind be ever so tranquilly\\ndisposed to reflection, yet if it retain poetical sensation^ it\\nwill embrace only those speculative opinions that fall in\\nwith the tone of the imagination. Yet I am not disposed\\nto consider his principles as absurd, or his representations\\nof life as the mere reveries of fancy.\\nFROM FORSTER S LIFE OF THE POET.*\\nOf the many clever and indeed wonderful writings that\\nfrom age to age are poured forth into the world, what is it\\nthat puts upon the few the stamp of immortality, and makes\\nthem seem indestructible as nature What is it but their\\nwise rejection of everything superfluous being grave his-\\ntories, or natural stories, of everything that is ?wt history or\\nnature being poems, of everything that is not poetry, how-\\never much it may resemble it; and especially of that prodi-\\ngal accumulation of thoughts and images which, till proper-\\nly sifted and selected, is as the unhewn to the chiselled mar-\\nble What is it, in short, but that unity, completeness, pol-\\nish, and perfectness in every part which Goldsmith attained\\nIt may be said that his range is limited, and that, whether\\nin his poetry or his prose, he seldom wanders far from the\\nground of his own experience; but within that circle how\\npotent is his -magic, what a command it exercises over the\\nhappiest forms of art, with what a versatile grace it moves\\nLife and Times of Oliver Goldsmith, by John Forster, vol. i. p. 228.", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0045.jp2"}, "46": {"fulltext": "4 o OLIVER GOLDSMITH.\\nbetween what saddens us in humour or smiles on us in grief,\\nand how unerring our response of laughter or of tears Thus,\\nhis pictures may be small; may be far from historical pieces,\\namazing or confounding us may be even, if severest criti-\\ncism will have it so, mere happy tableaux de genre hanging\\nup against our walls; but their colours are exquisite and\\nunfading they have that universal expression which never\\nrises higher than the comprehension of the humblest, yet\\nis ever on a level with the understanding and appreciation\\nof the loftiest they possess that familiar sweetness of\\nhousehold expression which wins them welcome, alike where\\nthe rich inhabit and in huts where poor men lie and there,\\nimproving and gladdening all, they are likely to hang for-\\never.\\nFROM IRVING S LIFE OF THE POET.*\\nThere are few writers for whom the reader feels such\\npersonal kindness as for Oliver Goldsmith, for few have so\\neminently possessed the magic gift of identifying themselves\\nwith their writings. We read his character in every page,\\nand grow into familiar intimacy with him as we read. The\\nartless benevolence that beams throughout his works; the\\nwhimsical yet amiable views of human life and human nat-\\nure; the unforced humour, blending so happily with good-\\nfeeling and good-sense, and singularly dashed at times with\\na pleasing melancholy; even the very nature of his mellow\\nand flowing and softly tinted style all seem to bespeak his\\nmoral as well as his intellectual qualities, and make us love\\nthe man at the same time that we admire the author. While\\nthe productions of writers of loftier pretension and more\\nsounding names are suffered to moulder on our shelves,\\nthose of Goldsmith are cherished and laid in our bosoms.\\nWe do not quote them with ostentation, but they mingle\\nOliver Goldsmith a Biography. By Washington Irving. Edit, of\\n1849, p. 17 foil.", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0046.jp2"}, "47": {"fulltext": "OLIVER GOLDSMITH.\\n41\\nwith our minds, sweeten our tempers, and harmonize our\\nthoughts; they put us in good-humour with ourselves and\\nwith the world, and in so doing they make us happier and\\nbetter men.\\nAn acquaintance with the private biography of Goldsmith\\nlets us into the secret of his gifted pages. We there dis-\\ncover them to be little more than transcripts of his own\\nheart and picturings of his fortunes. There he shows him-\\nself the same kind, artless, good-humoured, excursive, sensi-\\nble, whimsical, intelligent being that he appears in his writ-\\nings. Scarcely an adventure or character is given in his\\nworks that may not be traced to his own parti-coloured story.\\nMany of his most ludicrous scenes and ridiculous incidents\\nhave been drawn from his own blunders and mischances,\\nand he seems really to have been buffeted into almost every\\nmaxim imparted by him for the instruction of his reader.\\nNever was the trite, because sage apothegm, that The\\nchild is father to the man, more fully verified than in the\\ncase of Goldsmith. He is shy, awkward, and blundering in\\nchildhood, yet full of sensibility; he is a butt for the jeers\\nand jokes of his companions, but apt to surprise and con-\\nfound them by sudden and witty repartees; he is dull and\\nstupid at his tasks, yet an eager and intelligent devourer of\\nthe travelling tales and campaigning stories of his half-mil-\\nitary pedagogue he may be a dunce, but he is already a\\nrhymer; and his early scintillations of poetry awaken the\\nexpectations of his friends. He seems from infancy to have\\nbeen compounded of two natures one bright, the other blun-\\ndering; or to have had fairy gifts laid in his cradle by the\\ngood people who haunted his birthplace, the old goblin\\nmansion on the banks of the Inny.\\nHe carries with him the wayward elfin spirit, if we may\\nso term it, throughout his career. His fairy gifts are of no\\navail at school, academy, or college they unfit him for close\\nstudy and practical science, and render him heedless of", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0047.jp2"}, "48": {"fulltext": "2 OLIVER GOLDSMITH.\\neverything that does not address itself to his poetical im-\\nagination and genial and festive feelings; they dispose him\\nto break away from restraint, to stroll about hedges, green\\nlanes, and haunted streams, to revel with jovial companions,\\nor to rove the country like a gypsy in quest of odd advent-\\nures.\\nAs if confiding in these delusive gifts, he takes no heed\\nof the present nor care for the future, lays no regular and\\nsolid foundation of knowledge, follows out no plan, adopts\\nand discards those recommended by his friends; at one time\\nprepares for the ministry, next turns to the law, and then\\nfixes upon medicine. He repairs to Edinburgh, the great\\nemporium of medical science, but the fairy gifts accompany\\nhim he idles and frolics away his time there, imbibing only\\nsuch knowledge as is agreeable to him; makes an excursion\\nto the poetical regions of the Highlands; and having walk-\\ned the hospitals for the customary time, sets off to ramble\\nover the Continent, in quest of novelty rather than knowl-\\nedge. His whole tour is a poetical one. He fancies he is\\nplaying the philosopher while he is really playing the poet\\nand though professedly he attends lectures and visits foreign\\nuniversities, so deficient is he on his return, in the studies\\nfor which he set out, that he fails in an examination as a\\nsurgeon s mate and while figuring as a doctor of medicine,\\nis outvied on a point of practice by his apothecary. Baffled\\nin every regular pursuit, after trying in vain some of the\\nhumbler callings of commonplace life, he is driven almost\\nby chance to the exercise of his pen, and here the fairy gifts\\ncome to his assistance. For a long time, however, he seems\\nunaware of the magic properties of that pen he uses it only\\nas a makeshift until he can find a legitimate means of sup-\\nport. He is not a learned man, and can write but meagrely\\nand at second-hand on learned subjects; but he has a quick\\nconvertible talent that seizes lightly on the points of knowl-\\nedge necessary to the illustration of a theme his writings", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0048.jp2"}, "49": {"fulltext": "OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 43\\nfor a time are desultory, the fruits of what he has seen and\\nfelt, or what he has recently and hastily read but his gifted\\npen transmutes everything into gold, and his own genial nat-\\nure reflects its sunshine through his pages.\\nStill unaware of his powers, he throws off his writings\\nanonymously, to go with the writings of less favoured men\\nand it is a long time, and after a bitter struggle with poverty\\nand humiliation, before he acquires confidence in his literary\\ntalent as a means of support, and begins to dream of rep-\\nutation.\\nFrom this time his pen is a wand of power in his hand,\\nand he has only to use it discreetly to make it competent\\nto all his wants. But discretion is not a part of Goldsmith s\\nnature; and it seems the property of these fairy gifts to be\\naccompanied by moods and temperaments to render their\\neffect precarious. The heedlessness of his early days; his\\ndisposition for social enjoyment; his habit of throwing the\\npresent on the neck of the future, still continue. His ex-\\npenses forerun his means; he incurs debts on the faith of\\nwhat his magic pen is to produce, and then, under the press-\\nure of his debts, sacrifices its productions for prices far be-\\nlow their value. It is a redeeming circumstance in his prod-\\nigality that it is lavished oftener upon others than upon\\nhimself: he gives without thought or stint, and is the con-\\ntinual dupe of his benevolence and his trustfulness in human\\nnature. We may say of him as he says of one of his heroes,\\nHe could not stifle the natural impulse which he had to do\\ngood, but frequently borrowed money to relieve the distress-\\ned; and when he knew not conveniently where to borrow,\\nhe has been observed to shed tears as he passed through the\\nwretched suppliants who attended his gate. His simplicity\\nin trusting persons whom he had no previous reasons to place\\nconfidence in seems to be one of those lights of his character\\nwhich, while they impeach his understanding, do honour to\\nhis benevolence. The low and the timid are ever suspicious;", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0049.jp2"}, "50": {"fulltext": "44 OLIVER GOLDSMITH.\\nbut a heart impressed with honourable sentiments expects\\nfrom others sympathetic sincerity.\\nHis heedlessness in pecuniary matters, which had render-\\ned his life a struggle with poverty even in the days of his\\nobscurity, rendered the struggle still more intense when his\\nfairy gifts had elevated him into the society of the wealthy\\nand luxurious, and imposed on his simple and generous spirit\\nfancied obligations to a more ample and bounteous display.\\nHow comes it, says a recent and ingenious critic, that\\nin all the miry paths of life which he had trod, no speck ever\\nsullied the robe of his modest and graceful muse. How\\namid all that love of inferior company, which never to the\\nlast forsook him, did he keep his genius so free from every\\ntouch of vulgarity?\\nWe answer that it was owing to the innate purity and\\ngoodness of his nature there was nothing in it that assimi-\\nlated to vice and vulgarity. Though his circumstances often\\ncompelled him to associate with the poor, they never could\\nbetray him into companionship with the depraved. His rel-\\nish for humour and for the study of character, as we have\\nbefore observed, brought him often into convivial company\\nof a vulgar kind; but he discriminated between their vulgar-\\nity and their amusing qualities, or rather wrought from the\\nwhole those familiar pictures of life which form the staple of\\nhis most popular writings.\\nMuch, too, of this intact purity of heart may be ascribed\\nto the lessons of his infancy under the paternal roof; to the\\ngentle, benevolent, elevated, unworldly maxims of his father,\\nwho, passing rich with forty pounds a year, infused a spirit\\ninto his child which riches could not deprave nor poverty de-\\ngrade. Much of his boyhood, too, had been passed in the\\nhousehold of his uncle, the amiable and generous Contarine;\\nwhere he talked of literature with the good pastor, and prac-\\nticed music with his daughter, and delighted them both by\\nGoldsmith s Life of Nash.", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0050.jp2"}, "51": {"fulltext": "OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 45\\nhis juvenile attempts at poetry. These early associations\\nbreathed a grace and refinement into his mind, and tuned it\\nup after the rough sports on the green or the frolics at the\\ntavern. These led him to turn from the roaring glees of the\\nclub to listen to the harp of his cousin Jane, and from the\\nrustic triumph of throwing sledge to a stroll with his flute\\nalong the pastoral banks of the Inny.\\nThe gentle spirit of his father walked with him through\\nlife, a pure and virtuous monitor; and in all the vicissitudes\\nof his career, we find him ever more chastened in mind by\\nthe sweet and holy recollections of the home of his infancy.\\nIt has been questioned whether he really had any religious\\nfeeling. Those who raise the question have never consider-\\ned well his writings his Vicar of Wakefield and his pictures\\nof the village pastor present religion under its most en-\\ndearing forms, and with a feeling that could only flow from\\nthe deep convictions of the heart. When his fair travelling\\ncompanions at Paris urged him to read the Church Service\\non a Sunday, he replied that he was not worthy to do it.\\nHe had seen in early life the sacred offices performed by his\\nfather and his brother, with a solemnity which had sanctified\\nthem in his memory; how could he presume to undertake\\nsuch functions? His religion has been called in question by\\nJohnson and by Boswell he certainly had not the gloomy\\nhypochondriacal piety of the one nor the babbling mouth-\\npiety of the other; but the spirit of Christian charity breathed\\nforth in his writings and illustrated in his conduct give us\\nreason to believe he had the indwelling religion of the\\nsoul.\\nFrom the general tone of Goldsmith s biography, it is evi-\\ndent that his faults, at the worst, were but negative, while\\nhis merits were great and decided. He was no one s enemy\\nbut his own; his errors, in the main, inflicted evil on none\\nbut himself, and were so blended with humorous and even\\naffecting circumstances as to disarm anger and conciliate", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0051.jp2"}, "52": {"fulltext": "4 6 OLIVER GOLDSMITH.\\nkindness. Where eminent talent is united to spotless virtue\\nwe are awed and dazzled into admiration, but our admiration\\nis apt to be cold and reverential; while there is something\\nin the harmless infirmities of a good and great but erring\\nindividual that pleads touchingly to our nature; and we\\nturn more kindly towards the object of our idolatry when\\nwe find that, like ourselves, he is mortal and is frail. The\\nepithet so often heard, and in such kindly tones, of poor\\nGoldsmith, speaks volumes. Few who consider the real\\ncompound of admirable and whimsical qualities which form\\nhis character would wish to prune away its eccentricities,\\ntrim its grotesque luxuriance, and clip it down to the decent\\nformalities of rigid virtue. Let not his frailties be remem-\\nbered, said Johnson; he was a very great man. But,\\nfor our part, we rather say Let them be remembered, since\\ntheir tendency is to endear; and we question whether he\\nhimself would not feel gratified in hearing his reader, after\\ndwelling with admiration on the proofs of his greatness, close\\nthe volume with the kind-hearted phrase, so fondly and fa-\\nmiliarly ejaculated, of Poor Goldsmith!\\nJ\\np\\\\^. ouzos JZ V 4*jtM^\\nQi^c^l SZjpzsLu*. ty/fb^ fr*07r", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0052.jp2"}, "53": {"fulltext": "THE TRAVELLER,", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0053.jp2"}, "54": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0054.jp2"}, "55": {"fulltext": "TO THE\\nREV. HENRY GOLDSMITH.\\nDear Sir,\\nI am sensible that the friendship between us can acquire\\nno new force from the ceremonies of a dedication and per-\\nhaps it demands an excuse thus to prefix your name to my\\nattempts, which you decline giving with your own. But as a\\npart of this poem was formerly written to you from Switzer-\\nland, the whole can now, with propriety, be only inscribed to\\nyou. It will also throw a light upon many parts of it, when\\nthe reader understands that it is addressed to a man who,\\ndespising fame and fortune, has retired early to happiness\\nand obscurity with an income of forty pounds a year.\\nI now perceive, my dear brother, the wisdom of your hum-\\nble choice. You have entered upon a sacred office, where\\nthe harvest is great and the labourers are but few; while you\\nhave left the field of ambition, where the labourers are many\\nand the harvest not worth carrying away. But of all kinds\\nof ambition what from the refinement of the times, from\\ndiffering systems of criticism, and from the divisions of party\\nthat which pursues poetical fame is the wildest.\\nPoetry makes a principal amusement among unpolished\\nnations; but in a country verging to the extremes of refine-\\nment, painting and music come in for a share. As these\\noffer the feeble mind a less laborious entertainment, they at\\nfirst rival poetry, and at length supplant her they engross\\nall that favour once shown to her and, though but younger\\nsisters, seize upon the elder s birthright.\\nYet, however this art may be neglected by the powerful,\\nit is still in greater danger from the mistaken efforts of the\\nD", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0055.jp2"}, "56": {"fulltext": "5o DEDICATION.\\nlearned to improve it. What criticisms have we not heard\\nof late in favour of blank verse and pindaric odes, choruses,\\nanapests and iambics, alliterative care and happy negligence\\nEvery absurdity has now a champion to defend it; and as he\\nis generally much in the wrong, so he has always much to\\nsay for error is ever talkative.\\nBut there is an enemy to this art still more dangerous: I\\nmean party. Party entirely distorts the judgment and de-\\nstroys the taste. When the mind is once infected with this\\ndisease, it can only find pleasure in what contributes to in?\\ncrease the distemper. Like the tiger, that seldom desists\\nfrom pursuing man after having once preyed upon human\\nflesh, the reader who has once gratified his appetite with\\ncalumny makes ever after the most agreeable feast upon\\nmurdered reputation. Such readers generally admire some\\nhalf-witted thing, who wants to be thought a bold man, hav-\\ning lost the character of a wise one. Him they dignify with\\nthe name of poet his tawdry lampoons are called satires\\nhis turbulence is said to be force, and his frenzy fire.\\nWhat reception a poem may find which has neither abuse,\\nparty, nor blank verse to support it, I cannot tell nor am I\\nsolicitous to know. My aims are right. Without espousing\\nthe cause of any party, I have attempted to moderate the\\nrage of all. I have endeavoured to show that there may be\\nequal happiness in states that are differently governed from\\nour own that every state has a particular principle of hap-\\npiness and that this principle in each may be carried to a\\nmischievous excess. There are few can judge better than\\nyourself how far these positions are illustrated in this poem.\\nI am, Dear Sir,\\nYour most affectionate brother,\\nOliver Goldsmith.", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0056.jp2"}, "57": {"fulltext": "THE TRAVELLER;\\nOR,\\nA PROSPECT OF SOCIETY.\\nRemote, unfriended, melancholy, slow\\nOr by the lazy Scheldt or wandering Po,\\nOr onward where the rude Carinthian boor\\nAgainst the houseless stranger shuts the door,\\nOr where Campania s plain forsaken lies\\nA weary waste expanding to the skies", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0057.jp2"}, "58": {"fulltext": "52\\nOLIVER GOLDSMITH.\\nWhere er I roam, whatever realms to see,\\nMy heart, untravell d, fondly turns to thee\\nStill to my Brother turns, with ceaseless pain,\\nAnd drags at each remove a lengthening chain. 10\\nEternal blessings crown my earliest friend,\\nAnd round his dwelling guardian saints attend:\\nBlest be that spot, where cheerful guests retire\\nTo pause from toil, and trim their evening fire\\nBlest that abode, where want and pain repair,\\nAnd every stranger finds a ready chair;\\nBlest be those feasts with simple plenty crown d,\\nWhere all the ruddy family around\\nLaugh at the jests or pranks that never fail,\\nOr sigh with pity at some mournful tale, 20\\nOr press the bashful stranger to his food,\\nAnd learn the luxury of doing good.\\nBut me, not destin d such delights to share,\\nMy prime of life in wandering spent and care\\nImpelPd with steps unceasing to pursue\\nSome fleeting good that mocks me with the view,\\nThat, like the circle bounding earth and skies,\\nAllures from far, yet, as I follow, flies\\nMy fortune leads to traverse realms alone,\\nAnd find no spot of all the world my own. 30\\nEven now, where Alpine solitudes ascend,\\nI sit me down a pensive hour to spend;\\nAnd placed on high, above the storm s career,\\nLook downward where an hundred realms appear\\nLakes, forests, cities, plains extending wide,\\nThe pomp of kings, the shepherd s humbler pride.\\nWhen thus Creation s charms around combine,\\nAmidst the store should thankless pride repine\\nSay, should the philosophic mind disdain\\nThat good which makes each humbler bosom vain 4\u00c2\u00b0\\nLet school-taught pride dissemble all it can,", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0058.jp2"}, "59": {"fulltext": "THE TRAVELLER.\\n53\\nThese little things are great to little man\\nAnd wiser he whose sympathetic mind\\nExults in all the good of all mankind.\\nYe glittering towns, with wealth and splendour crown d,\\nYe fields, where summer spreads profusion round,\\nYe lakes, whose vessels catch the busy gale,\\nYe bending swains, that dress the flowery vale\\nFor me your tributary stores combine;\\nCreation s heir, the world, the world is mine 50\\nAs some lone miser, visiting his store,\\nBends at his treasure, counts, recounts it o er\\nHoards after hoards his rising raptures fill,\\nYet still he sighs, for hoards are wanting still\\nThus to my breast alternate passions rise,\\nPleas d with each good that Heaven to man supplies,", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0059.jp2"}, "60": {"fulltext": "54\\nOLIVER GOLDSMITH.\\nYet oft a sigh prevails, and sorrows fall,\\nTo see the hoard of human bliss so small\\nAnd oft I wish, amidst the scene, to find\\nSome spot to real happiness consign d, 60\\nWhere my worn soul, each wandering hope at rest,\\nMay gather bliss to see my fellows blest.\\nBut where to find that happiest spot below,\\nWho can direct, when all pretend to know\\nThe shuddering tenant of the frigid zone\\nBoldly proclaims that happiest spot his own,\\nExtols the treasures of his stormy seas,\\nAnd his long nights of revelry and ease;\\nThe naked negro, panting at the line,\\nBoasts of his golden sands and palmy wine, 70\\nBasks in the glare, or stems the tepid wave,\\nAnd thanks his gods for all the good they gave.\\nSuch is the patriot s boast, where er we roam\\nHis first, best country ever is at home.\\nAnd yet, perhaps, if countries we compare,\\nAnd estimate the blessings which they share,\\nThough patriots flatter, still shall wisdom find\\nAn equal portion dealt to all mankind\\nAs different good, by art or nature given,\\nTo different nations makes their blessings even. 80\\nNature, a mother kind alike to all,\\nStill grants her bliss at Labour s earnest call\\nWith food as well the peasant is supplied\\nOn Idra s cliffs as Arno s shelvy side\\nAnd though the rocky crested summits frown,\\nThese rocks, by custom, turn to beds of down.\\nFrom Art more various are the blessings sent\\nWealth, commerce, honour, liberty, content;\\nYet these each other s power so strong contest\\nThat either seems destructive of the rest:\\nWhere wealth and freedom reign contentment fails,", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0060.jp2"}, "61": {"fulltext": "THE TRAVELLER. 55\\nAnd honour sinks where commerce long prevails.\\nHence every state, to one lov d blessing prone,\\nConforms and models life to that alone\\nEach to the favourite happiness attends,\\nAnd spurns the plan that aims at other ends\\nTill, carried to excess in each domain,\\nThis favourite good begets peculiar pain.\\nBut let us try these truths with closer eyes,\\nAnd trace them through the prospect as it lies\\nHere for a while my proper cares resign d,\\nHere let me sit in sorrow for mankind\\nLike yon neglected shrub, at random cast,\\nThat shades the steep, and sighs at every blast.\\nFar to the right, where Apennine ascends,\\nBright as the summer, Italy extends\\nIts uplands sloping deck the mountain s side,\\nWoods over woods in gay theatric pride,\\nWhile oft some temple s mouldering tops between\\nWith venerable grandeur mark the scene.\\nCould Nature s bounty satisfy the breast,\\nThe sons of Italy were surely blest.\\nWhatever fruits in different climes were found,\\nThat proudly rise, or humbly court the ground\\nWhatever blooms in torrid tracts appear,\\nWhose bright succession decks the varied year;\\nWhatever sweets salute the northern sky\\n^With vernal lives, that blossom but to die\\nThese, here disporting, own the kindred soil,\\nNor ask luxuriance from the planter s toil\\nWhile sea-born gales their gelid wings expand\\nTo winnow fragrance round the smiling land.\\nBut small the bliss that sense alone bestows,\\nAnd sensual bliss is all the nation knows;\\nIn florid beauty groves and fields appear\\nMan seems the only growth that dwindles here.", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0061.jp2"}, "62": {"fulltext": "56\\nOLIVER GOLDSMITH.\\nContrasted faults through all his manners reign\\nThough poor, luxurious though submissive, vain\\nThough grave, yet trifling zealous, yet untrue\\nAnd even in penance planning sins anew.\\nAll evils here contaminate the mind,\\nThat opulence departed leaves behind\\n130", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0062.jp2"}, "63": {"fulltext": "THE TRAVELLER.\\n57\\na klr 1 11\\nFor wealth was theirs not far remov d the date\\nWhen commerce proudly flourish d through the state.\\nAt her command the palace learn d to rise,\\nAgain the long-fallen column sought the skies,\\nThe canvas glow d beyond even nature warm,\\nThe pregnant quarry teem d with human form,\\nTill, more unsteady than the southern gale,\\nCommerce on other shores display d her sail\\nWhile nought remain d of all that riches gave,\\nBut towns unmann d and lords without a slave\\nAnd late the nation found, with fruitless skill,\\nIts former strength was but plethoric ill.\\nYet still the loss of wealth is here supplied\\nBy arts, the splendid wrecks of former pride\\nFrom these the feeble heart and long-fallen mind\\n140", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0063.jp2"}, "64": {"fulltext": "5 8 OLIVER GOLDSMITH.\\nAn easy compensation seem to find.\\nHere may be seen, in bloodless pomp array d,\\nThe pasteboard triumph and the cavalcade, 150\\nProcessions form d for piety and love,\\nA mistress or a saint in every grove.\\nBy sports like these are all their cares beguil d\\nThe sports of children satisfy the child.\\nEach nobler aim, represt by long control,\\nNow sinks at last, or feebly maiis the soul\\nWhile low delights, succeeding fast behind,\\nIn happier meanness occupy the mind\\nAs in those domes, where Caesars once bore sway,\\nDefac d by time and tottering in decay, 160\\nThere in the ruin, heedless of the dead,\\nThe shelter-seeking peasant builds his shed;\\nAnd, wondering man could want the larger pile,\\nExults, and owns his cottage with a smile.\\nMy soul, turn from them, turn we to survey\\nWhere rougher climes a nobler race display,\\nWhere the bleak Swiss their stormy mansions tread,\\nAnd force a churlish soil for scanty bread.\\nNo product here the barren hills afford\\nBut man and steel, the soldier and his sword 170\\nNo vernal blooms their torpid rocks array,\\nBut winter lingering chills the lap of May\\nNo zephyr fondly sues the mountain s breast,\\nBut meteors glare, and stormy glooms invest\\nYet still, even here, content can spread a charm,\\nRedress the clime, and all its rage disarm.\\nThough poor the peasant s hut, his feasts though small,\\nHe sees his little lot the lot of all\\nSees no contiguous palace rear its head,\\nTo shame the meanness of his humble shed, 180\\nNo costly lord the sumptuous banquet deal,\\nTo make him loathe his vegetable meal", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0064.jp2"}, "65": {"fulltext": "THE TRAVELLER.\\n59\\nBut calm, and bred in ignorance and toil,\\nEach wish contracting, fits him to the soil.\\nCheerful at morn, he wakes from short repose,\\nBreasts the keen air, and carols as he goes\\nWith patient angle trolls the finny deep,\\nOr drives his venturous ploughshare to the steep\\nOr seeks the den where snow-tracks mark the way,\\nAnd drags the struggling savage into day.\\nAt night returning, every labour sped,\\nHe sits him down the monarch of a shed;\\nSmiles by his cheerful fire, and round surveys\\nHis children s looks, that brighten at the blaze\\nWhile his lov d partner, boastful of her hoard,\\nDisplays her cleanly platter on the board\\nAnd haply too some pilgrim, thither led,\\nWith many a tale repays the nightly bed.\\n190", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0065.jp2"}, "66": {"fulltext": "6o\\nOLIVER GOLDSMITH.\\nThus every good his native wilds impart\\nImprints the patriot passion on his heart\\nAnd even those ills that round his mansion rise\\nEnhance the bliss his scanty fund supplies.\\nDear is that shed to which his soul conforms,\\nAnd dear that hill which lifts him to the storms\\nAnd as a child, when scaring sounds molest,\\nClings close and closer to the mother s breast,\\nSo the loud torrent and the whirlwind s roar\\nBut bind him to his native mountains more.\\nSuch are the charms to barren states assign d;\\nTheir wants but few, their wishes all confin d.\\nYet let them only share the praises due;\\nIf few their wants, their pleasures are but few\\nFor every want that stimulates the breast\\nBecomes a source of pleasure when redrest.\\nWhence from such lands each pleasing science flies,\\nThat first excites desire, and then supplies.\\nUnknown to them, when sensual pleasures cloy,\\nTo fill the languid pause with finer joy;\\nUnknown those powers that raise the soul to flame,", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0066.jp2"}, "67": {"fulltext": "THE TRAVELLER.\\n61\\nCatch every nerve, and vibrate through the frame\\nTheir level life is but a smouldering fire,\\nUnquench d by want, unfann d by strong desire\\nUnfit for raptures, or, if raptures cheer\\nOn some high festival of once a year,\\nIn wild excess the vulgar breast takes fire,\\nTill, buried in debauch, the bliss expire.\\nBut not their joys alone thus coarsely flow;\\nTheir morals, like their pleasures, are but low:\\nFor, as refinement stops, from sire to son\\nUnalter d, unimprov d the manners run\\n230", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0067.jp2"}, "68": {"fulltext": "52 OLIVER GOLDSMITH.\\nAnd love s and friendship s finely pointed dart\\nFall blunted from each indurated heart.\\nSome sterner virtues o er the mountain s breast\\nMay sit, like falcons cowering on the nest\\nBut all the gentler morals, such as play\\nThrough life s more cultur d walks, and charm the way,\\nThese, far dispers d, on timorous pinions fly,\\nTo sport and flutter in a kinder sky.\\nTo kinder skies, where gentler manners reign,\\nI turn; and France displays her bright domain. 240\\nGay, sprightly land of mirth and social ease,\\nPleas d with thyself, whom all the world can please,\\nHow often have I led thy sportive choir,\\nWith tuneless pipe, beside the murmuring Loire,\\nWhere shading elms along the margin grew,\\nAnd, freshen d from the wave, the zephyr flew!\\nAnd haply, though my harsh touch, faltering still,\\nBut mock d all tune, and marr d the dancer s skill,\\nYet would the village praise my wondrous power,\\nAnd dance, forgetful of the noontide hour. 250\\nAlike all ages: dames of ancient days\\nHave led their children through the mirthful maze\\nAnd the gay grandsire, skilPd in gestic lore,\\nHas frisk d beneath the burthen of threescore.\\nSo blest a life these thoughtless realms display\\nThus idly busy rolls their world away.\\nTheirs are those arts that mind to mind endear,\\nFor honour forms the social temper here:\\nHonour, that praise which real merit gains,\\nOr even imaginary worth obtains, 260\\nHere passes current; paid from hand to hand,\\nIt shifts, in splendid traffic, round the land;\\nFrom courts to camps, to cottages it strays,\\nAnd all are taught an avarice of praise.\\nThey please, are pleas d they give to get esteem,\\nTill, seeming blest, they grow to what they seem.", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0068.jp2"}, "69": {"fulltext": "THE TRAVELLER.\\n63\\nBut while this softer art their bliss supplies,\\nIt gives their follies also room to rise;\\nFor praise, too dearly lov d, or warmly sought,\\nEnfeebles all internal strength of thought; 270\\nAnd the weak soul, within itself unblest,\\nLeans for all pleasure on another s breast.\\nHence ostentation here, with tawdry art,\\nPants for the vulgar praise which fools impart\\nHere vanity assumes her pert grimace,\\nAnd trims her robes of frieze with copper lace\\nHere beggar pride defrauds her daily cheer,\\nTo boast one splendid banquet once a year:\\nThe mind still turns where shifting fashion draws,\\nNor weighs the solid worth of self-applause. 280\\nTo men of other minds my fancy flies,\\nEmbosom d in the deep where Holland lies.\\nMethinks her patient sons before me stand,\\nWhere the broad ocean leans against the land,\\nAnd, sedulous to stop the coming tide,\\nLift the tall rampire s artificial pride.\\nOnward, methinks, and diligently slow,\\nThe firm, connected bulwark seems to grow,\\nSpreads its long arms amid the watery roar,\\nScoops out an empire, and usurps the shore; 2QO\\nWhile the pent ocean, rising o er the pile,\\nSees an amphibious world beneath him smile\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nThe slow canal, the yellow-blossom d vale,\\nThe willow-tufted bank, the gliding sail,\\nThe crowded mart, the cultivated plain\\nA new creation rescued from his reign.\\nThus, while around the wave-subjected soil\\nImpels the native to repeated toil,\\nIndustrious habits in each bosom reign,\\nAnd industry begets a love of gain. 300\\nHence all the good from opulence that springs,", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0069.jp2"}, "70": {"fulltext": "6 4\\nOLIVER GOLDSMITH.\\nWith all those ills superfluous treasure brings,\\nAre here display d. Their much-lov d wealth imparts\\nConvenience, plenty, elegance, and arts;\\nBut view them closer, craft and fraud appear,\\nEven liberty itself is barter d here.\\nAt gold s superior charms all freedom flies;\\nThe needy sell it, and the rich man buys:\\nA land of tyrants, and a den of slaves,\\nHere wretches seek dishonourable graves,\\nAnd, calmly bent, to servitude conform,\\nDull as their lakes that slumber in the storm.\\nHeavens how unlike their Belgic sires of old\\nRough, podV, content, ungovernably bold,\\nWar in each breast, and freedom on each brow\\nHow much unlike the sons of Britain now\\n310", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0070.jp2"}, "71": {"fulltext": "THE TRAVELLER.\\nFir d at the sound, my genius spreads her wing,\\nAnd flies where Britain courts the western spring\\nWhere lawns extend that scorn Arcadian pride,\\nAnd brighter streams than fam d Hydaspes glide.\\nThere, all around, the gentlest breezes stray;\\nThere gentle music melts on every spray\\nCreation s mildest charms are there combin d\\nExtremes are only in the master s mind.\\nStern o er each bosom reason holds her state,\\nWith daring aims irregularly great.\\nPride in their port, defiance in their eye,\\nI see the lords of human kind pass by;\\nIntent on high designs, a thoughtful band,\\nBy forms unfashion d, fresh from Nature s hand,\\nFierce in their native hardiness of soul,\\nTrue to imagin d right, above control;\\n65\\n320\\n330", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0071.jp2"}, "72": {"fulltext": "66 OLIVER GOLDSMITH.\\nWhile even the peasant boasts these rights to scan.\\nAnd learns to venerate himself as man.\\nThine, Freedom, thine the blessings pictur d here,\\nThine are those charms that dazzle and endear;\\nToo blest indeed were such without alloy,\\nBut, foster d even by freedom, ills annoy.\\nThat independence Britons prize too high\\nKeeps man from man, and breaks the social tie 340\\nThe self-dependent lordlings stand alone,\\nAll claims that bind and sweeten life unknown.\\nHere, by the bonds of nature feebly held,\\nMinds combat minds, repelling and repell d\\nFerments arise, imprison d factions roar,\\nReprest ambition struggles round her shore,\\nTill, overwrought, the general system feels\\nIts motions stop, or frenzy fire the wheels.\\nNor this the worst. As Nature s ties decay,\\nAs duty, love, and honour fail to sway, 350\\nFictitious bonds, the bonds of wealth and law,\\nStill gather strength, and force unwilling awe.\\nHence all obedience bows to these alone,\\nAnd talent sinks, and merit weeps unknown;\\nTill time may come when, stript of all her charms,\\nThe land of scholars, and the nurse of arms,\\nWhere noble stems transmit the patriot flame,\\nWhere kings have toil d, and poets wrote for fame,\\nOne sink of level avarice shall lie,\\nAnd scholars, soldiers, kings, unhonour d die. 360\\nYet think not, thus when Freedom s ills I state,\\nI mean to flatter kings or court the great.\\nYe powers of truth, that bid my soul aspire,\\nFar from my bosom drive the low desire\\nAnd thou, fair Freedom, taught alike to feel\\nThe rabble s rage and tyrant s angry steel\\nThou transitory flower, alike undone", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0072.jp2"}, "73": {"fulltext": "THE TRAVELLER.\\n67\\nBy proud contempt or favour s fostering sun,\\nStill may thy blooms the changeful clime endure\\nI only would repress them to secure\\nFor just experience tells, in every soil,\\nThat those who think must govern those that toil\\nAnd all that Freedom s highest aims can reach\\nIs but to lay proportion d loads on each)\\nHence, should one order disproportion^ grow,\\nIts double weight must ruin all below.\\nO then how blind to all that truth requires,\\nWho think it freedom when a part aspires\\nCalm is my soul, nor apt to rise in arms,\\nExcept when fast-approaching danger warms\\nBut, when contending chiefs blockade the throne,\\n370\\n380", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0073.jp2"}, "74": {"fulltext": "68 OLIVER GOLDSMITH.\\nContracting regal power to stretch their own\\nWhen I behold a factious band agree\\n-To call it freedom when themselves are free\\nEach wanton judge new penal statutes draw,\\nLaws grind the poor, and rich men rule the law;\\nThe wealth of climes where savage nations roam\\nPillag d from slaves to purchase slaves at home;\\nFear, pity, justice, indignation start,\\nTear off reserve, and bare my swelling heart 39\u00c2\u00b0\\nTill half a patriot, half a coward grown,\\nI fly from petty tyrants to the throne.\\nYes, Brother, curse with me that baleful hour\\nWhen first ambition struck at regal power;\\nAnd thus, polluting honour in its source,\\nGave wealth to sway the mind with double force.\\nHave we not seen, round Britain s peopled shore,\\nHer useful sons exchang d for useless ore\\nSeen all her triumphs but destruction haste,\\nLike flaring tapers brightening as they waste 400\\nSeen opulence, her grandeur to maintain,\\nLead stern depopulation in her train,\\nAnd over fields where scatter d hamlets rose,\\nIn barren, solitary pomp repose\\nHave we not seen, at pleasure s lordly call,\\nThe smiling, long-frequented village fall\\nBeheld the duteous son, the sire decay d,\\nThe modest matron, and the blushing maid,\\nForc d from their homes, a melancholy train,\\nTo traverse climes beyond the western main 410\\nWhere wild Oswego spreads her swamps around,\\nAnd Niagara stuns with thundering sound\\nEven now, perhaps, as there some pilgrim strays\\nThrough tangled forests, and through dangerous ways,\\nWhere beasts with man divided empire claim,\\nAnd the brown Indian marks with murderous aim", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0074.jp2"}, "75": {"fulltext": "THE TRAVELLER.\\n6-9\\nThere, while above the giddy tempest flies,\\nAnd all around distressful yells arise,\\nThe pensive exile, bending with his woe,\\nTo stop too fearful, and too faint to go,\\nCasts a long look where England s glories shine,\\nAnd bids his bosom sympathize with mine.\\nVain, very vain, my weary search to find\\nThat bliss which only centres in the mind\\n420", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0075.jp2"}, "76": {"fulltext": "7o\\nOLIVER GOLDSMITH.\\nWhy have I stray d from pleasure and repose,\\nTo seek a good each government bestows\\nIn every government, though terrors reign,\\nThough tyrant kings or tyrant laws restrain,\\nHow small, of all that human hearts endure,\\nThat part which laws or kings can cause or cure\\nStill to ourselves in every place consign d,\\nOur own felicity we make or find\\nWith secret course, which no loud storms annoy,\\nGlides the smooth current of domestic joy.\\nThe lifted ax, the agonizing wheel,\\nLuke s iron crown, and Damiens bed of steel,\\nTo men remote from power but rarely known,\\nLeave reason, faith, and conscience, all our own.\\n430", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0076.jp2"}, "77": {"fulltext": "THE DESERTED VILLAGE.", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0077.jp2"}, "78": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0078.jp2"}, "79": {"fulltext": "TO\\nSIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS.\\nDear Sir,\\nI can have no expectations, in an address of this kind,\\neither to add to your reputation or to establish my own.\\nYou can gain nothing from my admiration, as I am ignorant\\nof that art in which you are said to excel and I may lose\\nmuch by the severity of your judgment, as few have a juster\\ntaste in poetry than you, Setting interest therefore aside, to\\nwhich I never paid much attention, I must be indulged at\\npresent in following my affections. The only dedication\\nI ever made was to my brother, because I loved him better\\nthan most other men. He is since dead. Permit me to\\ninscribe this poem to you.\\nHow far you may be pleased with the versification and\\nmere mechanical parts of this attempt I do not pretend to\\ninquire; but I know you will object and indeed several of\\nour best and wisest friends concur in the opinion that the\\ndepopulation it deplores is nowhere to be seen, and the dis-\\norders it laments are only to be found in the poet s own\\nimagination. To this I can scarce make any other answer\\nthan that I sincerely believe what I have written that I have\\ntaken all possible pains, in my country excursions for these\\nfour or five years past, to be certain of what I allege and\\nthat all my views and inquiries have led me to believe those\\nmiseries real which I here attempt to display. But this is\\nnot the place to enter into an inquiry whether the country be\\ndepopulating or not; the discussion would take up much\\nroom, and I should prove myself, at best, an indifferent poli-", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0079.jp2"}, "80": {"fulltext": "74 DEDICA TION.\\ntician to tire the reader with a long preface when I want his\\nunfatigued attention to a long poem.\\nIn regretting the depopulation of the country, I inveigh\\nagainst the increase of our luxuries; and here I also expect\\nthe shout of modern politicians against me. For twenty or\\nthirty years past it has been the fashion to consider luxury\\nas one of the greatest national advantages; and all the\\nwisdom of antiquity, in that particular, as erroneous. Still,\\nhowever, I must remain a professed ancient on that head,\\nand continue to think those luxuries prejudicial to states by\\nwhich so many vices are introduced and so many kingdoms\\nhave been undone. Indeed, so much has been poured out\\nof late on the other side of the question, that merely for the\\nsake of novelty and variety one would sometimes wish to\\nbe in the right.\\nI am, Dear Sir,\\nYour sincere friend,\\nand ardent admirer,\\nOliver Goldsmith.", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0080.jp2"}, "81": {"fulltext": "V\\nV.\\n1\\ntl\\nV\\n[8\\nlitems!\\n$7\\nW\\nw\\nEg\\nffl\\niite\u00c2\u00a3\\nUPSf\\nJ ^KK-A\\nWEET AUBURN loveliest village of the plain,\\nWhere health and plenty cheer d the labouring swain,\\nWhere smiling spring its earliest visit paid,\\nAnd parting summer s lingering blooms jdelay d;\\nDear lovely bowers of innocence and ease,\\nSeats of my youth, when every sport could please,\\nHow often have I loiter d o er thy green,\\nWhere humble happiness endear d each scene\\nHow often have I paus d on every charm,\\nThe shelter d cot, the cultivated farm,", "height": "3017", "width": "2193", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0081.jp2"}, "82": {"fulltext": "7 6 OLIVER GOLDSMITH.\\nThe never-failing brook, the busy mill,\\nThe decent church that topt the neighbouring hill,\\nThe hawthorn bush with seats beneath the shade,\\nFor talking age and whispering lovers made\\nHow often have I blest the coming day\\nWhen toil remitting lent its turn to play,\\nAnd all the village train from labour free,\\nLed up their sports beneath the spreading tree;\\nWhile many a pastime circled in the shade,\\nThe young contending as the old survey d, 20\\nAnd many a gambol frolick d o er the ground,\\nAnd sleights of art and feats of strength went round!\\nAnd still, as each repeated pleasure tir d,\\nSucceeding sports the mirthful band inspir d\\nThe dancing pair that simply sought renown\\nBy holding out to tire each other down,\\nThe swain mistrustless of his smutted face\\nWhile secret laughter titter d round the place,\\nThe bashful virgin s sidelong looks of love,\\nThe matron s glance that would those looks reprove. 30\\nThese were thy charms, sweet village sports like these,\\nWith sweet succession, taught even toil to please;\\nThese round thy bowers their cheerful influence shed\\nJhese were thy charms but all these charms are fled.\\nSweet smiling village, loveliest of the lawn,\\nThy sports are fled, and all thy charms withdrawn\\nAmidst thy bowers the tyrant s hand is seen,\\nAnd desolation saddens all thy green\\nOne only master grasps the whole domain,\\nAnd half a tillage stints thy smiling plain. 40\\nNo more thy glassy brook reflects the day,\\nBut chok d with sedges works its weedy way;\\nAlong thy glades, a solitary guest,\\nThe hollow-sounding bittern guards its nest;\\nAmidst thy desert walks the lapwing flies,", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0082.jp2"}, "83": {"fulltext": "THE DESERTED VILLAGE.\\n77\\nAnd tires their echoes with unvaried cries;\\nSunk are thy bowers in shapeless ruin all,\\nAnd the long grass o ertops the mouldering wall\\nAnd, trembling, shrinking from the spoiler s hand,\\nFar, far away thy children leave the land. 50\\n111 fares the land, to hastening ills a prey,\\nWhere wealth accumulates and men decay;\\nPrinces and lords may flourish, or may fade\\nA breath can make them, as a breath has made\\nBut a bold peasantry, their country s pride,\\nWhen once destroy d, can never be supplied.\\nA time there was, ere England s griefs began,\\nWhen every rood of ground maintain d its man\\nFor him light labour spread her wholesome store,\\nJust gave what life requir d, but gave no more; 60\\nHis best companions, innocence and health,\\nAnd his best riches, ignorance of wealth.\\nBut times are alter d trade s unfeeling train\\nUsurp the land, and dispossess the swain\\nAlong the lawn where scatter d hamlets rose,\\nUnwieldy wealth and cumbrous pomp repose,\\nAnd every want to opulence allied,\\nAnd every pang that folly pays to pride.\\nThose gentle hours that plenty bade to bloom,\\nThose calm desires that ask d but little room, 70\\nThose healthful sports that grac d the peaceful scene,\\nLiv d in each look and brighten d all the green\\nThese, far departing, seek a kinder shore,\\nAnd rural mirth and manners are no more.\\nSweet Auburn parent of the blissful hour,\\nThy glades forlorn confess the tyrant s power.\\nHere, as I take my solitary rounds\\nAmidst thy tangling walks and ruin d grounds,\\nAnd, many a year elaps d, return to view\\nWhere once the cottage stood, the hawthorn grew, 80", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0083.jp2"}, "84": {"fulltext": "7 8 OLIVER GOLDSMITH.\\nRemembrance wakes with all her busy train,\\nSwells at my breast, and turns the past to pain.\\nIn all my wanderings round this world of care,\\nIn all my griefs and God has given my share\\nI still had hopes, my latest hours to crown,\\nAmidst these humble bowers to lay me down\\nTo husband out life s taper at the close,\\nAnd keep the flame from wasting by repose.\\nI still had hopes, for pride attends us still,\\nAmidst the swains to show my book-learn d skill, 9\u00c2\u00b0\\nAround my fire an evening group to draw,\\nAnd tell of all I felt, and all I saw;\\nAnd as an hare whom hounds and horns pursue\\nPants to the place from whence at first she flew,\\nI still had hopes, my long vexations past,\\nHere to return and die at home at last.\\nO blest retirement, friend to life s decline,\\nRetreats from care, that never must be mine\\nHow happy he who crowns, in shades like these,\\nA youth of labour with an age of ease 100\\nWho quits a world where strong temptations try,\\nAnd, since tis hard to combat, learns to fly\\nFor him no wretches, born to work and weep,\\nExplore the mine, or tempt the dangerous deep\\nNo surly porter stands, in guilty state,\\nTo spurn imploring famine from the gate\\nBut on he moves, to meet his latter end,\\nAngels around befriending virtue s friend,\\nBends to the grave with unperceiv d decay,\\nWhile resignation gently slopes the way, no\\nAnd, all his prospects brightening to the last,\\nHis heaven commences ere the world be past.\\nSweet was the sound, when oft at evening s close\\nUp yonder hill the village murmur rose.\\nThere as I pass d, with careless steps and slow,", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0084.jp2"}, "85": {"fulltext": "THE DESERTED VILLAGE.\\n79\\nThe mingling notes came soften d from below\\nThe swain responsive as the milkmaid sung,\\nThe sober herd that low d to meet their young,\\nThe noisy geese that gabbled o er the pool,\\nThe playful children just let loose from school,\\nThe watch-dog s voice that bay d the whispering wind,\\nAnd the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind\\nThese all in sweet confusion sought the shade,\\nAnd filPd each pause the nightingale had made.\\nBut now the sounds of population fail,\\nNo cheerful murmurs fluctuate in the gale,\\nNo busy steps the grass-grown footway tread,\\nFor all the bloomy flush of life is fled", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0085.jp2"}, "86": {"fulltext": "8o\\nOLIVER GOLDSMITH.\\nAll but yon widow d, solitary thing,\\nThat feebly bends beside the pi ashy spring\\nShe, wretched matron forc d in age, for bread,\\nTo strip the brook with mantling cresses spread,\\nTo pick her wintry faggot from the thorn,\\nTo seek her nightly shed, and weep till morn\\n8he only left of all the harmless train,\\nThe sad historian of the pensive plain\\n130\\nNear yonder copse, where once the garden smil d,\\nAnd still where many a garden-flower grows wild,\\nThere, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose,\\nThe village preacher s modest mansion rose.\\nA man he was to all the country dear,\\nAnd passing rich with forty pounds a year.\\nRemote from towns he ran his godly race,\\nNor e er had chang d, nor wish d to change, his place;\\nUnpractis d he to fawn, or seek for power\\nBy doctrines fashion d to the varying hour;\\nFar other aims his heart had learn d to prize,\\n140", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0086.jp2"}, "87": {"fulltext": "THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 81\\nMore skill d to raise the wretched than to rise.\\nHis house was known to all the vagrant train,\\nHe chid their wanderings, but reliev d their pain 150\\nThe long-remember d beggar was his guest,\\nWhose beard descending swept his aged breast;\\nThe ruin d spendthrift, now no longer proud,\\nClaim d kindred there, and had his claims allow d\\nThe broken soldier, kindly bade to stay,\\nSat by his fire, and talk d the night away,\\nWept o er his wounds, or, tales of sorrow done,\\n(Shoulder d his crutch and show d how fields were won)\\nPleas d with his guests, the good man learn d to glow,\\nAnd quite forgot their vices in their woe 160\\nCareless their merits or their faults to scan,\\nHis pity gave ere charity began.\\nThus to relieve the wretched was his pride,\\nAnd even his failings lean d to virtue s side\\nBut in his duty prompt at every call,\\nHe watch d and wept, he pray d and felt for all\\nAnd, as a bird each fond endearment tries\\nTo tempt its new-fledg d offspring to the skies,\\nHe tried each art, reprov d each dull delay,\\nAllur d to brighter worlds, and led the way. 170\\nBeside the bed where parting life was laid,\\nAnd sorrow, guilt, and pain by turns dismay d,\\nThe reverend champion stood at his control\\nDespair and anguish fled the struggling soul\\nComfort came down the trembling wretch to raise,\\nAnd his last faltering accents whisper d praise.\\nAt church, with meek and unaffected grace,\\nHis looks adorn d the venerable place\\nTruth from his lips prevail d with double sway,\\n(And fools who came to scoff remain d to pray. J 180\\nThe service past, around the pious man,\\nWith steady zeal, each honest rustic ran\\nF", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0087.jp2"}, "88": {"fulltext": "OLIVER GOLDSMITH.\\nEven children follow d, with endearing wile,\\nAnd pluck d his gown, to share the good man s smile\\nHis ready smile a parent s warmth exprest,\\nTheir welfare pleas d him, and their cares distrest.\\nTo them his heart, his love, his griefs were given,\\nBut all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven:\\n\\\\As some tall cliff, that lifts its awful form,\\nSwells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm,\\n190", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0088.jp2"}, "89": {"fulltext": "THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 83\\nThough round its breast the rolling clouds are spread,\\nEternal sunshine settles on its head.\\nBeside yon straggling fence that skirts the way,\\nWith blossom d furze unprofitably gay,\\nThere, in his noisy mansion, skilPd to rule,\\nThe village master taught his little school.", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0089.jp2"}, "90": {"fulltext": "84 OLIVER GOLDSMITH.\\nA man severe he was, and stern to view;\\nI knew him well, and every truant knew\\nWell had the boding tremblers learn d to trace\\nThe day s disasters in his morning face; 200\\nFull well they laugh d with counterfeited glee\\nAt all his jokes, for many a joke had he;\\nFull well the busy whisper, circling round,\\nConvey d the dismal tidings when he frown d.\\nYet he was kind, or if severe in aught,\\nThe love he bore to learning was in fault.\\nThe village all declar d how much he knew;\\nTwas certain he could write, and cipher too,\\nLands he could measure, terms and tides presage,\\nAnd even the story ran that he could gauge. 210\\nIn arguing too, the parson own d his skill,\\nFor even though vanquish d he could argue still\\nWhile words of learned length and thundering sound\\nAmaz d the gazing rustics rang d around\\nAnd still they gaz d, and still the wonder grew\\nThat one small head could carry all he knew.\\nBut past is all his fame the very spot,\\nWhere many a time he triumph d, is forgot.\\nNear yonder thorn, that lifts its head on high,\\nWhere once the sign-post caught the passing eye, 220\\nLow lies that house where nut-brown draughts inspir d,\\nWhere gray-beard mirth and smiling toil retir d,\\nWhere village statesmen talk d with looks profound,\\nAnd news much older than their ale went round.\\nImagination fondly stoops to trace\\nThe parlour splendours of that festive place\\nThe whitewash d wall, the nicely sanded floor,\\nThe varnish d clock that click d behind the door;\\nThe chest contriv d a double debt to pay,\\nA bed by night, a chest of drawers by day; 230\\nThe pictures plac d for ornament and use,", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0090.jp2"}, "91": {"fulltext": "THE DESER TED VILLA GE.\\n85\\nThe twelve good rules, the royal game of goose\\nThe hearth, except when winter chill d the day,\\nWith aspen boughs, and flowers, and fennel gay,\\nWhile broken tea-cups, wisely kept for show,\\nRang d o er the chimney, glisten d in a row.\\nVain, transitory splendours could not all\\nReprieve the tottering mansion from its fall\\nObscure it sinks, nor shall it more impart\\nAn hour s importance to the poor man s heart.\\n240", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0091.jp2"}, "92": {"fulltext": "86\\nOLIVER GOLDSMITH.\\nThither no more the peasant shall repair\\nTo sweet oblivion of his daily care;\\nNo more the farmer s news, the barber s tale,\\nNo more the woodman s ballad shall prevail;\\nNo more the smith his dusky brow shall clear,\\nRelax his ponderous strength, and lean to hear;\\nThe host himself no longer shall be found\\nCareful to see the mantling bliss go round\\nNor the coy maid, half willing to be prest,\\nShall kiss the cup to pass it to the rest.\\nYes let the rich deride, the proud disdain,\\nThese simple blessings of the lowly train\\nTo me more dear, congenial to my heart,\\n250", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0092.jp2"}, "93": {"fulltext": "THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 87\\nOne native charm, than all the gloss of art.\\nSpontaneous joys, where nature has its play,\\nThe soul adopts, and owns their first-born sway;\\nLightly they frolic o er the vacant mind,\\nUnenvied, unmolested, unconfin d.\\nBut the long pomp, the midnight masquerade,\\nWith, all the freaks of wanton wealth array d, 260\\nIn these, ere triflers half their wish obtain,\\nThe toiling pleasure sickens into pain;\\nAnd, even while fashion s brightest arts decoy,\\nThe heart distrusting asks, if this be joy.\\nYe friends to truth, ye statesmen who survey\\nThe rich man s joys increase, the poor s decay,\\nTis yours to judge how wide the limits stand\\nBetween a splendid and an happy land.\\nProud swells the tide with loads of freighted ore,\\nAnd shouting Folly hails them from her shore; 270\\nHoards even beyond the miser s wish abound,\\nAnd rich men flock from all the world around\\nYet count our gains this wealth is but a name\\nThat leaves our useful products still the same.\\nNot so the loss. The man of wealth and pride\\nTakes up a space that many poor supplied\\nSpace for his lake, his park s extended bounds,\\nSpace for his horses, equipage, and hounds\\nThe robe that wraps his limbs in silken sloth\\nHas robb d the neighbouring fields of half their growth 280\\nHis seat, where solitary sports are seen,\\nIndignant spurns the cottage from the green;\\nAround the world each needful product flies,\\nFor all the luxuries the world supplies.\\nWhile thus the land adorn d for pleasure, all\\nIn barren splendour feebly waits the fall.\\nAs some fair female, unadorn d and plain,\\nSecure to please while youth confirms her reign,", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0093.jp2"}, "94": {"fulltext": "88\\nOLIVER GOLDSMITH.\\nSlights every borrow d charm that dress supplies,\\nNor shares with art the triumph of her eyes;\\nBut when those charms are past, for charms are frail,\\nWhen time advances, and when lovers fail,\\nShe then shines forth, solicitous to bless,\\nIn all the glaring impotence of dress\\nThus fares the land, by luxury betray d\\n\\\\i\\\\ nature s simplest charms at first array d,\\nBut verging to decline, its splendours rise,\\nIts vistas strike, its palaces surprise;\\nWhile, scourg d by famine from the smiling land,\\nThe mournful peasant leads his humble band;\\nAnd while he sinks, without one arm to save,\\nThe country blooms a garden, and a grave.\\n290\\n300", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0094.jp2"}, "95": {"fulltext": "THE DESERTED VILLAGE.\\n89\\nWhere then, ah where shall poverty reside,\\nTo scape the pressure of contiguous pride\\nIf to some common s fenceless limits stray d\\nHe drives his flock to pick the scanty blade,\\nThose fenceless fields the sons of wealth divide,\\nAnd even the bare-worn common is denied.\\nIf to the city sped what waits him there?\\nTo see profusion that he must not share;\\nTo see ten thousand baneful arts combin d\\n310\\n.1 J,jM!i: Liii3Alr_L\\nliiiiHiill li", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0095.jp2"}, "96": {"fulltext": "9\u00c2\u00b0\\nOLIVER GOLDSMITH.\\nTo pamper luxury, and thin mankind;\\nTo see those joys the sons of pleasure know,\\nExtorted from his fellow-creatures woe.\\nHere, while the courtier glitters in brocade,\\nThere the pale artist plies the sickly trade;\\nHere, while the proud their long-drawn pomps display,\\nThere the black gibbet glooms beside the way.\\nThe dome where pleasure holds her midnight reign,\\nHere, richly deck d, admits the gorgeous train;\\nTumultuous grandeur crowds the blazing square,\\nThe rattling chariots clash, the torches glare.\\nSure scenes like these no troubles e er annoy\\nSure these denote one universal joy\\nAre these thy serious thoughts Ah, turn thine eyes\\nWhere the poor houseless shivering female lies.\\n320\\nysmny,\\nIf", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0096.jp2"}, "97": {"fulltext": "THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 91\\nShe once, perhaps, in village plenty blest,\\nHas wept at tales of innocence distrest\\nHer modest looks the cottage might adorn,\\nSweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn; 330\\nNow lost to all\u00e2\u0080\u0094 her friends, her virtue fled\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nNear her betrayer s door she lays her head,\\nAnd, pinch d with cold, and shrinking from the shower,\\nWith heavy heart deplores that luckless hour\\nWhen idly first, ambitious of the town,\\nShe left her wheel, and robes of country -brown.\\nDo thine, sweet Auburn, thine, the loveliest train,\\nDo thy fair tribes participate her pain\\nEven now, perhaps, by cold and hunger led,\\nAt proud men s doors they ask a little bread. 340\\nAh, no To distant climes, a dreary scene,\\nWhere half the convex world intrudes between,\\nThrough torrid tracts with fainting steps they go,\\nWhere wild Altama murmurs to their woe.\\nFar different there from all that charm d before,\\nThe various terrors of that horrid shore\\nThose blazing suns that dart a downward ray,\\nAnd fiercely shed intolerable day\\nThose matted woods where birds forget to sing,\\nBut silent bats in drowsy clusters cling; 35\u00c2\u00b0\\nThose poisonous fields with rank luxuriance crown d,\\nWhere the dark scorpion gathers death around\\nWhere at each step the stranger fears to wake\\nThe rattling terrors of the vengeful snake;\\nWhere crouching tigers wait their hapless prey,\\nAnd savage men more murderous still than they;\\nWhile oft in whirls the mad tornado flies,\\nMingling the ravag d landscape with the skies.\\nFar different these from every former scene\\nThe cooling brook, the grassy-vested green, 360\\nThe breezy covert of the warbling grove,\\nThat only shelter d thefts of harmless love.", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0097.jp2"}, "98": {"fulltext": "92\\nOLIVER GOLDSMITH.\\n4M^^\\\\;\\nGood Heaven what sorrows gloom d that parting day,\\nThat call d them from their native walks awav\\nWhen the poor exiles, every pleasure past,\\nHung round the bowers, and fondly look d their last,\\nAnd took a long farewell, and wish d in vain\\nFor seats like these beyond the western main\\nAnd shuddering still to face the distant deep,\\nReturn d and wept, and still return d to weep.\\nThe good old sire the first prepar d to go\\nTo new-found worlds, and wept for others woe;\\nEut for himself, in conscious virtue brave,\\nHe only wish d for worlds beyond the grave.\\nHis lovely daughter, lovelier in her tears,\\nThe fond companion of his helpless years,\\n370", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0098.jp2"}, "99": {"fulltext": "THE DESERTED VILLAGE.\\n93\\nSilent went next, neglectful of her charms,\\nAnd left a lover s for a father s arms.\\nWith louder plaints the mother spoke her woes,\\nAnd blest the cot where every pleasure rose, 380\\nAnd kiss d her thoughtless babes with many a tear,\\nAnd clasp d them close, in sorrow doubly dear;\\nWhile her fond husband strove to lend relief\\nIn all the silent manliness of grief.\\nO Luxury thou curst by Heaven s decree,", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0099.jp2"}, "100": {"fulltext": "94\\nOLIVER GOLDSMITH.\\nHow ill exchang d are things like these for thee\\nHow do thy potions, with insidious joy,\\nDiffuse their pleasures only to destroy\\nKingdoms by thee, to sickly greatness grown,\\nBoast of a florid vigour not their own 390\\nAt every draught more large and large they grow,\\nA bloated mass of rank, unwieldy woe;\\nTill sapp d their strength, and every part unsound,\\nDown, down they sink, and spread a ruin round.\\nEven now the devastation is begun,\\nAnd half the business of destruction done\\nEven now, methinks, as pondering here I stand,\\nI see the rural Virtues leave the land.\\nDown where yon anchoring vessel spreads the sail,\\nThat idly waiting flaps with every gale, 400\\nDownward they move, a melancholy band,\\nPass from the shore, and darken all the strand.\\nContented Toil and hospitable Care,\\nAnd kind connubial Tenderness, are there;\\nAnd Piety with wishes plac d above,\\nAnd steady Loyalty, and faithful Love.\\nAnd thou, sweet Poetry, thou loveliest maid,\\nStill first to fly where sensual joys invade,\\nUnfit in these degenerate times of shame\\nTo catch the heart, or strike for honest fame 410\\nDear, charming nymph, neglected and decried,\\nMy shame in crowds, my solitary pride,\\nThou source of all my bliss, and all my woe,\\nThat found st me poor at first, and keep st me so,\\nThou guide by which the nobler arts excel,\\nThou nurse of every virtue, fare thee well\\nFarewell and O where er thy voice be tried,\\nOn Torno s cliffs or Pambamarca s side,\\nWhether where equinoctial fervours glow,\\nOr winter wraps the polar world in snow, 420", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0100.jp2"}, "101": {"fulltext": "THE DESERTED VILLAGE.\\nStill let thy voice, prevailing over time,\\nRedress the rigours of the inclement clime\\nAid slighted truth with thy persuasive strain;\\nTeach erring man to spurn the rage of gain;\\nTeach him, that states of native strength possest,\\nThough very poor, may still be very blest\\nThat trade s proud empire hastes to swift decay,\\nAs ocean sweeps the labour d mole away;\\nWhile self-dependent power can time defy,\\nAs rocks resist the billows and the sky.\\n95\\n430\\n?K.y", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0101.jp2"}, "102": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0102.jp2"}, "103": {"fulltext": "RETALIATION\\nG", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0103.jp2"}, "104": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0104.jp2"}, "105": {"fulltext": "RETALIATION\\nINCLUDING\\nEPITAPHS ON THE MOST DISTINGUISHED WITS OF\\nTHIS METROPOLIS.\\nOf old, when Scarron his companions invited,\\nEach guest brought his dish, and the feast was united\\nIf our landlord supplies us with beef and with fish,\\nLet each guest bring himself\u00e2\u0080\u0094 and he brings the best dish\\nOur dean shall be venison, just fresh from the plains\\nOur Burke shall be tongue, with a garnish of brains\\nOur Will shall be wild fowl, of excellent flavour,\\nAnd Dick with his pepper shall heighten their savour\\nOur Cumberland s sweetbread its place shall obtain\\nAnd Douglas is pudding, substantial and plain; i\\nOur Garrick s a salad, for in him we see\\nOil, vinegar, sugar, and saltness agree\\nTo make out the dinner, full certain I am,\\nThat Ridge is anchovy, and Reynolds is lamb\\nThat Hickey s a capon and, by the same rule,\\nMagnanimous Goldsmith a gooseberry fool.\\nAt a dinner so various, at such a repast,\\nWho d not be a glutton, and stick to the last\\nHere, waiter, more wine let me sit while I m able,\\nTill all my companions sink under the table\\nThen, with chaos and blunders encircling my head,\\nLet me ponder, and tell what I think of the dead.", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0105.jp2"}, "106": {"fulltext": "IOO OLIVER GOLDSMITH.\\nHere lies the good dean, reunited to earth,\\nWho mix d reason with pleasure, and wisdom with mirth\\nIf he had any faults, he has left us in doubt\\nAt least, in six weeks, I could not find em out;\\nYet some have declar d, and it can t be denied em,\\nThat sly-boots was cursedly cunning to hide em.\\nHere lies our good Edmund, whose genius was such,\\nWe scarcely can praise it, or blame it too much 30\\nWho, born for the universe, narrow d his mind,\\nAnd to party gave up what was meant for mankind\\nThough fraught with all learning, yet straining his throat\\nTo persuade Tommy Townshend to lend him a vote\\nWho, too deep for his hearers, still went on refining,\\nAnd thought of convincing, while they thought of dining;\\nThough equal to ail things, for all things unfit\\nToo nice for a statesman, too proud for a wit,\\n/For a patdot-too cbol, for a drudge disobedient,\\nAnd too fond of the right to pursue the expedient. 40\\nIn short twas his fate, unemploy d, or in place, sir,\\nVjTo eat mutton cold, and cut blocks with a razor.\\nHere lies honest William, whose heart was a mint,\\nWhile the owner ne er knew half the good that was in t\\nThe pupil of impulse, it forc d him along,\\nHis conduct still right, with his argument wrong\\nStill aiming at honour, yet fearing to roam\\nThe coachman was tipsy, the chariot drove home.\\nWould you ask for his merits? alas he had none;\\nWhat was good was spontaneous, his faults were his own. so\\nHere lies honest Richard, whose fate I must sigh at;\\nAlas, that such frolic should now be so quiet\\nWhat spirits were his what wit and what whim\\nNow breaking a jest, and now breaking a limb;\\nNow wrangling and grumbling to keep up the ball\\nNow teasing and vexing, yet laughing at all\\nIn short, so provoking a devil was Dick,", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0106.jp2"}, "107": {"fulltext": "RETALIATION. 101\\nThat we wished him full ten times a-day at Old Nick;\\nBut, missing his mirth and agreeable vein,\\nAs often we wish d to have Dick back again. 60\\nHere Cumberland lies, having acted his parts,\\nThe Terence of England, the mender of hearts\\nA flattering painter, who made it his care\\nTo draw men as they ought to be, not as they are.\\nHis gallants are all faultless, his women divine,\\nAnd comedy wonders at being so fine\\nLike a tragedy queen he has dizen d her out,\\nOr rather like tragedy giving a rout.\\nHis fools have their follies so lost in a crowd\\nOf virtues and feelings, that folly grows proud 70\\nAnd coxcombs, alike in their failings alone,\\nAdopting his portraits, are pleas d with their own.\\nSay, where has our poet this malady caught\\nOr wherefore his characters thus without fault\\nSay, was it that vainly directing his view\\nTo find out men s virtues, and finding them few,\\nQuite sick of pursuing each troublesome elf,\\nHe grew lazy at last, and drew from himself?\\nHere Douglas retires, from his toils to relax,\\nThe scourge of impostors, the terror of quacks. So\\nCome, all ye quack bards, and ye quacking divines,\\nCome, and dance on the spot where your tyrant reclines\\nWhen satire and censure encircled his throne,\\nI fear d for your safety, I fear d for my own\\nBut now he is gone, and we want a detector,\\nOur Dodds shall be pious, our Kenricks shall lecture,\\nMacpherson write bombast, and call it a style,\\nOur Townshend make speeches, and I shall compile\\nNew Lauders and Bowers the Tweed shall cross over,\\nNo countryman living their tricks to discover; 90\\nDetection her taper shall quench to a spark,\\nAnd Scotchman meet Scotchman, and cheat in the dark.", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0107.jp2"}, "108": {"fulltext": "io2 OLIVER GOLDSMITH.\\nHere lies David Garrick, describe me who can,\\nAn abridgment of all that was pleasant in man\\nAs an actor, confess d without rival to shine\\nAs a wit, if not first, in the very first line;\\nYet, with talents like these, and an excellent heart,\\nThe man had his failings, a dupe to his art.\\nLike an ill-judging beauty, his colours he spread\\nAnd beplaster d with rouge his own natural red. wo\\nOn the stage he was natural, simple, affecting\\nTwas only that when he was off he was acting.\\nWith no reason on earth to go out of his way,\\nHe turn d and he varied full ten times a day.\\nThough secure of our hearts, yet confoundedly sick\\nIf they were not his own by finessing and trick\\nHe cast off his friends, as a huntsman his pack,\\nFor he knew when he pleas d he could whistle them back.\\nOf praise a mere glutton, he swallow d what came,\\nAnd the puff of a dunce he mistook it for fame; \u00c2\u00abc\\nTill his relish grown callous, almost to disease,\\nWho pepper d the highest was surest to please.\\nBut let us be candid, and speak out our mind,\\nIf dunces applauded, he paid them in kind.\\nYe Kenricks, ye Kellys, ye Woodfalls so grave,\\nWhat a commerce was yours while you got and you gave,\\nHow did Grub-street re-echo the shouts that you rais d,\\nWhile he was be-Roscius d, and you were beprais d\\nBut peace to his spirit, wherever it flies,\\nTo act as an angel, and mix with the skies 12\\nThose poets, who owe their best fame to his skill,\\nShall still be his flatterers, go where he will;\\nOld Shakespeare receive him with praise and with love,\\nAnd Beaumonts and Bens be his Kellys above.\\nHere Hickey reclines, a most blunt, pleasant creature,\\nAnd slander itself must allow him good-nature\\nHe cherish d his friend, and he relish d a bumper;", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0108.jp2"}, "109": {"fulltext": "RETALIATION.\\n103\\nYet one fault he had, and that one was a thumper.\\nPerhaps you may ask if the man was a miser\\nI answer, no, no\u00e2\u0080\u0094 for he always was wiser.\\nToo courteous, perhaps, or obligingly flat?\\nHis very worst foe can t accuse him of that.\\nPerhaps he confided in men as they go,\\nAnd so was too foolishly honest Ah, no\\nThen what was his failing come, tell it, and burn ye\\nHe W as\u00e2\u0080\u0094 could he help it a special attorney.\\nHere Reynolds is laid, and, to tell you my mind,\\nHe has not left a wiser or better behind\\n130", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0109.jp2"}, "110": {"fulltext": "104 OLIVER GOLDSMITH.\\nHis pencil was striking, resistless, and grand;\\nHis manners were gentle, complying, and bland i 4 o\\nStill born to improve us in every part,\\nHis pencil our faces, his manners our heart.\\nTo coxcombs averse, yet most civilly steering,\\nWhen they judg d without skill he was still hard of hearing;\\nWhen they talk d of their Raphaels, Correggios, and stuff,\\nHe shifted his trumpet, and only took snuff.\\nBy flattery unspoil d\\nPOSTSCRIPT.\\nHere Whitefoord reclines, and deny it who can,\\nThough he merrily liv d, he is now a grave man.\\nRare compound of oddity, frolic, and fun\\nWho relish d a joke, and rejoic d in a pun;\\nWhose temper was generous, open, sincere\\nA stranger to flattery, a stranger to fear;\\nWho scatter d around wit and humour at will;\\nWhose daily bons mots half a column might fill\\nA Scotchman, from pride and from prejudice free;\\nA scholar, yet surely no pedant was he.\\nWhat pity, alas that so liberal a mind\\nShould so long be to newspaper essays confin d;\\nWho perhaps to the summit of science could soar,\\nYet content if the table he set on a roar;\\nWhose talents to fill any station were fit,\\nYet happy if Woodfall confessed him a wit.\\nYe newspaper witlings ye pert scribbling folks\\nWho copied his squibs and re-echo d his jokes;\\nYe tame imitators, ye servile herd, come,\\nStill follow your master, and visit his tomb\\nTo deck it bring with you festoons of the vine,\\nAnd copious libations bestow on his shrine;", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0110.jp2"}, "111": {"fulltext": "POSTSCRIPT.\\n5\\nThen strew all around it you can do no less\\nCross-readings ship-news and mistakes of the press.\\nMerry Whitefoord, farewell for thy sake I admit\\nThat a Scot may have humour I had almost said wit\\nThis debt to thy memory I cannot refuse,\\nThou best-humour d man with the worst-humour d muse.\\nTHE CLUB.", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0111.jp2"}, "112": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0112.jp2"}, "113": {"fulltext": "NOTES.", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0113.jp2"}, "114": {"fulltext": "LIST OF ABBREVIATIONS.\\nA. S., Anglo-Saxon.\\nA. V., the Authorized Version of the Bible.\\nAdv. of L., Bacon s Advancement of Learning.\\nAn. Nat., Goldsmith s Animated Nature.\\nArc. M ilton s A rcades.\\nC.j Craik s English of Shakespeare (Rolfe s edition).\\nC. T., Chaucer s Canterbury Tales.\\nCf. {confer), compare.\\nD. V., Goldsmith s Deserted Village.\\nFoil., following.\\nF. Q. Spewser s Faerie Queene.\\nFr., French.\\nH., Haven s Rhetoric (Harper s edition).\\nHales, Longer English Poems, edited by Rev. J. W. Hales (London).\\nP. L., Milton s Paradise Lost.\\nShakes. Gr., Abbott s Shakespearian Grammar (the references are to sections, not\\npages).\\nShep. Kal., Spenser s Shepherd s Kalendar.\\nTrav., Goldsmith s Traveller.\\nV. of W., Goldsmith s Vicar of Wakefield.\\nWb., Webster s Dictionary (last revised quarto edition).\\nWh., Whately s Rhetoric (Harper s edition).\\nWore, Worcester s Dictionary (quarto edition).\\nOther abbreviations (names of books in the Bible, plays of Shakespeare, etc.), need no\\nexplanation.", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0114.jp2"}, "115": {"fulltext": "NOTES.\\nTHE TRAVELLER.\\nThis poem, as we learn from the Dedication, was begun in Switzerland\\nin 1755, but it was not completed until 1764. It was published in De-\\ncember of that year, and was the earliest production to which Goldsmith\\nprefixed his name.* Johnson introduced it to the good opinion of the\\npublic by a notice in the Critical Review (December, 1764). The article,\\nwhich is largely made up of quotations from the poem, ends thus Such\\nis the poem on which we now congratulate the public, as on a production to\\nwhich, since the death of Pope, it will not be easy to find anything equal.\\nIts success was immediate t four editions being called for within eight\\nmonths, and five more during the author s lifetime,\\nThe nominal object of the poem, says Mr. Hales, is to show that,\\nas far as happiness is concerned, one form of government is as good as\\nanother. This was a favourite paradox with Dr. Johnson. Whether he\\nor Goldsmith really believed it, may be reasonably doubted. Of course\\nit is true that no political arrangements, however excellent, can secure for\\nany individual citizen immunity from misery it is true also that different\\npolitical systems may suit different peoples, and, further, that every polit-\\nical system has its special dangers and it is true, again, that what con-\\nstitution may be adapted for what people is often a question of the pro-\\nfoundest difficulty it is true, lastly, that no civil constitution relieves\\nany one enjoying the benefit of it from his own proper duties and re-\\nThe title-page of the first edition reads thus The Traveller, or a Prospect of So-\\nciety. A Poem. Inscribed to the Rev. Mr. Henry Goldsmith. By Oliver Goldsmith,\\nM.B. London Printed for J. Newbery, in St. Paul s Church-yard, MDCCLXV.\\nt The appearance of The Traveller at once altered Goldsmith s intellectual stand-\\ning in the estimation of society but its effect upon the Club, if we may judge from the\\naccount given by Hawkins, was almost ludicrous. They were lost in astonishment that\\na newspaper essayist and bookseller s drudge should have written such a poem.\\nOn the evening of its announcement to them Goldsmith had gone away early, after rat-\\ntling away as usual, and they knew not how to reconcile his heedless garrulity with\\nthe serene beauty, the easy grace, the sound good-sense, and the occasional elevation of\\nhis poetry. They could scarcely believe that such magic numbers had flowed from a man\\nto whom in general, says Johnson, it was with difficulty they could give a hearing.\\nWell, exclaimed Chamier, I do believe he wrote this poem himself, and, let me tell\\nyou, that is believing a great deal. Irving.", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0115.jp2"}, "116": {"fulltext": "IIO NOTES.\\nsponsibilities but it is assuredly not true that there is no relation what-\\never between the government of a country and the happiness of its in-\\nhabitants. A government can, as it pleases, or according to its enlight-\\nenment, make circumstances favourable or unfavourable to individual de-\\nvelopment and happiness. Fortunately one s enjoyment of the poem\\ndoes not depend on the accuracy of the creed it professes.\\nThe Dedication. In the first edition the second paragraph is as\\nfollows\\nI now perceive, my dear brother, the wisdom of your humble choice.\\nYou have entered upon a sacred office, while you have left the field of\\nambition, where the labourers are many, and the harvest not worth carry-\\ning away. But of all kinds of ambition, as things are now circumstanced,\\nperhaps that which pursues poetical fame is the wildest. What from\\nthe increased refinement of the times, from the diversity of judgments\\nproduced by opposing systems of criticism, and from the more prevalent\\ndivisions of opinion influenced by party, the strongest and happiest efforts\\ncan expect to please but in a very narrow circle. Though the poet were\\nas sure of his aim as the imperial archer of antiquity, who boasted that\\nhe never missed the heart, yet would many of his shafts now fly at ran-\\ndom, for the heart is too often in the wrong place.\\nThere are a few verbal variations in other parts of the Dedication, but\\nnone worth mentioning, except, perhaps, one in the last paragraph that\\nevery state has a peculiar principle of happiness and that this principle\\nin each, and in our own in particular, may be carried to a mischievous\\nexcess.\\ni. Slow. At the first meeting of the Literary Club after the publication\\nof the poem, Chamier said to Goldsmith What do you mean by the\\nlast word in the first line of your Traveller, remote, unfriended, solita-\\nry, slow V do you mean tardiness of locomotion Yes, replied Gold-\\nsmith, inconsiderately, being probably flurried at the moment. No,\\nsir, interposed his protecting friend, Johnson, you did not mean tardi-\\nness of locomotion you meant that sluggishness of mind which comes\\nupon a man in solitude. Ah, exclaimed Goldsmith, that was what\\nI meant. Chamier immediately believed that Johnson himself had writ-\\nten the line, and a rumour became prevalent that he was the author of\\nmany of the finest passages. This was ultimately set at rest by Johnson\\nhimself, who marked with a pencil all the verses he had contributed, nine in\\nnumber the 420th, and the last ten lines, except the 435th and the 436th.\\n3. Carinthia is a province of Austria, east of the Tyrol. Goldsmith\\nvisited it in 1755.\\n8. UntravelVd. That has not travelled. In an untravelled path,\\netc., the word is used in its ordinary passive sense. Cf. learned in a\\nlearned man, well-behaved (in Othello, iv. 2, we find How have I been be-\\nhaved? well-spoken For Clarence is well-spoken, Richard III. i.\\n3), well-read a well-read man etc. It seems to us that mistaken in\\nYou are mistaken, which is condemned by some of the grammar-\\nmakers, is another example of the same kind.", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0116.jp2"}, "117": {"fulltext": "THE TRAVELLER. riI\\n10. Goldsmith has the same metaphor (H. p. 102) in the Citizen of the\\nWorld, iii. The farther I travel, I feel the pain of separation with\\nstronger force those ties that bind me to my native country and you\\nare still unbroken. By every remove I only drag a. greater length of\\nchain. Cf. also Cibber, Com. Lover When I am with Florimel, it [my\\nheart] is still your prisoner, it only drags a longer chain after it.\\n13. Cf. D. V. 149-162.\\n15. Want and pain. A common form of metonymy. H. p. 78.\\n17. Crowned. Cf. Ps. Ixv. 1 1. The 1st ed. reads, Blest be those\\nfeasts where mirth and peace abound.\\n23. [Of what verb is me the object?]\\n26. Cf. A Letter from a Traveller in The Bee, no. 1 When will\\nmy restless disposition give me leave to enjoy the present hour When\\nat Lyons, I thought all happiness lay beyond the Alps when in Italy, I\\nfound myself still in want of something, and expected to leave solitude\\nbehind me by going into Roumelia and now you find me turning back,\\nstill expecting ease everywhere but where I am.\\n27. Like the circle, etc. For the mixture of metaphor and simile, see\\nWh. p. 198. Cf. V. of W. ch. xxix. Death, the only friend of the\\nwretched, for a little while mocks the weary traveller with the view, and\\nlike his horizon still flies before him.\\n32. sit me down. This reflexive use of sit is not unusual in our old\\nwriters, and is recognized by Wb. and Wore. Some of the grammars\\ngive it as an example of false syntax, and would make it set me down.\\nCf. the French s^asseoir. The use of the personal pronoun for the re-\\nflexive is common in Elizabethan and earlier English. Cf. Milton, P. L.\\nix. 1121 They sat them down to weep, etc. Hales says In these\\nand all such phrases the pronoun is the ethic dative, as in he plucked\\nme ope his doublet, etc.\\n33. Above the storm s career. Cf. D. V. 190.\\n34. An hundred. Cf. D. V. 93 an hare. As Hales remarks, our\\npresent rule that a rather than an is to be used before a word beginning\\nwith a consonant or a sounded h is of comparatively modern date. In\\nA. S. the shortened form does not occur in mediaeval writers an is the\\nmore common form. The distinction between the numeral and the ar-\\nticle was not fairly established before Chaucer s day. He commonly\\nuses an before h, as an hare {C. T. 686), an holy man (Ld. 5637), etc.\\nIn the A. V. we have an house (1 Kings ii. 24, etc.), an husband\\n{Num. xxx. 6, etc.), but elsewhere a husband, an hundred, an host,\\nan hand, a harp (1 Chron. xxv. 3, but an harp, 1 Sam. xvi. 16), a\\nhammer (Jer. xx^ii. 29, but an hammer, Judg. iv. 21), a high wall,\\nan high hand, etc. Shakespeare s usage is pretty much the same as\\nthat of our day as a hawk, a horse, or a husband {Much Ado, iii. 4),\\na hare (1 Hen. LV. i. 3), etc.\\n38. The first ed. reads as follows\\nShakes. J. C. i 2. Here, as in Mer. of Ven. i. 3, The skilful shepherd pill d me\\ncertain wands, the me is clearly expletive (like the Latin ethical dative but sit me\\ndown seems to us a different construction. Abbott recognizes both in his Shakes. Gr.\\nbee 220, 223.", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0117.jp2"}, "118": {"fulltext": "H2 NOTES.\\nAmidst the store twere thankless to repine.\\nTwere affectation all, and school-taught pride,\\nTo spurn the splendid things by Heaven supply d.\\nLet school-taught pride, etc.\\n41. School-taught pride. The pride which the Stoic felt in his conquest\\nof himself and in his superiority to the casualties of life.\\n42. These little things. Those which make each humbler bosom vain.\\n45-49. See lines 34-36. For the figures see H. pp. 153, 156.\\n48. Ye bending swains. Stooping to their work. Swain was, as Hales\\nremarks, the poet s word for peasant in the last century. It is by no\\nmeans rare in earlier writers (Shakespeare uses it some twenty^five times),\\nbut in Goldsmith s day it had to do duty on all occasions. On dress cf.\\nGen. ii. 11.\\n50. This is the reading of the 1st and of all the modern editions, but\\nsome of the earlier ones (the 13th among them) have Creation s tenant,\\nall the world is mine.\\n52. Recounts. In its literal sense of counts again.\\n57. Prevails. That is, will out. Sorrows fall may mean, fall upon\\nor oppress the heart or possibly sorrows signs of sorrow, i. e.\\ntears, as Hales explains it.\\n58. [To see. Would this use of the infinitive be allowable in prose?\\nCf. Shakes. Gr. 356..] The 1st ed. has sum of human bliss.\\n60. Consigned. Assigned, appropriated.\\n66. The 1 st ed. reads, Boldly asserts that country for his own and\\nin 68, And live-long nights, etc.\\n69. The line. The equator.\\n70. Palmy wine. Liquor made from the sap of the palm.\\n73. The 1st ed. has Nor less the patriot s boast, etc.\\n75, foil. The 1st ed. reads thus\\nAnd yet, perhaps, if states with states we scan,\\nOr estimate their bliss on Reason s plan,\\nThough patriots flatter, and though fools contend,\\nWe still shall find uncertainty suspend,\\nFind that each good, by Art or Nature given,\\nTo these or those, but makes the balance even\\nFind that the bliss of all is much the same,\\nAnd patriotic boasting reason s shame.\\nBliss, by the way, is a pet word with Goldsmith.\\n77. [What difference in the meaning would will, instead of shall, make?]\\n79, 80. The pointing is according to the early editions. The lines are\\noften printed thus\\nAs different good, by Art or Nature given\\nTo different nations, makes their blessings even.\\n83. With food, etc. This couplet is not found in the 1st ed.\\n84. Idrd s cliffs. Idria is a town among the mountains of Carniola,\\n1542 feet above the sea. The neighbourhood is famous for its quicksilver\\nmines.\\nArnds shelvy side. That is, its gently sloping side. Cf. Merry Wives,\\niii. 5 I had been drowned, but that the shore was shelvy and shallow.\\n85. Rocky crested. Virtually one word, and sometimes printed with", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0118.jp2"}, "119": {"fulltext": "THE TRAVELLER.\\n3\\nthe hyphen. In the 1st ed. this line reads, And though rough rocks or\\ngloomy summits frown.\\n87. Art. Used in its wider sense, in antithesis to Nature (81). In\\n146 and 304 arts the fine arts.\\n89. Strong. The adjective used adverbially, as often in poetry.\\n90. Either. The word properly means only one of two, but is often\\nused carelessly as here, even by good writers. Bacon (quoted by John-\\nson) has either of the three. Cf. I Kings xviii. 27, and neither in Rom.\\nviii. 38. See also quotation from Addison below (129). In the present\\npassage, as Hales suggests, perhaps either may be justified by supposing\\nthe blessings just enumerated to be considered as divided in a twofold\\nmanner (i.) the one prevailing; (ii.) the others, which are cast into the\\nshade by that prevailing one.\\n91. Where wealth, etc. This couplet is not in the 1st ed.\\n92. And honour sinks. Wordsworth, in one of his Sonnets, says\\nEnnobling thoughts depart\\nWhen men change swords for ledgers, and desert\\nThe student s bower for gold.\\n98. Peculiar pain. Its proper pain, or that peculiar to itself. Cf. Gray,\\nOde on the Pleasiire arising from Vicissitude\\nStill where rosy pleasure leads\\nSee a kindred grief pursue.\\n101. My proper cares. My personal cares.\\n105. Apemtine. The singular poetically used for the plural.\\n108. In gay theatric pride. The stage often borrows similes and met-\\naphors from nature here nature is made indebted to the stage\\n(Hales). Cf. Virgil, ALn. i. 164 Silvis scaena coruscis and ALn. v.\\n288\\nquem collibus undique curvis\\nCingebant silvae, mediaque in valle theatri\\nCircus erat\\nalso Seneca, Troades, 1125 Crescit more theatri.\\nin. Cf. Virgil s panegyric on Italy, Geo. ii. 136-176.\\n118. Vernal lives. Short as the spring.\\n121. Gelid. Not a common word in English poetry. Thomson {Sum-\\nmer) has gelid founts, and {Autumn) gelid pores. It is not found in\\nShakes, (though he quotes the Latin gelidus timor in 2 Hen. VI. iv. 1,\\nand gelida umbra in L. L. L. iv. 2), or Milton, or Tennyson.\\n122. To winnow fragrance. To waft, or diffuse it.\\n123. Sense. The senses.\\n124. The 1st and 13th eds. read, all this nation knows and two\\nlines below, Men seem.\\n127. Manners. In the sense of the Latin mores. Cf. Wordsworth,\\nSonnet to Milton\\nAnd give us manners, virtue, freedom, power.\\n128. For the figure see H. p. 118.\\n129. Zealous. In a religious sense. Cf. Addison, Spectator, no. 185\\nI would have every zealous man examine his heart thoroughly, and I\\nH", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0119.jp2"}, "120": {"fulltext": "II4 NOTES.\\nbelieve he will often find that what he calls a zeal for his religion is either\\npride, interest, or ill-nature.\\n133. Not far removed the date. The 1st and 13th, and some modern\\neditions, have nor far removed. Venice, Florence, Genoa, and Pisa\\nattained their commercial prime in the 15th century.\\n136. Long-fallen. That is, since the old Roman days. We need not\\ngive a list of the Italian architects, painters, and sculptors alluded to in\\nthese lines.\\n139. Two of the main causes, certainly, of the decay of Italian com-\\nmerce were the discovery of America and that of the sea-route to India\\n(Hales).\\n140. The 1 st and 13th eds. read, Soon Commerce turn d on other\\nshores her sail. The next two lines are not in the 1st ed.\\n143. Skill. In the old sense of knowledge. It was also used as a\\nverb know, understand. See 1 Kings v. 6 2 Chron. ii. 7, 8, and xxxiv.\\n12. Bacon {Adv. of L. i. 7, 12) translates Sullam nescisse litteras by\\nSylla could not skill of letters.\\n144. Cf. D. V. 389-394; also Cit. of World, i. In short, the state re-\\nsembled one of those bodies bloated with disease, whose bulk is only a\\nsymptom of its wretchedness their former opulence only rendered them\\nmore impotent.\\n145. The 1 st ed. reads as follows\\nYet though to fortune lost, here still abide\\nSome splendid arts, the wrecks of former pride\\nFrom which the feeble heart, etc.\\n150. Cf. Pres. State of Learning: Where, in the midst of porticos,\\nprocessions, and cavalcades, abbes turn shepherds and shepherdesses,\\nwithout sheep, indulge their innocent divertimenti.\\n153. Irving (p. 160) says We hear much about poetic inspiration,\\nand the poet s eye in a fine phrensy rolling but Sir Joshua Reynolds\\ngives an anecdote of Goldsmith while engaged upon his poem, calculated\\nto cure our notions about the ardour of composition. Calling upon the\\npoet one day, he opened the door without ceremony, and found him in\\nthe double occupation of turning a couplet and teaching a pet dog to sit\\nupon his haunches. At one time he would glance his eye at his desk,\\nand at another shake his finger at the dog to make him retain his posi-\\ntion. The last lines on the page were still wet they form part of the\\ndescription of Italy\\nBy sports like these are all their cares beguiled,\\nThe sports of children satisfy the child.\\nGoldsmith, with his usual good-humour, joined in the laugh caused by\\nhis whimsical employment, and acknowledged that his boyish sport with\\nthe dog suggested the stanza.\\nAfter the 154th line, the 1st ed. reads,\\nAt sports like these, while foreign arms advance,\\nIn passive ease they leave the world to chance.\\nWhen struggling Virtue sinks by long controul,\\nShe leaves at last, or feebly mans the soul", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0120.jp2"}, "121": {"fulltext": "THE TRAVELLER.\\n115\\nThe 13th ed. reads thus\\nAt Sports like these when foreign Arms advance,\\nIn passive Ease they leave the World to Chance.\\nWhen noble Aims have suffer d long Controul,\\nThey sink at last, or feebly man the Soul,\\nWhen low Delights, etc.\\n156. Feebly mans the soul. The metaphor of a vessel is continued in\\nthis expression. u 1\\n159. Domes. In its familiar poetic sense (its original one, by the way,\\nfrom Latin domus) of house, mansion, palace, etc. Cf. D. V. 319.\\n167. Bleak. Transferred, by metonymy, from the country to its inhabit-\\nants. The word (akin to bleach) originally meant pale, and was applied\\nto persons. Mansions is the original reading, though mansion (which is\\nMasson s reading in the Globe ed.) would be better\u00e2\u0080\u0094 in its literal sense\\n(Latin manere) of an abiding-place.\\nIn this description of Switzerland it will be observed that there is no\\nappreciation of the wild beauty and grandeur of the scenery which attract\\nthe throngs of tourists in our day. Cf. Macaulay, Hist, of Eng. chap. 13\\nGoldsmith was one of the very few Saxons who, more than a century\\nago, ventured to explore the Highlands. He was disgusted by the hide-\\nous wilderness, and declared that he greatly preferred the charming coun-\\ntry round Leyden, the vast expanse of verdant meadow, and the villas\\nwith their statues and grottoes, trim flower-beds and rectilinear avenues.\\nYet it is difficult to believe that the author of The Traveller and The De-\\nserted Village was naturally inferior in taste and sensibility to the thou-", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0121.jp2"}, "122": {"fulltext": "n6 NOTES.\\nsands of clerks and milliners who are now thrown into raptures by the\\nsight of Loch Katrine and Loch Lomond.\\nCf. also what Ruskin {Modern Painters, vol. iii.) says of the Greeks\\ntheir fear of all that was disorderly, unbalanced, and rugged that\\nevery Homeric landscape, intended to be beautiful, is composed of a\\nfountain, a meadow, and a shady grove and again of the mediaeval\\nmind as agreeing wholly with the ancients, in holding that flat land,\\nbrooks, and groves of aspens compose the pleasant places of the earth,\\nand that rocks and mountains are, for inhabitation, altogether to be rep-\\nrobated and detested. Of the Divina Commedia he says: In no\\npart of the poem do we find allusion to mountains in any other than a\\nstern light nor the slightest evidence that Dante cared to look at them.\\nFrom that hill of San Miniato, whose steps he knew so well, the eye\\ncommands, at the farther extremity of the Val d Arno, the whole purple\\nrange of the mountains of Carrara, peaked and mighty, seen always\\nagainst the sunset light in silent outline, the chief forms that rule the\\nscene as twilight fades away. By this vision Dante seems to have\\nbeen wholly unmoved, and, but for Lucan s mention of Aruns at Luna,\\nwould seemingly not have spoken of the Carrara hills in the whole course\\nof his poem when he does allude to them, he speaks of their white\\nmarble, and their command of stars and sea, but has evidently no regard\\nfor the hills themselves.\\n1 68. The line forcibly expresses the labour required to wring, as it\\nwere, from the soil its scanty produce.\\n169, 170. One might infer at first that the poet meant that Switzerland\\nfurnished iron as well as mercenary soldiers but there are no iron mines\\nin the country. It had furnished the soldiers from the 15th century. Cf.\\nHamlet, iv. 5 Where are my Switzers\\n176. Redress the clime. Make amends for it. Cf. 214, where redrest\\nmeans relieved, or supplied. It originally meant to put in order again,\\nto set right. Cf. Milton, P. L. ix. 219\\nWhile I,\\nIn yonder spring of roses intermixt\\nWith myrtle, find what to redress till noon.\\n178. He sees, etc. Cf. Caesar, B. G. vi. Cum suas quisque opes cum\\npotentissimis aequari videat.\\n186. Breasts. This is the reading of all the early editions, and John-\\nson quotes it in his Diet, as an illustration of the verb. The reading\\nBreathes, found in the Globe ed. and some others, doubtless had its\\norigin in a misprint.\\n187. The finny deep. Cf. Cit. of World, ii. The best manner to draw\\nup the finny prey. On the transfer of the adjective, cf. 167, and D. V.\\n361 the warbling grove. In patient angle and venturous plough-\\nshare we have a similar figure.\\n190. Savage. Rarely used as a noun except of human beings. Pope\\n{Iliad, xviii. 373) applies it to a lion\\nWhen the grim savage, to his rifled den\\nToo late returning, snuffs the track of men.", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0122.jp2"}, "123": {"fulltext": "THE TRAVELLER.\\n117\\nGoldsmith uses it in the same sense in prose, as in Git. of World, i. drive\\nthe reluctant savage into the toils.\\n191. Sped. Accomplished. The verb speed, in this sense, means sim-\\nply to carry through successfully, with no special reference to quickness.\\nCf. Judges v. 30. The noun speed in I wish you good speed (of which\\nGod speed is probably a corruption) is similarly used success. Cf.\\nGen. xxiv. 12 with 2 John 10, 1 1.\\n197. Cf. D. V. 155-160. Nightly for the night not, as usual, for a suc-\\ncession of nights. Cf. Milton, Pens. 84 To bless the doors from\\nnightly harm Arc. 48, etc. So often in Shakes.\\n201. The 13th ed. has And even those Hills.\\n203. Conforms. Suits itself.\\n205. And as a child. The 1st and 13th eds. have as a babe.\\n206. Close and closer. Perhaps closer and closer but the former\\ncomparative inflection is omitted for euphony s and the metre s sake, just\\nas one adverbial inflection is omitted in safe and nicely, Lear, v. 3\\n(Hales). Cf. the omission of the superlative inflection in the generous\\nand gravest citizens {M.for M. iv. 6), the soft and sweetest music\\n(Ben Jonson), only the grave and wisest of the land (Heywood), etc.\\nSee Shakes. Gr. 397, 398.\\n213. The 1st ed. has Since every want. Cf. An. Nat. ii. Every\\nwant becomes a means of pleasure in the redressing.\\n216. Supplies. Satisfies.\\n219, 220. [Is there a confusion of metaphors here\\n221. Level. Unvaried, monotonous. Cf. 359. Mrs. Browning, in one\\nof her Sonnets, says We miss far prospects by a level bliss.\\n222. The 1st and 13th eds. read, Nor quench d by want, nor fan d [sic]\\nby strong desire.\\n226. [How is the form expire to be justified\\n232. Fall is not grammatically correct, but may be explained as an in-\\nstance of construction according to sense.\\n233. A good example of the mixture of metaphor and simile. Wh. p.\\n198.\\n234. Cowering. Simply, brooding, with no notion of fear. Cf. Dryden:\\nOur dame sits cowering o er a kitchen fire. The verb was also used\\ntransitively, as in Spenser, F. Q. ii. 8, 9\\nHe much rejoyst, and courd it tenderly,\\nAs chicken newly hatcht, from dreaded destiny\\nthat is, shielded or protected it, as a bird does its young.\\n243. Cf. the narrative of the philosophic vagabond in the Vicar of\\nWakefield: I had some knowledge of music, with a tolerable voice; I\\nnow turned what was once my amusement into a present means of sub-\\nsistence. I passed among the harmless peasants of Flanders, and among\\nsuch of the French as were poor enough to be very merry, for I ever\\nfound them sprightly in proportion to their wants. Whenever I ap-\\nproached a peasant s house towards nightfall, I played one of my merri-\\nest tunes, and that procured me not only a lodging, but subsistence for\\nthe next day but in truth I must own, whenever I attempted to enter-", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0123.jp2"}, "124": {"fulltext": "Il8 NOTES.\\ntain persons of a higher rank, they always thought my performance odi-\\nous, and never made me any return for my endeavours to please them.\\n244. Tuneless. Explained by 247, 248 below.\\n253. Gestic lore. Some explain this as legendary lore. See Wb. s. v.\\nBut it seems more natural to refer it to his skill in dancing. Cf. Scott,\\nPeveril of the Peak, ch. xxx. He seemed, like herself, carried away by\\nthe enthusiasm of the gestic art.\\n255. The 13th ed. has So bright a Life.\\n256. Idly busy. The rhetorical figure called oxymoron. Cf. Horace s\\nStrenua nos exercet inertia, and Pope s {Elegy on an Unfortunate\\nLady)\\nLife s idle business at one gasp be o er.\\nRolls their world away. Cf. Hamlet, iii. 2 Thus runs the world away.\\n264. An avarice of praise. Cf. Horace, Ars Poetica, 324 Praeter lau-\\ndem nullius avaris.\\n265, 266. See p. 38, foot-note.\\n273. Tawdry. Said to be derived from St. Audrey (St. Ethelreda), at\\nthe fairs held on whose days toys and finery, especially laces, were sold.\\nOriginally the word had no depreciatory sense. Cf. Shakes. W. T. iv. 3\\nCome, you promised me a tawdry lace and a pair of sweet gloves;\\nand Spenser, Shep. Kal. Apr.\\nBinde your fillets faste,\\nAnd gird in your waste,\\nFor more finenesse, with a tawdrie lace.\\nThe word was also used as a noun, meaning a rustic necklace. Cf.\\nDrayton, Polyolbion, ii.\\nOf which the Naiads and the blue Nereids make\\nThem taudries for their necks.\\n276. Frieze. A coarse woollen cloth. Cf. Milton, Comus, 722 Drink\\nthe clear stream, and nothing wear but frieze.\\n277. Cheer. Fare. For the successive meanings of this word, which\\noriginally meant the face (Fr. chere), see Wb. or C. p. 278.\\n280. Cf. Pope, Essay on Man, iv. 255\\nOne self-approving hour whole years outweighs\\nOf stupid starers and of loud huzzas.\\n281. Cf. what Goldsmith says of Holland in one of his letters Noth-\\ning can equal its beauty wherever I turn my eyes, fine houses, elegant\\ngardens, statues, grottoes, vistas, present themselves but when you en-\\nter their towns you are charmed beyond description. No misery is to\\nbe seen here every one is usefully employed.\\n283. Methinks. In this word me is the dative and thinks (the A. S.\\nthincan, to seem, not thencan, to think) is impersonal. In Chaucer we\\nfind him thoughte, hem (them) thoughte, etc.; also, it thinketh me, etc.\\n284. Leans against the land. Cf. Dryden, Annus Mirabilis, st. 164\\nAnd view the ocean leaning on the sky\\nalso Statius, Theb. iv. 62 Et terris maria inclinata repellit.", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0124.jp2"}, "125": {"fulltext": "THE TRAVELLER. 1Z g\\n286. Rampire. The same word as rampart. It was also used as a\\nverb. Cf. Shakes. T. of A. v. 5 Our rampired gates. The 13th ed.\\nhas Rampart s here, and two lines below both the 1st and 13th have\\nseems to go.\\n289. Spreads its long arms, etc. In the 1st ed. this couplet begins,\\nThat spreads its arms, and follows 286, which ends with a comma.\\n287 and 288 follow 290, and 291 reads, While ocean pent and rising o er\\nthe pile.\\n291. In the Animated Nature, Goldsmith says The whole kingdom of\\nHolland seems to be a conquest on the sea, and in a manner rescued\\nfrom its bosom. The surface of the earth in this country is below the\\nlevel of the bed of the sea and I remember upon approaching the coast\\nto have looked down upon it from the sea as into a valley.\\n297. Wave-subjected. Lying below the level of the waves or, perhaps,\\nas some explain it, exposed to the inroads of the waves.\\n303. Are. The plural is grammatically incorrect but see on 232.\\n305. Cf. V.ofW. ch. xix. Now the possessor of accumulated wealth,\\nwhen furnished with the necessaries and pleasures of life, has no other\\nmethod to employ the superfluity of his fortune but in purchasing power\\nthat is, differently speaking, in making dependants, by purchasing the lib-\\nerty of the needy or the venal, of men who are willing to bear the mortifi-\\ncation of contiguous tyranny for bread.\\n309. This line occurs verbatim in the Citizen of the World, i. A na-\\ntion once famous for setting the world an example of freedom is now be-\\ncome a land of tyrants and a den of slaves.\\n311. Calmly bent. Tamely stooping to the yoke.\\n312. The 1st and 13th eds. read, Dull as their lakes that sleep be-\\nneath the storm.\\n313. In an Introduction to the Hist, of the Seven Years War, Goldsmith\\nsays How unlike the brave peasants, their ancestors, who spread ter-\\nror in India, and always declared themselves the allies of those who drew\\nthe sword in defence of freedom\\n316. In the 16th century they had fought stoutly against the same\\ndomineering enemy as England had withstood in the 1 7th they had con-\\ntested with England the queenship of the seas (Hales).\\n319. Lawns. Cf. D. V. 35. Arcadia, perhaps most noted in the\\nGreek and Latin writers for the stupidity of its inhabitants, was about the\\ntime of the revival of learning adopted as the ideal of rural beauty\\n(Hales). Arcadici sensus, Arcadicae aures, etc., were proverbial synonyms\\nfor pastoral dulness, and Arcadicus juvenis in Juvenal (vii. 160) is\\nequivalent to blockhead but see Virgil, Ed. vii. 4 x. 30.\\n320. Hydaspes. One of the tributaries of the Indus, now known as the\\nJelum, or Jhelum. Its Sanscrit name was Vitasta, of which Hydaspes is\\na corruption. Horace (Od. i. 22, 8) calls it fabulosus, from the mar-\\nvellous tales connected with it.\\n324. That is, the extremes of climate are known there only in imagina-\\ntion.\\n327. Port. Cf. Gray s Bard, 117 Her lion port, her awe-command-\\ning face.", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0125.jp2"}, "126": {"fulltext": "I20 NOTES.\\n328. In the 1st ed. this line precedes 327.\\n330. Cf. Tennyson, Locksley Hall: Cursed be the sickly forms that\\nerr from honest nature s rule\\n332. Imagined right. What he believes to be his right.\\n333. Boasts these rights to scan. Boasts that he scans these rights,\\nthat he takes his part in the discussion of public questions (Hales).\\n341. This line and the next are not in the 1st ed. In 342 the 13th ed.\\nhas All kindred Claims that soften Life unknown. In the 1st ed. 343\\nreads, See, though by circling deeps together held. In 350 both eds.\\nhave As social bonds decay.\\n345. Ferments. Political agitations. Imprisoned restrained with-\\nin the bounds of law.\\n351. Fictitious. Factitious, artificial.\\n357. Stems. Families. The 13th ed. has patriot claim; and in both\\nthe 1st and 13th the next line reads, And monarchs toil, and poets pant\\nfor fame.\\n358. Wrote. For written. Cf. Lear, i. 2 he hath wrote this Cymb.\\nhi. 5 Lucius hath wrote already to the emperor A. and C. iii. 5\\nletters he had formerly wrote but writ is the usual form of the parti-\\nciple in Shakes. The latter is the curtailed form of written, and these cur-\\ntailed forms {spoke, broke, forgot, chid, froze, etc.) are common in the Eliza-\\nbethan writers. See Shakes. Gr. 343.\\n362. The great. This was a very favorite phrase about Goldsmith s\\ntime (Hales). After this line the 1st ed. has the couplet,\\nPerish the wish for inly satisfied,\\nAbove their pomps I hold my ragged pride.\\nLines 363-380 are not in 1st ed.\\n363. Ye powers, etc. Cf. Pope, Elegy on an Unfortunate Lady\\nWhy bade ye else, ye powers, her soul aspire\\nBeyond the vulgar flights of low desire?\\n365. The literature of the last century abounds with apostrophes to\\nLiberty. That theme was the great commonplace of the time. Gold-\\nsmith has his laugh at it in the Vicar of Wakefield, ch. xix. (Hales).\\n369. Blooms. Cf. 115.\\n372. Cf. Thomson, Summer\\nWhile thus laborious crowds\\nPly the tough oar. philosophy directs\\nThe ruling helm.\\nThe 13th ed. reads, That those who think most, govern those that Toil.\\n374. The 13th ed. reads,\\nproportion d Loads on each\\nMuch on the Low, the Rest, as Rank supplies,\\nShould in columnar Diminution rise\\nWhile, should one Order, etc.\\nWe have found this couplet Much on, etc.) nowhere else, and it is\\nmentioned by none of the editors.\\n378. Who think. That is, are they who think.\\n380. Warms. That is, my soul.\\n382. Contracting regal power. In the preface to the Hist, of England,", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0126.jp2"}, "127": {"fulltext": "THE TRAVELLER. 121\\nGoldsmith says It is not yet decided in politics whether the diminution\\nof kingly power in England tends to increase the happiness or freedom\\nof the people. For my own part, from seeing the bad effects of the tyr-\\nanny of the great in those republican states that pretend to be free, I can-\\nnot help wishing that our monarchs may still be allowed to enjoy the\\npower of controlling the encroachments of the great at home. Cf. V. of\\nW. ch. xix. It is the interest of the great to diminish kingly power as\\nmuch as possible.\\n386. The 13th and some other eds. read, Law grinds the poor. Ct.\\nV. of W. ch. xix. What they may then expect may be seen by turning\\nour eyes to Holland, Genoa, or Venice, where the laws govern the poor,\\nand the rich govern the law. _\\n301. Cf. the conclusion of the vicar s harangue, V. of W. ch. xix.\\n391. Petty tyrants. Cf. Pope, E$. to Mrs. Blount: Marriage may all\\nthese petty tyrants chase.\\n396. Gave zuealth, etc. Gave to wealth the power of swaying, etc.\\n397, foil. Cf. D. V. 49-56, 63-66, 275-282, 362-384. r i J\\n411. Oswego. The river of that name in New York. Cf. Goldsmiths\\nThrenodia Augustalis\\nOswego s dreary shores shall be my grave.\\n412. Niagara. The acce^ was originally on the penult, as here. See\\nLippincotf s Gazetteer.\\n414,415. Cf. D. V., 349-355- See also Animated Nature: Where\\nman in his savage state owns inferior strength, and the beasts claim di-\\nvided dominion.\\n416. The 1st and 13th eds. have And the brown Indian takes a dead-\\nly aim.\\n420. This line was written by Dr. Johnson. See above, on I.\\n421. The 1st and 13th eds. read Casts a fond look.\\n426. Cf. Pope, Essay on Man\\nFor forms of government let fools contest\\nWhat e er is best administer d is best.\\n431. Cf. Milton, P. L. i. 254\\nThe mind is its own place, and in itself\\nCan make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven.\\n435. Cf. Blackmore, Eliza Some the sharp axe, and some the pain-\\nful wheel.\\n436. Luke s iron crown. George and Luke Dosa were two brothers who\\nheaded a revolt against the Hungarian nobles in 15 14 and George, not\\nLuke, underwent the torture of the red-hot iron crown as a punishment\\nfor allowing himself to be proclaimed King of Hungary by the rebels.\\nThe brothers belonged to one of the native races of Transylvania, called\\nSzeklers (properly Szekelys) or Zecklers. Boswell {Life of Johnson,\\nch. xix) gives Zeck as the name of the brothers, and Corney in his\\nedition of Goldsmith corrects the text here into Zec^s iron crown.\\nRobert Francois Damiens was put to death with frightful tortures in\\n1757 for an attempt to assassinate Louis XV. of France.", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0127.jp2"}, "128": {"fulltext": "I22 NOTES.\\nTHE DESERTED VILLAGE.\\nThis poem was first published in 1770. This day at 12, said the\\nPublic Advertiser of May 26th of that year, will be published, price two\\nshillings, the Deserted Village, a Poem. By Doctor Goldsmith. Printed\\nfor W. Griffin, at Garrick s Head in Catherine Street, Strand. A 2d\\nedition appeared June 7th a 3d, June 14th a 4th, carefully revised,\\nJune 28 and a 5th, August 16th.\\nThe poet Gray, then passing the last summer of his life at Malvern,\\nafter hearing the poem read to him by his friend Nicholls, exclaimed,\\nThis man is a poet.\\nSoon after the publication of the poem, the following verses were ad-\\ndressed to the author by Miss Aiken, afterwards Mrs. Barbauld\\nIn vain fair Auburn weeps her de^H: plains\\nShe moves our envy who so well complains\\nIn vain hath proud oppression laid her low\\nShe wears a garland on her faded brow.\\nNow, Auburn, now, absolve impartial Fate,\\nWhich, if it makes thee wretched, makes thee great.\\nSo unobserved, some humble plant may bloom,\\nTill crush d, it fills the air with sweet perfume\\nSo had thy swains in ease and plenty slept,\\nThe Poet had not sung, nor Britain wept.\\nNor let Britannia mourn her drooping bay,\\nUnhonour d Genius, and her swift decay:\\nO Patron of the Poor it cannot be,\\nWhile one one poet yet remains like thee.\\nNor can the Muse desert our favour d isle,\\nTill thou desert the Muse, and scorn her smile.\\nSir Walter Scott, in the Quarterly Review, vol. iv., thus writes\\nIt would be difficult to point out one among the English poets less\\nlikely to be excelled in his own style than the author of the Deserted Vil-\\nlage. Possessing much of Pope s versification without the monotonous\\nstructure of his lines rising sometimes to the swell and fulness of Dry-\\nden, without his inflations delicate and masterly in his descriptions\\ngraceful in one of the greatest graces of poetry, its transitions alike suc-\\ncessful in his sportive or grave, his playful or melancholy mood he may\\nlong bid defiance to the numerous competitors whom the friendship or\\nflattery of the present age is so hastily arraying against him.\\nAnd, again\\nThe wreath of Goldsmith is unsullied he wrote to exalt virtue and\\nexpose vice and he accomplished his task in a manner which raises him\\nto the highest rank among British authors. We close this volume with", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0128.jp2"}, "129": {"fulltext": "THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 123\\na sigh that such an author should have written so little from the stores\\nof his own genius, and that he should have been so prematurely removed\\nfrom the sphere of literature which he so highly adorned.\\nGoethe, in his Memoirs, refers to the poem as follows\\nA poetical production, which our little circle hailed with transport,\\nnow occupied our attention this was Goldsmith s Deserted Village. This\\npoem seemed perfectly adapted to the sentiments which then actuated\\nus. The pictures which it represented were those which we loved to\\ncontemplate, and sought with avidity, in order to enjoy them with all the\\nzest of youth. Village fetes, wakes, and fairs, the grave meetings of the\\nelders under the village trees, to which they have retreated in order to\\nleave the young to the pleasures of the dance the part taken by persons\\nof a more elevated rank in these village entertainments the decency\\nmaintained in the midst of the general hilarity by a worthy clergyman,\\nskilled to moderate mirth when approaching to boisterousness, and to\\nprevent all that might produce discord such were the representations\\nthe poet laid before us, not as the object of present attention and enjoy-\\nment, but as past pleasures, the loss of which excited regret. We found\\nourselves once more in our beloved Wakefield, amidst its well-known\\ncircle. But those interesting characters had now lost all life and move-\\nment they appeared only like shadows called up by the plaintive tones\\nof the elegiac muse. The idea of this poem seems singularly happy to\\nthose who can enter into the author s intention, and who, like him, find a\\nmelancholy satisfaction in recalling innocent pleasures long since fled. I\\nshared all Cotter s enthusiasm for this charming production. We both\\nundertook to translate it but he succeeded better than I did, because I\\nhad too scrupulously endeavoured to transfer the tender and affecting\\ncharacter of the original into our language. _\\nIrving says We shall not dwell upon the peculiar merits of this\\npoem we cannot help noticing, however, how truly it is a mirror of the\\nauthor s heart, and of all the fond pictures of early friends and early life\\nforever present there. It seems to us as if the very last accounts received\\nfrom home, of his shattered family, and the desolation that seemed to\\nhave settled upon the haunts of his childhood, had cut to the roots one\\nfeebly cherished hope, and produced the following exquisitely tender and\\nmournful lines\\nIn all my wanderings round this world of care,\\nIn all my griefs\u00e2\u0080\u0094 and God has given my share\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nI still had hopes, my latest hours to crown,\\nAmidst these humble bowers to lay me down\\nTo husband out life s taper at the close,\\nAnd keep the flame from wasting by repose\\nI still had hopes, for pride attends us still,\\nAmidst the swains to show my book-learn d skill,\\nAround my fire an evening group to draw,\\nAnd tell of all I felt, and all I saw\\nAnd as an hare whom hounds and horns pursue,\\nPants to the place from whence at first she flew,\\nI still had hopes, my long vexations past,\\nHere to return\u00e2\u0080\u0094 and die at home at last.\\nHow touchingly expressive are the succeeding lines, wrung from a", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0129.jp2"}, "130": {"fulltext": "124\\nNOTES.\\nheart which all the trials and temptations and buffetings of the world\\ncould not render worldly which, amid a thousand follies and errors of\\nthe head, still retained its childlike innocence and which, doomed to\\nstruggle on to the last amidst the din and turmoil of the metropolis, had\\never been cheating itself with a dream of rural quiet and seclusion\\nO blest retirement, friend to life s decline,\\nRetreats from care, that never must be miTie\\nHow blest is he who crowns, in shades like these,\\nA youth of labour with an age of ease\\nWho quits a world where strong temptations try,\\nAnd, since tis hard to combat, learns to fly\\nFor him no wretches, born to work and weep,\\nExplore the mine or tempt the dangerous deep\\nNo surly porter stands, in guilty state,\\nTo spurn imploring famine from the gate\\nBut on he moves, to meet his latter end,\\nAngels around befriending virtue s friend;\\nBends to the grave with unperceived decay,\\nWhile resignation gently slopes the way\\nAnd, all his prospects brightening to the last,\\nHis heaven commences ere the world be past.\\nMr. Hales remarks Goldsmith s was the one poetical voice of that\\ntime. No other poems besides his, published between Gray s Odes and\\nCowper s Table Talk, can be said to have lived. It is no wonder The\\nDeserted Village was so widely popular. The heart of the people was\\nnot dead, though somewhat chill and cold. It warmed towards a pres-\\nence so genial, so graceful, so tender.\\nHere, as in his other poem, Goldsmith entertained not only an artistic,\\nbut also a didactic purpose. He wished to set forth the evils of the Lux-\\nury that was prevailing more and more widely in his day. This is a\\nthrice old theme but indeed what theme is not so No doubt the vast\\ngrowth of our commerce and increase of wealth in the middle and latter\\npart of the last century especially suggested it in Goldsmith s time.\\nPossibly enough in handling it Goldsmith made some blunders the work\\ncould scarcely be his, if it were free from blunders. He was wrong in\\nnis belief that England was at the time rapidly depopulating. He was\\nobviously wrong in ascribing this supposed depopulation to the great\\ncommercial prosperity of the time. Whatever sentimental, whatever real\\nobjections may be urged against Trade, it cannot be denied that it mul-\\ntiplies aad widens fields of labour, and so creates populations. Gold-\\nsmith s fallacy lies in identifying Trade and Luxury. Again, the pict-\\nure drawn of the emigrants in their new land is certainly much exagger-\\nated. Such experience as befalls the hero of Martin Chuzzlewit is very\\nmuch what Goldsmith conceives to await all emigrants.\\nBut he is not always in the wrong. His attacks on Luxury, when\\nhe really means Luxury and not something else in some way associated\\nwith that cardinal pest, are well deserved and often vigorously made.\\nAnd when he deplores the accumulation of land under one ownership\\nhow one only master grasps the whole domain and how consequently\\nthe old race of small proprietors is exterminated how a bold peasantry,\\ntheir country s pride, is perishing, he certainly cannot be laughed down", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0130.jp2"}, "131": {"fulltext": "THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 125\\nas a maintainer of mere idle grievances. One may agree with him in his\\nview in this matter, or one may disagree but it cannot be denied that\\nhere he has a right to his view\u00e2\u0080\u0094 that this is a question open to serious\\ndoubt and difficulty. I suppose there are few persons who will not al-\\nlow there is something to regret in the almost total disappearance of the\\nclass of small freeholders, however much that something may seem to be\\ncompensated for by what has come in their place As the question is\\ngenerally discussed by political economists, it lies between small farms\\nand laro-e farms as it presented itself to Goldsmith, it lay between\\nsmall farms and large parks\u00e2\u0080\u0094 between a system of small ground-plots as-\\nsiduously cultivated, and wide estates reserved for seclusion and pleasure.\\nHalf a tillage, as it seemed, stinted the smiling plain and in his\\neyes there was no smile possible for the plain like that of the waving corn,\\nwhich is, as it were, the gold-haired child of it. Then, like the gentle\\nrecluse Gray, and like the bright day-labourer Burns, he felt much sym-\\npathy with the merriments and sadnesses and interests of the common\\ncountry-folk. Their life was precious to him, and he could not bear to\\nthink that the area of it was being narrowed, that for them no more the\\nblazing hearth should burn where it had been wont, not because they\\nwere dead, but because they were ejected wanderers.\\nIt is from this sincere sympathy, apart from all theories and theonzmgs,\\nthat the force and beauty of this poem spring. When Goldsmith thinks\\nof the decay or destruction of those scenes he prized so highly, a genuine\\nsorrow penetrates him, and he gives it tongue as in this poem he be-\\ncomes the loving elegist of the old yeomanry.\\nMr. Forster, in his Life and Times of Oliver Goldsmith, comparing\\nThe Traveller and The Deserted Village, says All the characteristics\\nof the first poem seem to me developed in the second with as chaste a\\nsimplicity, with as choice a selectness of natural expression, in verse of as\\nmusical cadence but with yet greater earnestness of purpose, and a far\\nmore human interest. Nor is that purpose to be lightly dismissed, be-\\ncause it more concerns the heart than the understanding, and is senti-\\nmental rather than philosophical. The accumulation of wealth has not\\nbrought about man s diminution, nor is trade s proud empire threatened\\nwith decay but too eager are the triumphs of both, to be always con-\\nscious of evils attendant on even the benefits they bring,\u00e2\u0080\u0094 and of those\\nit was the poet s purpose to remind us. The lesson can never be thrown\\naway. No material prosperity can be so great, but that underneath it,\\nand indeed because of it, will not still be found much suffering and sad-\\nness much to remember that is commonly forgotten, much to attend to\\nthat is almost always neglected. Trade would not thrive the less, though\\nshortened somewhat of its unfeeling train nor wealth enjoy fewer bless-\\nings, if its unwieldy pomp less often spurned the cottage from the green.\\nIt is a melancholy thing to stand alone in one s country, said the Lord\\nLeicester who built Holkham, when complimented on the completion of\\nthat princely dwelling. I look round\u00e2\u0080\u0094 not a house is to be seen but\\nmine. I am the giant of Giant-castle, and have eat up all my neighbours.\\nWhen asked who was his nearest neighbour, he replied, The King of Denmark.", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0131.jp2"}, "132": {"fulltext": "I2 6 NOTES.\\nThere is no man who has risen upward in the world, even by ways the\\nmost honourable to himself and kindly to others, who may not be said to\\nhave a deserted village, sacred to the tenderest and fondest recollections,\\nwhich it is well that his fancy and his feeling should at times revisit.\\nGoldsmith looked into his heart and wrote. From that great city in\\nwhich his hard-spent life had been diversified with so much care and toil,\\nhe travelled back to the memory of lives more simply passed, of more\\ncheerful labour, of less anxious care, of homely affections and humble joys\\nfor which the world and all its successes offer nothing in exchange.\\nSweet Auburn is no more. But though he finds the scene deserted,\\nfor us he peoples it anew, builds up again its ruined haunts, and revives\\nits pure enjoyments from the glare of crowded cities, their exciting\\nstruggles and palling pleasures, carries us back to the season of natural\\npastimes and unsophisticated desires adjures us all to remember, in our\\nseveral smaller worlds, the vast world of humanity that breathes beyond;\\nshows us that there is nothing too humble for the loftiest and most affect-\\ning associations and that where human joys and interests have been,\\ntheir memory is sacred forever\\nBeautifully is it said by Mr. Campbell, that fiction in poetry is not the\\nreverse of truth, but her soft and enchanted resemblance and this ideal\\nbeauty of nature has seldom been united with so much sober fidelity as\\nin the groups and scenery of The Deserted Village. It is to be added\\nthat everything in it is English, the feeling, incidents, descriptions, and\\nallusions and that this consideration may save us needless trouble in\\nseeking to identify sweet Auburn (a name he obtained from Langton) with\\nLissoy. Scenes of the poet s youth had doubtless risen in his memory\\nas he wrote, mingling with, and taking altered hue from, later experiences\\nthoughts of those early days could scarcely have been absent from the\\nwish for a quiet close to the struggles and toil of his mature life, and very\\npossibly, nay, almost certainly, when the dream of such a retirement\\nhaunted him, Lissoy formed part of the vision it is even possible he\\nmay have caught the first hint of his design from a local Westmeath\\npoet and schoolmaster,* who, in his youth, had given rhymed utterance to\\nthe old tenant grievances of the Irish rural population nor could com-\\nplaints that were also loudest in those boyish days at Lissoy, of certain\\nreckless and unsparing evictions by which one General Naper (Napper,\\nor Napier) had persisted in improving his estate, have passed altogether\\nfrom Goldsmith s memory.! But there was nothing local in his present\\nLawrence Whyte, who published (1741) a poem, in whose list of subscribers appears\\nAllan Ramsay s name, which describes with some pathos the sufferings of dispossessed\\nIrish tenantry\\nTheir native soil were forc d to quit,\\nSo Irish landlords thought it fit.\\nHow many villages they razed,\\nHow many parishes laid waste I\\nt The earliest and most intelligent attempt to identify Lissoy and Auburn was made in\\n1807 by Doctor Strean, Henry Goldsmith s successor in the curacy of Kilkenny West,\\nbut, at the time he wrote this letter, perpetual curate of Athlone. I quote it as the first\\nand best outline of all that has since been very elaborately and very needlessly said on the\\nsame subject The poem of The Deserted Village took its origin from the circumstance", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0132.jp2"}, "133": {"fulltext": "THE DESERTED VILLAGE.\\n127\\naim or if there was, it was the rustic life and rural scenery of England.\\nIt is quite natural that Irish enthusiasts should have found out the fence,\\nthe furze, the thorn, the decent church, the never-failing brook, the busy\\nmill, even the Twelve Good Rules, and Royal Game of Goose it was\\nto be expected that pilgrims should have borne away every vestige of the\\nfirst hawthorn they could lay their hands on it was very graceful and\\npretty amusement for Mr. Hogan, when he settled in the neighbourhood,\\nto rebuild the village inn and fix the broken teacups in the wall for se-\\ncurity against the enthusiasm of predatory pilgrims, to fence round with\\nmasonry what still remained of the hawthorn, to prop up the tottering\\nwalls of what was once the parish school, and to christen his furbished-\\nup village and adjoining mansion by the name of Auburn. All this, as\\nof General Robert Napper (the grandfather of the gentleman who now lives in the house,\\nwithin half a mile of Lissoy, and built by the general) having purchased an extensive\\ntract of the country surrounding Lissoy, or A ukum in consequence of which many\\nfamilies, here called cottiers, were removed, to make room for the intended improvements\\nof what was now to become the wide domain of a rich man, warm with the idea of chang-\\ning the face of his rftw acquisition and were forced, with fainting steps, to go in search\\nof torrid tracts and distant climes. This fact alone might be sufficient to establish\\nthe seat of the poem but there cannot remain a doubt in any unprejudiced mind when\\nthe following are added: viz., that the character of the village preacher, the above-named\\nHenry, is copied from nature. He is described exactly as he lived, and his modest\\nmansion as it existed. Burn, the name of the village master, and the site of his school-\\nhouse and Catherine Giraghty, a lonely widow,\\nThe wretched matron, fore d in age for bread\\nTo strip the brook with mantling cresses spread\\n(and to this day the brook and ditches near the spot where her cabin stood abound with\\ncresses), still remain in the memory of the inhabitants, and Catherine s children live in\\nthe neighbourhood. The pool, the busy mill, the house where nut-brown draughts in-\\nspired, are still visited as the poetic scene and the hawthorn-bush, growing in an open\\nspace in front of the house, which I knew to have three trunks, is now reduced to one\\nthe other two having been cut, from time to time, by persons carrying pieces of it away to\\nbe made into toys, etc., in honour of the bard, and of the celebrity of his poem. All these\\ncontribute to the same proof; and the decent church, which I attended for upwards of\\neighteen years, and which tops the neighbouring hill, is exactly described as seen from\\nLissoy, the residence of the preacher.\\nA lady from the neighbourhood of Portglenone, in the county of Antrim, was one\\nof those who visited the Deserted Village in the summer of 1817; and was fortunate\\nenough to find, in a cottage adjoining the ale-house, an old smoked print, which she was\\ncredibly informed was the identical Twelve Good Rules which had ornamented that rural\\ntavern, with the Royal Game of Goose, etc., etc., when Goldsmith drew his fascinating de-\\nscription of it. Gent. Mag. vol. lxxxviii.\\nThe identical old smoked print was doubtless Mr. Hogan s. When I settled on\\nthe spot, said that gentleman, giving account of what he had done to a public meeting\\nheld in Ballymahon in 1819, to set on foot a subscription for a monument to Goldsmith s\\nmemory, I attempted to replace some of the almost forgotten identities that delighted\\nme forty years since. I rebuilt his Three Jolly Pigeons, restored his Twelve Good Rules\\nand Royal Game of Goose, enclosed his Hawthorn Tree, now almost cut away by the de-\\nvotion of the literary pilgrims who resort to it I also planted his favourite hill before\\nLissoy Gate, etc., etc. Gent. Mag. vol. xc. The proposed monument failed, notwith-\\nstanding the honourable enthusiasm of Mr. Hogan, the Rev. John Graham, its originator,\\nand others. I may add that soon after Mr. Hogan began his restorations, an intelligent\\nvisitor described them and nothing, he said, so shook his faith in the reality of Auburn\\nas the got-up print, the fixed teacups, and so forth. But what had once been Charles\\nand Henry Goldsmith s parsonage at Lissoy, the lower chamber of which he found inhab-\\nited by pigs and sheep, and the drawing-room by oats, was yet so placed hi relation to ob-", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0133.jp2"}, "134": {"fulltext": "I2 8 NOTES.\\nWalter Scott has said, is a pleasing tribute to the poet in the land of his\\nfathers but it certainly is no more.\\nSuch tribute as the poem itself was, its author offered to Sir Joshua\\nReynolds, dedicating it to him. Setting interest aside, he wrote, to\\nwhich I never paid much attention, I must be indulged at pi esent in fol-\\nlowing my affections. The only dedication I ever made was to my brother,\\nbecause I loved him better than most other men. He is since dead. Per-\\nmit me to inscribe this Poem to you. How gratefully this was received,\\nand how strongly it cemented an already fast friendship, needs not be said.\\nThe great painter could not rest till he had made public acknowledgment\\nand return. He painted his picture of Resignation, had it engraved by\\nThomas Watson, and inscribed upon it these words This attempt to\\nexpress a character in The Deserted Village is dedicated to Doctor Gold-\\nsmith, by his sincere friend and admirer, Joshua Reynolds.\\nI. Sweet Auburn. Lissoy or Lishoy, which claims the honour of being\\nthe original Auburn (see extract from Mr. Forster above) is eight miles\\nnorth of Athlone, and almost in the geographical cgntre of Ireland.\\nHowitt (Ho?nes and Haunts of British Poets, vol. i. p. 328, Harper s ed.)\\nsays that it now consists of a few common cottages by the roadside, on\\na fiat and by no means particularly interesting scene. The ruins of the\\nhouse where Goldsmith s father lived are still to be seen, with the orch-\\nard and wild remains of a garden, enclosed with a high old stone wall.\\n4. Parting. Departing, as often in poetry and in Old English. Cf. 171\\nparting life; also Gray s Elegy, 1 parting day, and 89: parting\\nsoul Shakes. Cor. v. 6 When I parted hence, etc. Milton, Hymn\\non Nativ. 186 The parting Genius, etc. On the other hand, depart was\\nused in the sense of part. In the Marriage Service till death us do part\\nis a corruption of till death us depart. Wiclif s Bible, in Matt. xix. 6, has\\ntherfor a man departe not that thing that God hath ioyned and Chau-\\ncer, in Knighfs Tale, 1 136, Til that the deth departen shal us tweine.\\n5. Dear lovely bowers, etc. The ten lines beginning with this were\\nGoldsmith s second morning s work on the poem, according to his friend\\nCooke, to whom he read the lines aloud. Come, he added, let me\\ntell you, this is no bad morning s work and now, my dear boy, if you\\nare not better engaged, I should like to enjoy a shoemaker s holiday with\\nyou (Forster).\\n6. Cf. Pope, Essay on Man, ii.\\njects described in the poem, as somewhat to restore his shaken belief. He adds, that, in\\nthe cabin of the quondam schoolmaster, an oak chair with a back and seat of cane, purport-\\ning to be the chair of the poet, was shown him, apparently kept rather for the sake\\nof drawing contributions from the curious than from any reverence for the bard. There\\nis, he humourously adds, no fear of its being worn out by the devout earnestness of sit-\\nters, as the cocks and hens have usurped undisputed possession of it, and protest most\\nclamourously against all attempts to get it cleansed, or to seat oneself.\\nColman the younger has recorded (Random Recollections, vol. i.) a more extraordi-\\nnary tribute in the land of his adoption One day I met the poet Harding at Oxford, a\\nhalf-crazy creature, as poets generally are, with a huge broken brick and some bits of\\nthatch upon the crown of his hat. On my asking him for a solution of this Prosopopeia,\\nSir, said he, to-day is the anniversary of the celebrated Dr. Goldsmith s death, and I\\nam now in the character of his Deserted Village?", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0134.jp2"}, "135": {"fulltext": "THE DESERTED VILLAGE. I2 g\\nBehold the child, by nature s kindly law,\\nPleased with a rattle, tickled with a straw.\\n12. Decent. In its original sense of comely (Latin deceits). Cf. Milton,\\n77 Pens. 36 thy decent shoulders, etc.\\n16. When toil, etc. When a remission of toil allowed play to have\\nits turn.\\n17. Train. As Hales remarks, this is a frequent word in Goldsmith s\\npoems.\\n19. Circled. Like went round just below.\\n22. Sleights. Dexterous feats. The word is rarely used now, except\\nin the phrase sleight of hand. Cf. Macbeth, iii. 5 distilled by magic\\nsleights Spenser, F. Q. i. 7, 30 In yvory sheath, ycarv d with curious\\nslights Id. v. 9, 13 slights and jugling feates, etc.\\n25. Simply. In a simple manner, artlessly.\\n27. Mistrustless. Unconscious, having no suspicion.\\n28. Titter d. An onomatopoetic word. H. p. 218. Cf. giggle, which\\nmeans a slightly different kind of laughter.\\n29. Sidelong. Probably the long is a corruption of the adverbial ter-\\nmination ling, which yet survives in grovelling and darkling (Hales).\\nShakes. {Temp. ii. 1) has flatlong, with which cf. Spenser, F. Q. v. 5, 18\\nTho with her sword on him she fiatling strooke.\\n35. Lawn. Here used almost in the same sense as plain, line 1.\\n37. Amidst. Some modern editions have amid, but Goldsmith always\\nuses amidst.\\n40. Stints thy smiling plain. Deprives thy plain of the beauty and\\nluxuriance that once characterized it (Hales).\\n42. Works its weedy way. A good example of alliteration s artful aid.\\nH. p. 298.\\n44. The hollow -sounding bittern. Cf. An. Nat. vol. xi. Those who\\nhave walked on an evening by the sedgy sides of unfrequented rivers\\nmust remember a variety of notes from different water-fowl the loud\\nscream of the wild goose, the croaking of the mallard, the whining of the\\nlapwing, and the tremulous neighing of the jack-snipe. But of all these\\nsounds there is none so dismally hollow as the booming of the bittern.\\nI remember in the place where I was a boy, with what terror this bird s\\nnote affected the whole village.\\n51. Ill fares the land, etc. Cf. 295. The repetition of ill is probably,\\nas Hales suggests, one of the negligences of style that are common in\\nGoldsmith s writings.\\n52. Where wealth accumulates. Cf. V. of W.: Wealth in all com-\\nmercial states is found to accumulate the very laws may contribute to\\nthe accumulation of wealth, as when the natural ties that bind the rich\\nand poor together are broken, etc.\\n54. Cf. Gower, Conf. Am.\\nA kynge may make a lorde a knave\\nAnd of a knave a lorde also.\\nAlso Burns, Cotter s Sat. Night: Princes and lords are but the breath\\nof kings and again, in the familiar song\\nI", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0135.jp2"}, "136": {"fulltext": "I3 o NOTES.\\nA prince can mak a belted knight,\\nA marquis, duke, and a that\\nBut an honest man s aboon his might,\\nGuid faith, he mauna fa that.\\n59. Her. Labour is personified as feminine. H. p. 146.\\n63. See on 17. Cf. 81 below.\\n65. See on 35.\\n67. The first ed. has to luxury allied.\\n70. Cf. Carew, Disdain Returned: Gentle thoughts and calm desires.\\n74. Manners. See on Trav. 127.\\n77. For this and the three following lines the first ed. has the couplet,\\nHere as with doubtful, pensive steps I range,\\nTrace every scene, and wonder at the change.\\n83. See extract from Irving, p. 123.\\n86. Lay me down. For the pronoun see on Trav. 32.\\n87. Husband out. Economize. Cf. the use of the noun in Macbeth,\\nii. 1 There s husbandry in heaven their candles are all out. The\\naddition of out is peculiar. Wordsworth in one passage has to\\nhusband up The respite of the season.\\n93. An hare. See on Trav. 34. Whom for which is an inaccuracy not\\nuncommon in British writers even in our day. On hounds and horns cf.\\nShakes. T. A. ii. 3 Whiles hounds and horns and sweet melodious birds.\\n94. She flew. Thus in the early editions; not he flew, as in some\\nmodern reprints.\\n95. 96. Forster remarks This thought was continually at his heart.\\nIn his hardly less beautiful prose he has said the same thing more than\\nonce, for, as I have elsewhere remarked, no one ever borrowed from\\nhimself oftener or more unscrupulously than Goldsmith did. A city\\nlike this, he writes in letter ciii. of the Citizen of the World, is the soil\\nfor great virtues and great vices. There are no pleasures, sensual or\\nsentimental, which this city does rrot produce yet, I know not how, I\\ncould not be content to reside here for life. There is something so se-\\nducing in that spot in which we first had existence, that nothing but it\\ncan please. Whatever vicissitudes we experience in life, however we\\ntoil, or wheresoever we wander, our fatigued wishes still recur to home\\nfor tranquillity we long to die in that spot which gave us birth, and in\\nthat pleasing expectation find an opiate for every calamity. The poet\\nWaller, too, wished to die like the stag where he was roused.\\n99. How happy he. The first ed. has How blest is he, which is re-\\ntained by some of the recent editors. On crowns cf. 85.\\n102. Cf. The Bee: By struggling with misfortunes we are sure to re-\\nceive some wound in the conflict the only method to come off victorious\\nis by running away.\\n104. Tempt the deep. A Latinism. Cf. Virgil, Eel. iv. 32 temptare\\nThetim ratibus.\\n107. His latter end. A common Bible phrase. Cf. Num. xxiv. 20, Job.\\nviii. 7, Prov. xix. 20, etc.\\n109. Bends to the grave. The reading of the 4th, 7th, and other early\\neditions. Some have Sinks to the grave.", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0136.jp2"}, "137": {"fulltext": "THE DESERTED VILLAGE.\\nJ 3i\\nin, 112. The rhyme is the same as in 95, 96.\\n116. Mingling. Sometimes incorrectly printed mingled. The suc-\\nceeding lines are a good example of the correspondence of sound and\\nsense. Campbell s Philos. of Rhet. pp. 340-349.\\n121. Bafd. Cf. Shakes. J. C. iv. 3 I had rather be a dog, and bay\\nthe moon, etc.\\n122. The vacant mind. Cf. Shakes. Hen. V. iv. I\\nCan sleep so soundly as the wretched slave,\\nWho, with a body fill d, and vacant mind,\\nGets him to rest, etc.\\n124. Cf. An. Nat. vol. i. The nightingale s pausing song would be the\\nproper epithet for this bird s music.\\nAs the nightingale is not found in Ireland, the introduction of the bird\\nhere is either a Hibernicism or a poetic license. Cf. Byron, note on Siege\\nof Corinth I believe I have taken a poetic license to transplant the\\njackal from Asia. In Greece I never saw nor heard these animals but\\namong the ruins of Ephesus I have heard them by hundreds.\\n129. This woman is said to have been Catherine Giraghty, or Geraghty.\\nSee p. 127, footnote.\\n130. Flashy. Puddle-like. Wordsworth has the plashy earth. See\\nWb.\\n135. See on 17.\\n137. This description of the village preacher was written soon after\\nhe received the tidings of his brother Henry s death, and bears traces of\\nthe recent grief. Irving says To the tender and melancholy recol-\\nlections of his early days awakened by the death of this loved companion\\nof his childhood we may attribute some of the most heartfelt passages in\\nhis Deserted Village. Much of that poem we are told was composed\\nthis summer, in the course of solitary strolls about the green lanes and\\nbeautifully rural scenes of the neighbourhood and thus much of the\\nsoftness and sweetness of English landscape became blended with the\\nruder features of Lissoy. It was in these lonely and subdued moments,\\nwhen tender regret was half mingled with self-upbraiding, that he poured\\nforth that homage of the heart rendered as it were at the grave of his\\nbrother. The picture of the village pastor in this poem, which we have\\nalready hinted, was taken in part from the character of his father, em-\\nbodied likewise the recollections of his brother Henry for the natures\\nof the father and son seem to have been identical. In the following\\nlines, however, Goldsmith evidently contrasted the quiet settled life of\\nhis brother, passed at home in the benevolent exercise of the Christian\\nduties, with his own restless vagrant career\\nRemote from towns he ran his godly race,\\nNor e er had changed, nor wished to change his place.\\nTo us the whole character seems traced as it were in an expiatory spirit\\nas if, conscious of his own wandering restlessness, he sought to humble\\nhimself at the shrine of excellence which he had not been able to practise.\\n142. Passing. Surpassingly, exceedingly once a common word in\\nthis sense.", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0137.jp2"}, "138": {"fulltext": "1 t 2 NOTES.\\nCf. the Dedication to The Traveller: a man who, despising fame and\\nfortune, has retired early to happiness and obscurity, with an income of\\nforty pounds a year.\\n143. Cf. Heb. xii. I.\\n145. Unpractised. The 1st ed. has Unskilful and in 148, More\\nbent to raise, etc. The use of the infinitive to fawn for in fawn-\\ning is a Latinism. Cf. 161, 195, 288, etc.\\n149. See on 17.\\n152. Cf. Hall, Satires: Stay till my beard shall sweep mine aged\\nbreast.\\n153. Spendthrift. One of an expressive class of words, most of which\\nare obsolete; as scapethrift (Holinshed), wastethrift (B. and F.), dingthrift,\\nthat is, one who dings or drives away thrift, as in Herrick (quoted by\\nNares)\\nNo, but because the dingthrift now is poore,\\nAnd knowes not where i th world to borrow more.\\n155. The broken soldier. Cf. Campbell, Soldier s Dream s: And fain\\nwas their war-broken soldier to stay; also Virgil, y\u00c2\u00a3Vz. ii. 13 fracti\\nbello and xii. 1 infractos adverso Marte.\\n171. Parting life. See on 4.\\n1 76. Accents. For words, as often in poetry. Cf. Longfellow, Excelsior\\nAnd like a silver clarion rung\\nThe accents of that unknown tongue.\\n178. Cf. Dryden, Good Parson His eyes diffused a venerable grace.\\n180. Cf. Jasp. Mayne, Mem. of Ben Jonson:\\nFor thou e en sin didst in such words array,\\nThat some who came bad parts went out good play,\\nand Dryden, Brit. Red.\\nOur vows are heard betimes, and Heaven takes care\\nTo grant before we can conclude the prayer\\nPreventing angels met it half the way,\\nAnd sent us back to praise who came to pray.\\n182. Steady zeal. It is ready zeal in the 1st and some modern edi-\\ntions. Goldsmith doubtless changed it on account of the ready smile,\\nthree lines below.\\n189. Lord Lytton {Miscellaneous Works, vol. i. p. 65) has traced this\\nsimile to a poem by the Abbe de Chaulieu, who lived 1639-1720, and\\nwhose verses were popular at the time when Goldsmith was travelling\\non the Continent\\nTel qu un rocher dont la tete\\nEgalant le Mont Athos,\\nVoit a ses pieds la tempete\\nTroublant le calme des flots,\\nLa mer autour bruit et gronde\\nMalgre ses emotions,\\nSur son front eleve regne une paix profonde.\\nEvery one, adds Lord Lytton, must own that, in copying, Goldsmith\\nwonderfully improved the original, and his application of the image to the", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0138.jp2"}, "139": {"fulltext": "THE DESERTED VILLAGE. I33\\nChristian preacher gives it a moral sublimity to which it has no pretension\\nin Chaulieu, who applies it to his own philosophical patience under his\\nphysical maladies.\\n194. Unprofitably gay. An English friend writes Goldsmith was\\nwrong when he wrote this line. The furze is not unprofitable. The cot-\\ntager knows how to use it. The green young species give food to horse\\nand cow, or donkey maybe, and its old branches make a first-rate fence.\\n196. The village master. Goldsmith is supposed here to have drawn\\nthe portrait of his own early teacher, of whom Irving gives the following\\naccount\\nAt six years of age he passed into the hands of the village school-\\nmaster, one Thomas (or, as he was commonly and irreverently named,\\nPaddy) Byrne, a capital tutor for a poet. He had been educated for a\\npedagogue, but had enlisted in the army, served abroad during the wars\\nof Queen Anne s time, and risen to the rank of quartermaster of a regi-\\nment in Spain. At the return of peace, having no longer exercise for the\\nsword, he resumed the ferule, and drilled the urchin populace of Lissoy.\\nAfter quoting lines 193-216, Irving adds\\nThere are certain whimsical traits in the character of Byrne, not given\\nin the foregoing sketch. He was fond of talking of his vagabond wan-\\nderings in foreign lands, and had brought with him from the wars a world\\nof campaigning stories, of which he was generally the hero, and which he\\nwould deal forth to his wondering scholars when he ought to have been\\nteaching them their lessons. These travellers tales had a powerful ef-\\nfect upon the vivid imagination of Goldsmith, and awakened an uncon-\\nquerable passion for wandering and seeking adventure.\\nByrne was, moreover, of a romantic vein, and exceedingly superstitious.\\nHe was deeply versed in the fairy superstitions which abound in Ireland,\\nall which he professed implicitly to believe. Under his tuition Goldsmith\\nsoon became almost as great a proficient in fairy lore. From this branch\\nof good-for-nothing knowledge, his studies, by an easy transition, extend-\\ned to the histories of robbers, pirates, smugglers, and the whole race of\\nIrish rogues and rapparees. Everything, in short, that savoured of ro-\\nmance, fable, and adventure was congenial to his poetic mind, and took\\ninstant root there but the slow plants of useful knowledge were apt to\\nbe overrun, if not choked, by the weeds of his quick imagination.\\nAnother trait of his motley preceptor, Byrne, was a disposition to dab-\\nble in poetry, and this likewise was caught by his pupil. Before he was\\neight years old Goldsmith had contracted a habit of scribbling verses on\\nsmall scraps of paper, which, in a little while, he would throw into the\\nfire. A few of these sibylline leaves, however, were rescued from the\\nflames and conveyed to his mother. The good woman read them with a\\nmother s delight, and saw at once that her son was a genius and a poet.\\nFrom that time she beset her husband with solicitations to give the boy\\nan education suitable to his talents.\\n198. Truant. The original meaning of this word (see Wb.) was vaga-\\nbond, but it is found in this special schoolboy sense in Shakes. M. Wives,\\nv. 1 Since I plucked geese, played truant, and whipped top, I knew\\nnot what twas to be beaten till lately.", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0139.jp2"}, "140": {"fulltext": "134\\nNOTES.\\n200. Disasters. The word originally meant the baleful aspect of a star\\nor planet from the Latin dis and astruni. Cf. Hamlet, i. 1 Disasters\\nin the sun. Other words of astrological origin are mercurial, jovial,\\nsaturnine, ascendency, influence, ill-starred, etc.\\n203. Circling round. Cf. circled in 19.\\n205, 206. Aught and fault are an imperfect rhyme, but Pope has used\\na similar one\\nBefore his sacred name flies every fault,\\nAnd each exalted stanza teems with thought.\\nIt is said that in Ireland, Scotland, and some parts of England, the sound\\nof the is often omitted in the pronunciation of fault.\\n207. Village. For villagers, by metonymy. H. p. 85. Cf. Ovid, Fasti,\\nii. 655 Conveniunt celebrantque dapes vicinia supplex.\\n209. Terms and tides. The former refers to the sessions of the uni-\\nversities and law courts and the latter to times and seasons (Hales).\\nCf. Shakes. K. John, iii. 1 Among the high tides in the Calendar\\nthat is, solemn seasons. Noontide, eventide, springtide, etc., are still in use,\\nat least in poetry.\\n210. Gauge. That is, measure the capacities of casks.\\n218. Forgot. See on Trav. 358.\\n221. Nut-brown. A simile compressed into one word. Cf. Milton,\\nV Allegro, 100 Then to the spicy nut-brown ale. The word is also\\napplied to a brunette complexion, as in the famous old ballad of The\\nNut-brown Maid.\\n226. Parlour. From the French parler, and meaning originally the\\nspeaking-room in a monastery that is, the room where conversation\\nwas allowed. See Wb. Cf. boudoir from the French boitder, to pout.\\n228. Clicked. Onomatopoetic. See on titter d, 28.\\n232. The twelve good rides. These were, 1. Urge no healths 2. Pro-\\nfane no divine ordinances 3. Touch no state matters 4. Reveal no se-\\ncrets 5. Pick no quarrels 6. Make no comparisons 7. Maintain no ill\\nopinions 8. Keep no bad company 9. Encourage no vice 10. Make no\\nlong meals n. Repeat no grievances 12. Lay no wagers. These rules\\nwere ascribed to Charles I. Goldsmith, in the fragment describing an\\nauthor s bedchamber, speaks of them as the twelve rules the royal\\nmartyr drew. Cf. Crabbe, Parish Register:\\nThere is King Charles and all his golden rules,\\nWho proved Misfortune s was the best of schools.\\nThis fragment, which was afterwards worked over in this passage of The Deserted\\nVillage, first appears in a letter to his brother Henry, written in the early part of 1759,\\nfrom which the following is an extract\\nYour last letter, I repeat it, was too short you should have given me your opinion\\nof the design of the heroi-comical poem which I sent you. You remember I intended to\\nintroduce the hero of the poem as lying in a paltry ale-house. You may take the follow-\\ning specimen of the manner, which I flatter myself is quite original. The room in which\\nhe lies may be described somewhat in this way\\nThe window, patch d with paper, lent a ray\\nThat feebly show d the state in which he lay\\nThe sanded floor that grits beneath the tread,\\nThe humid wall with paltry pictures spread", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0140.jp2"}, "141": {"fulltext": "THE DESERTED VILLAGE.\\nJ 35\\nThe royal game of goose. Not the ordinary game of fox and goose,\\nbut an obsolete game -played upon a board with sixty-two compartments.\\nIt is described in Strutt s Sports and Pastimes, bk. iv. ch. 2. It is called\\nthe game of goose because at every fourth and fifth compartment in suc-\\ncession a goose was depicted and if the cast thrown by the player falls\\nupon a goose, he moves forward double the number of his throw.\\n234. See description of Mr. Hogan s restored ale-house, p. 127, foot-\\nnote.\\n235. Chimney. That is, the fireplace. Cf. Milton, E Allegro, m\\nAnd stretch d out all the chimney s length and Shakes. Cymb. ii. 4\\nthe chimney Is south the chamber. See Wb.\\n239. Obscure it sinks. Sinks into obscurity.\\n240. Cf. Horace s address to the wine-jar (Od. iii. 21) addis cornua\\npauperi and Burns, Tarn O Shanter:\\nKings may be blest, but Tam was glorious,\\nO er a the ills o life victorious.\\n243. The barber s tale. The garrulity of barbers had passed into a\\nproverb.\\n244. Woodman, which now means a wood- chopper, used to mean a\\nhunter. Cf. Merry Wives, v. 5 Am I a woodman, ha? speak I like\\nHeme the hunter\\n248. Mantling bliss. The foaming cup, which maketh glad the heart\\nan instance of metonymy. Cf. Pope And the brain dances to the\\nmantling bowl and Tennyson, In Memoriam, civ. Nor bowl of was-\\nsail mantle warm. For the different meanings of mantle (cf. 132) see Wb.\\n250. Kiss the cup. Just touch it with her lips. Cf. Scott, Marmion, v.\\n12 The bride kissed the goblet, the knight quaffed it up.\\n252. See on 17. Cf. 320 and 337.\\n258. Cf. Milton,/ L. ii. 185 Unrespited, unpitied, unrepriev d iii.\\n231 Comes unprevented, unimplor d, unsought v. 899 Unshaken,\\nunseduc d, unterrified Shakes. M. of V. iii. 2 Is an unlesson d girl,\\nunschool d, unpractis d Byron, Childe Harold: Without a grave, un-\\nknell d, uncoffin d, and unknown, etc.\\n259. Pomp. In its original sense of train or procession. See Wb.\\n265. Survey. That is, observe. The omission of the infinitive sign to\\nin the next line is exceptional.\\nThe game of goose was there expos d to view,\\nAnd the twelve rules the royal martyr drew\\nThe Seasons, fram d with listing, found a place,\\nAnd Prussia s monarch show d his lamp-black face.\\nThe morn was cold he views with keen desire\\nA rusty grate unconscious of a fire\\nAn unpaid reckoning on the frieze was scor d,\\nAnd five crack d teacups dress d the chimney board.\\nAll this is taken, you see, from nature. It is a good remark of Montaigne s, that the\\nwisest men often have friends with whom they do not care how much they play the fool.\\nTake my present follies as instances of my regard. Poetry is a much easier and more\\nagreeable species of composition than prose and, could a man live by it, it were not un-\\npleasant employment to be a poet.", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0141.jp2"}, "142": {"fulltext": "136\\nNOTES.\\n268. An happy land. See on Trav. 34. Cf. Cit. of World, i. there\\nis a wide difference between a conquering and a flourishing empire.\\n274. Prodttcts. Not product, as in some editions.\\n275 foil. See introductory remarks, p. 124. Cf. Horace, Od. ii. 15, for\\na similar complaint that the rich man s palaces, ponds, etc., occupy lands\\nonce productive and useful. See also Od. ii. 18, 19-28.\\n279. Note the transfer of silken from robe to sloth. H. p. 86.\\n280. Cf. 40 above.\\n283. He seems to mean that the country exports more than its surplus\\nproductions, bartering for foreign luxuries what it really needs for home\\nconsumption.\\n285, 286. We follow the punctuation of the early editions. It is often\\nprinted thus\\nWhile thus the land, adorn d for pleasure all,\\nIn barren splendour feebly waits the fall.\\n287. This use of female for woman is now properly considered a\\nvulgarism.\\n288. Secure to please. Confident of pleasing. See on 145. Cf. Thom-\\nson, Autumn, 202\\nVeil d in a simple robe, their best attire,\\nBeyond the pomp of dress for loveliness\\nNeeds not the foreign aid of ornament,\\nBut is when unadorn d adorn d the most.\\n293. Solicitous to bless. Anxious to charm, or to find lovers on whom\\nshe may bestow her favours.\\n295. Thus fares the land. Cf. 51 above.\\n297. Verging. As it verges, or tends.\\n298. Vistas. Views, prospects. See Wb.\\n299. This is the punctuation of the best editions. Some point the\\ncouplet thus\\nWhile, scourg d by famine, from the smiling land\\nThe mournful peasant leads his humble band.\\n300. Cf. Roscoe s Nurse Sinks the poor babe, without a hand to\\nsave.\\n304. To scape. This word is commonly printed as a contraction of es-\\ncape, but we find it also in prose as in Bacon, Adv. of L. ii. 14, 9 such\\nas had scaped shipwreck, etc. Shakes, uses it much oftener than es-\\ncape. See Wb. s. v. Cf. estate and state, esquire and squire, espy and spy,\\nestablish and stablish (2 Sam. vii. 13 1 Chron. xvii. 12), and similar pairs\\nof words of Norman-French origin.\\n305. Stray d. Having strayed. Cf. sped in 309.\\n313. The 1st ed. has To see each joy, etc.\\n316. Artist. For artisan, as the latter word was sometimes used for\\nartist. Dr. Johnson, in his Dictionary, does not recognize the specialized\\nsense of painter for artist. Cf. Waller, To the King:\\nHow to build ships, and dreadful ordnance cast,\\nInstruct the artists, and reward their haste\\nand, on the other hand, The Guardian (quoted by Hales)", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0142.jp2"}, "143": {"fulltext": "THE DESERTED VILLAGE. I37\\nBest and happiest artisan,\\nBest of painters, if you can,\\nWith your many-colour d art\\nDraw the mistress of my heart.\\n317. Long-drawn pomps. Cf. Gray s Elegy: the long-drawn aisle;\\nand see on 259 above.\\n318. Glooms. This verb occurs again in 363, where it is used tran-\\nsitively.\\n319. Dome. See on Trav. 159.\\n322. Torches. Before the introduction of street-lights, people who could\\nafford it were preceded by torch-bearers when going abroad at night.\\n326. See on 287. Cf. Cit. of World, ii. These poor shivering females\\nhave once seen happier days, and been flattered into beauty Perhaps\\nnow lying at the doors of their betrayers, they sue to wretches whose\\nhearts are insensible.\\n335. Ambitious of the town. Longing for or aspiring to a city life.\\n336. Wheel. That is, spinning-wheel. Of course, country is an adjec-\\ntive, and brown a noun.\\n338. Participate regularly takes the preposition in, though of is some-\\ntimes used. See Wb.\\n342. The convex world. Cf. Virgil, Eel. iv. 50 Nutantem convexo\\npondere mundum.\\n344. Altama. The Altamaha river, in Georgia. To in response to,\\nor in consonance with.\\n348. Day. By metonymy for the heat or light of day, as in 41. Cf.\\nPope, Messiah And on the sightless eyeball pour the day.\\n352. Gathers death. Collects its deadly venom.\\n354. The rattling terrors. The rattle of the rattlesnake.\\n355. Crouching tigers. The jaguar and the puma are the American\\ntigers.\\n356. Cf. Sir W. Temple (quoted by some of the editors)\\nTo savage beasts who on the weaker prey,\\nOr human savages more wild than they.\\n358. Mingling, etc. Cf. Virgil, ALn. i. 134\\nlam caelum terramque meo sine numine, Venti,\\nMiscere, et tantas audetis tollere moles?\\n366. Hung round the bozvers. Some of the early editions have their\\nbowers.\\n368. Seats. Abodes, homes like the Latin sedes. Cf. 6 above.\\n371. Cf. Goldsmith s Threnodia Augustalis The good old sire, un-\\nconscious of decay.\\n373. Conscious virtue. Cf. Virgil, JEn. xii. 668 et conscia virtus.\\n378. The 1st ed. has for her father s arms. The meaning of course\\nis that she left her lover in England to accompany her father to America.\\n384. Silent manliness. Manly silence.\\n385. O Lttxury For this third degree of personification, see H. p.\\n1 53 foil.\\n386. Things like these. Not referring to anything in the context, but to\\nthe general subject of the poem, the innocence and happiness of country life/", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0143.jp2"}, "144": {"fulltext": "138 NOTES.\\n391-394. Cf. Trav. 144.\\n397. Methinks. See on Trav. 283.\\n398. For the figure Vision, so-called) see H. p. 165.\\n399. Anchoring. Anchored, at anchor.\\n402. He seems to distinguish between shore and strand, making\\nstrand mean the beach, the shore in the most limited sense of the\\nword (Hales).\\n407. See on 385.\\n409. Unfit. Unsuited not from any fault or defect in herself, but be-\\ncause the times are degenerate.\\n413. Cf. Wither s address to the Muse in The Shepherd s Hunting:\\nAnd though for her sake I m crost,\\nThough my best hopes I have lost,\\nAnd knew she would make my trouble\\nTen times more than ten times, double,\\nI should love and keep her too,\\nSpite of all the world could do.\\nShe doth tell me where to borrow\\nComfort in the midst of sorrow,\\nMakes the desolatest place\\nTo her presence be a grace,\\nAnd the blackest discontents\\nTo be pleasing ornaments.\\nTherefore, thou best earthly bliss,\\nI will cherish thee for this\\nPoesy, thou sweet st content\\nThat e er heaven- to mortals lent, etc.\\n416. Fare thee well. In this expression thee probably thou. See\\nAbbott, Shakes. Gr. 212.\\n418. Tor?id s cliffs. There is a river Tornea (or Torneo, as it is some-\\ntimes written) flowing into the Gulf of Bothnia, and forming part of the\\nboundary between Sweden and Russia. There is also a Lake Tornea in\\nthe extreme northern part of Sweden. Cf. Campbell Cold as the\\nrocks on Torneo s hoary brow. Pambamarca is said to be a mountain\\nnear Quito.\\n419. Equinoctial fervours. Equatorial heat.\\n422. See on Trav. 176.\\n423. In some of the earlier editions, the couplet is punctuated thus\\nAid slighted Truth with thy persuasive strain\\nTeach erring man to spurn the rage of gain.\\nThe my for thy in some editions is obviously a misprint.\\n424. Rage of gain. Rage for gain Seneca s lucri furor.\\n426. Very blest. A violation of the rule that very cannot be joined to\\nparticiples though blest here may be regarded as an adjective.\\n427. The last four lines, Boswell tells us, were added by Dr. Johnson.\\n428. Mole. A mound or breakwater at the mouth of a harbour. Cf.\\nCicero, De Off.n.4: moles oppositae fluctibus; Horace, Od. iii. 1\\nJactis in altum molibus.\\n430. Rocks. That is, natural rocks, as opposed to the artificial mole.\\nThe sky the weather, like the Latin caelum.", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0144.jp2"}, "145": {"fulltext": "RETALIATION.\\n139\\nRETALIATION.\\nThis poem was the last work of Goldsmith, and was not printed until\\nafter his death, appearing for the first time on the 18th of April, 1774.\\nThe following account of the origin of the poem is from the original\\nmanuscript in Garrick s handwriting, and was first printed in Cunning-\\nham s edition of Goldsmith\\nAs the cause of writing the following printed poem called Retaliation\\nhas not yet been fully explained, a person concerned in the business begs\\nleave to give the following just and minute account of the whole affair\\nAt a meeting* of a company of gentlemen, who were well known to\\neach other, and diverting themselves, among many other things, with the\\npeculiar oddities of Dr. Goldsmith, who never would allow a superior in\\nany art, from writing poetry down to dancing a hornpipe, the Doctor\\nwith great eagerness insisted upon trying his epigrammatic powers with\\nMr. Garrick, and each of them was to write the other s epitaph. Mr. Gar-\\nrick immediately said that his epitaph was finished, and spoke the fol-\\nlowing distich extempore\\nHere lies Nolly Goldsmith, for shortness call d Noll,\\nWho wrote like an angel, but talk d like poor Poll. t\\nGoldsmith, upon the company s laughing very heartily, grew very thought-\\nful, and either would not or could not write anything at that time how-\\never, he went to work, and some weeks after produced the following print-\\ned poem called Retaliation, which has been much admired, and gone\\nthrough several editions. The public in general have been mistaken in\\nimagining that this poem was written in anger by the Doctor it was just\\nthe contrary the whole on all sides was done with the greatest good\\nhumour and the following poems in manuscript were written by several\\nof the gentlemen on purpose to provoke the Doctor to an answer, which\\ncame forth at last with great credit to him in Retaliation.\\nAs Cunningham suggests, the above was evidently designed as a pref-\\nace to a collected edition of the poems which grew out of Goldsmith s\\ntrying his epigrammatic powers with Garrick.\\nIrving, after giving the history of the poem, comments upon it as follows\\nThe characters of his distinguished intimates are admirably hit off,\\nwith a mixture of generous praise and good-humoured raillery. In fact\\nthe poem for its graphic truth, its nice discrimination, its terse good-\\nAt the St. James Coffee-House in St. James Street.\\nt This couplet has been printed in a variety of forms, but this is doubtless the correct\\none, as we have it on Garrick s own authority.", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0145.jp2"}, "146": {"fulltext": "I4 o NOTES.\\nsense, and its shrewd knowledge of the world, must have electrified the\\nclub almost as much as the first appearance of The Traveller, and let\\nthem still deeper into the character and talents of the man they had been\\naccustomed to consider as their butt. Retaliation, in a word, closed his\\naccounts with the club, and balanced all his previous deficiencies.\\nThe portrait of David Garrick is one of the most elaborate in the\\npoem. When the poet came to touch it off, he had some lurking piques\\nto gratify, which the recent attack had revived. He may have forgotten\\nDavid s cavalier treatment of him, in the early days of his comparative\\nobscurity he may have forgiven his refusal of his plays but Garrick\\nhad been capricious in his conduct in the times of their recent inter-\\ncourse sometimes treating him with gross familiarity, at other times af-\\nfecting dignity and reserve, and assuming airs of superiority frequently\\nhe had been facetious and witty in company at his expense, and lastly he\\nhad been guilty of the couplet just quoted. Goldsmith, therefore, touch-\\ned off the lights and shadows of his character with a free hand, and, at\\nthe same time, gave a side hit at his old rival, Kelly, and his critical per-\\nsecutor, Kenrick, in making them sycophantic satellites of the actor.\\nGoldsmith, however, was void of gall even in his revenge, and his very\\nsatire was more humourous than caustic.\\nThis portion of Retaliation soon brought a retort from Garrick, which\\nwe insert, as giving something of a likeness of Goldsmith, though in\\nbroad caricature\\nHere, Hermes, says Jove, who with nectar was mellow,\\nGo fetch me some clay I will make an odd fellow\\nRight and wrong shall be jumbled, much gold and some dross,\\nWithout cause be he pleased, without cause be he cross\\nBe sure, as I work, to throw in contradictions,\\nA great love of truth, yet a mind turn d to fictions\\nNow mix these ingredients, which, warm d in the baking,\\nTurn d to learning and gaming, religion and raking.\\nWith the love of a wench let his writings be chaste\\nTip his tongue with strange matter, his lips with fine taste\\nThat the rake and the poet o er all may prevail,\\nSet fire to the head and set fire to the tail\\nFor the joy of each sex on the world I ll bestow it,\\nThis scholar, rake, Christian, dupe, gamester, and poet.\\nThough a mixture so odd, he shall merit great fame,\\nAnd among brother mortals be Goldsmith his name\\nWhen on earth this strange meteor no more shall appear,\\nYou, Hermes, shall fetch him, to make us sport here.\\nThe charge of raking, so repeatedly advanced in the foregoing lines,\\nmust be considered a sportive one, founded, perhaps, on an incident or\\ntwo within Garrick s knowledge, but not borne out by the course of\\nGoldsmith s life. He seems to have had a tender sentiment for the sex,\\nbut perfectly free from libertinism. Neither was he an habitual game-\\nster. The strictest scrutiny has detected no settled vice of the kind. He\\nwas fond of a game of cards, but an unskilful and careless player. Cards\\nin those days were universally introduced into society. High play was,\\nin fact, a fashionable amusement, as at one time was deep drinking and\\na man might occasionally lose large sums, and be beguiled into deep\\npotations, without incurring the character of a gamester or a drunkard.", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0146.jp2"}, "147": {"fulltext": "RE TALI A TION. z 4 j\\nPoor Goldsmith, on his advent into high society, assumed fine notions\\nwith fine clothes he was thrown occasionally among high players, men\\nof fortune who could sport their cool hundreds as carelessly as his early\\ncomrades at Ballymahon could their half-crowns. Being at all times\\nmagnificent in money matters, he may have played with them in their\\nown way, without considering that what was sport to them to him was\\nruin. Indeed, part of his financial embarrassments may have arisen from\\nlosses of the kind, incurred inadvertently, not in the indulgence of a\\nhabit. I do not believe Goldsmith to have deserved the name of game-\\nster, said one of his contemporaries he liked cards very well, as other\\npeople do, and lost and won occasionally but as far as I saw or heard,\\nand I had many opportunities of hearing, never any considerable sum.\\nIf he gamed with any one, it was probably with Beauclerk, but I do not\\nknow that such was the case.\\nRetaliation, as we have already observed, was thrown off in parts, at\\nintervals, and was never completed. Some characters, originally intend-\\ned to be introduced, remained unattempted others were but partially\\nsketched such was the one of Reynolds, the friend of his heart, and\\nwhich he commenced with a felicity which makes us regret that it should\\nremain unfinished\\nHere Reynolds is laid, and, to tell you my mind,\\nHe has not left a wiser or better behind\\nHis pencil was striking, resistless, and grand\\nHis manners were gentle, complying, and bland\\nStill born to improve us in every part,\\nHis pencil our faces, his manners our heart.\\nTo coxcombs averse, yet most civilly steering,\\nWhen they judg d without skill he was still hard of hearing\\nWhen they talk d of their Raphaels, Correggios, and stuff,\\nHe shifted his trumpet and only took snuff.\\nBy flattery unspoil d\\nThe friendly portrait stood unfinished on the easel the hand of the\\nartist had failed.\\ni. Scarron. Paul Scarron, the creator of French burlesque, born at\\nParis 1610, died in 1660.\\n5. Our dean. Dr. Thomas Barnard, a native of Ireland, made Dean of\\nDerry in 1768 afterwards Bishop of Killaloe, and transferred from that\\nsee to Limerick. Cumberland (see line 9), in some verses published after\\nRetaliation appeared, attempted to apply to wines the characters which\\nGoldsmith had appropriated to dishes, and called Dr. Barnard a bump-\\ner of conventual sherry. The Dean replied to his two friends in some\\nverses, of which the following formed the conclusion\\nYour venison s delicious, though too sweet your sauce is\\nSed non ego maculis offendar paucis.\\nSo soon as you please, you may serve me your dish up,\\nBut, instead of your sherry, pray make me a bishop.\\nOur younger readers may miss the pun in the last line unless we inform\\nthem that bishop was the name of a beverage made of wine, oranges,\\nand sugar.", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0147.jp2"}, "148": {"fulltext": "142\\nNOTES.\\n6. Our Btirke. Edmund Burke, the eminent statesman and orator\\n(1 728-1 797). Dr. Johnson said of him The mind of that man is a pe-\\nrennial stream no one grudges Burke the first place.\\n7. Will. William Burke, a kinsman of Edmund, who said of him,\\nHe has nothing like a fault^about him that does not arise from the\\nluxuriance of some generous quality. He was for a time in the House\\nof Commons, and held various public offices at home and in India.\\n8. Dick. Richard Burke, a younger brother of Edmund, and a bar-\\nrister.\\n9. Cumberland. Richard Cumberland (1 732-181 1), a man of versatile\\nability, but not eminent in any one department of literature. He wrote\\nessays, pamphlets, poems, plays, novels, etc.\\n10. Douglas. Dr. John Douglas (1721-1807), a Scotchman and a cele-\\nbrated controversialist of that day. He afterwards became Bishop of\\nCarlisle, and later of Salisbury.\\n11. Garrick. David Garrick (1716-1779), the famous actor.\\n14. Ridge. John Ridge, a member of the Irish bar, whom Burke de-\\nscribed as one of the honestest and best-natured men living, and in-\\nferior to none of his profession in ability. His name does not occur\\nagain in the present poem.\\nReynolds. Sir Joshua Reynolds (1723-1792), the great English paint-\\ner. See the Dedication of The Deserted Village, etc.\\n15. Hickey. Thomas Hickey, an eminent Irish attorney, known in the\\nclub as honest Tom Hickey.\\n16. Gooseberry fool. A dish made of gooseberries and cream. See\\nWb.\\n23. The good dean. See on 5 above.\\n29. Edmund. Burke see on 6.\\n34. Tommy Townshend. A well-known member of Parliament of that\\nday, afterwards Lord Sydney. See 88.\\n38. Nice. Scrupulous.\\n43. Honest William. See on 7.\\n45. [Is there a confusion of metaphors in this passage H. p. in.]\\n51. Honest Richard. The Dick of line 8. He broke a leg in 1767,\\nto which accident the poet alludes just below.\\n62. The Terence of England. An example of the figure known as an-\\ntonomasia. H. p. 84. The allusion to the Latin dramatist needs no ex-\\nplanation.\\n67. Dizen d. The more common word is bedizened.\\n68. A rout. That is, an evening party.\\n86. Our Dodds, etc. Dr. William Dodd was a fashionable preacher of\\nthe time, and noted also as a writer. He came to a bad end, being exe-\\ncuted for forgery in 1777.\\nWilliam Kenrick was a dramatist and reviewer, and had given lectures\\non Shakespeare. He hated Goldsmith, and had often attacked him\\nanonymously. Irving speaks of him as Goldsmith s constant persecu-\\ntor, the malignant Kenrick.\\n87. Macpherson. James Macpherson (1738-1796)^ Scotchman, who\\nin 1762 published poems attributed to Ossian, founded in part on Gae-", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0148.jp2"}, "149": {"fulltext": "RETALIATION. I43\\nlie traditional poetry, but so modern in form and expression of the senti-\\nmental gloom then fashionable, that they owed their great success to the\\nreproduction in new form of living tendencies of thought (Morley).\\n89. Landers and Bowers. William Lauders, a Scotchman and a school-\\nmaster, was the author of a famous literary forgery. He wrote a series\\nof papers charging Milton with plagiarism, but Dr. Douglas (see on 10)\\nshowed that the passages quoted in proof of the charge were fictitious.\\nArchibald Bower was another Scotchman, who published a History of\\nthe Popes, full of errors and plagiarisms, which were exposed by Dr.\\nDouglas.\\n115. Ye Kelly s and Wood/alls. Hugh Kelly was an Irishman, and a\\nwriter of essays, poems, and plays. Johnson used to speak of him as a\\nman who had written more than he had read. As a dramatist he was\\nregarded as Goldsmith s chief rival, and when She Stoops to Conquer had\\ntaken the town by storm, the following epigram appeared in the news-\\npapers\\nAt Dr. Goldsmith s merry play,\\nAll the spectators laugh, they say\\nThe assertion, sir, I must deny,\\nFor Cumberland and Kelly cry.\\nRide, si safiis.\\nAnother, addressed to Goldsmith, alludes to Kelly s early apprentice-\\nship to stay-making\\nIf Kelly finds fault with the shape of your muse,\\nAnd thinks that too loosely it plays,\\nHe surely, dear Doctor, will never refuse\\nTo make it a new Pair of Stays I\\nWilliam Woodfall was the editor of the Morning Chronicle, a leading\\npaper of the time, and was especially famous as a theatrical critic.\\n116. Commerce. Interchange of flattery and compliments.\\n117. Gncb-street. Now Milton Street,* in London. In the 17th and\\n1 8th centuries it was a favourite haunt of literary men, but as its respecta-\\nbility declined it became the home of a crowd of inferior authors poor\\nin a double sense who hid from the bailiffs in its old-fashioned houses\\nand dingy courts. Hence the name of Grub-street came to be a synonym\\nfor that class of writers.\\n118. Be-Roscius d. Lauded as a second Roscius, or as the rival of the\\ngreatest of Roman actors.\\n124. Beaumonts and Bens. Francis Beaumont (1586-1615), associated\\nwith John Fletcher as joint author of thirty-eight plays. The Bens al-\\nludes of course to rare Ben Jonson t (1573\u00e2\u0080\u00941637).\\n125. Hickey. See on 15.\\n131. Flat. Having no opinion of his own.\\n138. The reading in some eds. is a better or wiser.\\nWhen the name was changed we do not know. Milton s tomb is in the church of\\nSt. Giles, Cripplegate, close by and the sites of his house in Barbican, and of his birth-\\nplace in Bread Street, Cheapside, are both within a few minutes walk.\\nt The inscription on the tablet to his memory in Westminster Abbey was O rare\\nBen Jonson, but when the stone was restored some years ago it was made to read\\nO rare Ben Johnson, and the blunder has been allowed to stand.", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0149.jp2"}, "150": {"fulltext": "i 4 4 NOTES.\\n145. Raphaels, Correggios. That is, paintings by those masters one\\nof the most familiar forms of metonymy. H. p. 86.\\n146. He shifted his trumpet. Reynolds was so deaf that he had to use\\nan ear-trumpet. Cf. La Vie de Le Sage II faisait usage d un cornet\\nqu il appeloit son bienfaiteur. Quand je trouve, disoit-il, des visages\\nnouveaux, et que j espere rencontrer des gens d esprit, je tire mon cornet;\\nquand ce sont des sots, je le resserre et je les defie de m ennuyer.\\n147. By flattery unspoiPd. The manuscript of the poem ended with\\nthis broken line. It was probably the last that Goldsmith wrote.\\nPOSTSCRIPT.\\nThere seems to be no doubt that these lines are Goldsmith s, though\\nthey were not made public till some time after the rest of the poem.\\n1. Caleb Whitefoord, a native of Edinburgh, came to London in early life,\\nand was for some years a wine-merchant. A man of varied attainments\\nand of facetious disposition, he was a favourite with authors and artists,\\nand a frequent writer of both prose and verse under assumed names. To\\nthe Public Advertiser he contributed humourous letters, mistakes of the\\npress, and cross-readings. He wrote some epitaphs on Goldsmith,\\nCumberland, and others, which were so sarcastic as to offend his friends\\nwhereupon he wrote an apology, of which the last stanza reads thus\\nFor those brats of my brain\\nWhich have caus d so much pain,\\nHenceforth I ll renounce and disown em;\\nAnd still keep in sight\\nWhen I epitaphs write\\nDe mortuis nil nisi bonumP\\n1. A grave man. Whitefoord was so notorious a punster that Dr.\\nGoldsmith used to say it was impossible to keep him company without\\nbeing infected with the itch of punning.\\n14. The quotation is from Hamlet, v. 1 Your flashes of merriment\\nthat were wont to set the table on a roar.\\n16. Wood/all. His friend, Mr. H. S. Woodfall, the editor of the Public\\nAdvertiser.\\nf\\nAGITATED SIGNATURE OF GOLDSMITH.", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0150.jp2"}, "151": {"fulltext": "INDEX OF WORDS EXPLAINED.\\naccents words), 132.\\nAltama, 137.\\nan (before h), in, 130.\\nanchoring, 138.\\nApennine, 113.\\nart, 113.\\nartist (^artisan), 136.\\nbay, 131.\\nbe-Rosciused, 143.\\nbishop (a beverage), 141.\\nbleak, 115.\\nbliss, 112, 135.\\nboudoir, 134.\\nbroken, 132.\\ncheer, 118.\\nchimney (^fireplace), 135.\\ncircled, 129.\\nclicked, 134.\\ncommerce, 143.\\nconforms, 117.\\nconsigned, 112.\\ncower, 117.\\nDamiens, 121.\\nday (=heat), 137.\\ndecent, 129.\\ndepart (=part), 128.\\ndingthrift, 132.\\ndisaster, 134.\\ndizened, 142.\\ndome, 115.\\ndress, 112.\\neither, 113.\\nfare thee well, 138.\\nfemale, 136.\\nferments, 120.\\nfictitious, 120.\\nfrieze, 118.\\nfurze, 133.\\ngelid, 113.\\ngestic, 118.\\nglooms (verb), 137.\\nGod speed, 117.\\ngoose, the game of, 135.\\ngooseberry fool, 142.\\ngreat, the, 120.\\nGrub-street, 143.\\nhusband out, 130.\\nHydaspes, 119.\\nIdra, 112.\\nimprisoned, 120.\\nleveL 117.\\nline (^equator), 112.\\nLuke, 121.\\nmanners (=mores), 113.\\nmansion, 115.\\nmantling, 135.\\nme (reflexive), in.\\nmethinks, 118, 138.\\nmistrustless, 129.\\nmole, 138.\\nNiagara, 121.\\nnightly (=nocturnal), 117.\\nnut-brown, 134.\\nOswego, 121.\\npalmy, 112.\\nPambamarca, 138.\\nparlour, 134.\\nparting (^departing), 128.\\npassing (adverb), 131.\\npeculiar, 113.\\nplashy, 131.\\npomp, 135.\\nport, 119.\\nprevails, 112.\\nproper, 113.\\nrampire, 119.\\nrecounts, 112.\\nredress, 116.\\nrocks, 138.\\nrout, 142.\\nK\\nsavage (=wild beast), 116.\\nscape (=escape), 136.\\nscapethrift, 132.\\nseats (=homes), 137.\\nshelvy, 112.\\nsidelong, 129.\\nsimply, 129..\\nsit (reflexive), in.\\nskill (^knowledge), 114.\\nsky (=weather), 138.\\nsleight, 129.\\nsped, 116.\\nspendthrift, 132.\\nstems (=families), 120.\\nstrand, 138.\\nstrong (adverb), 113.\\nsurvey, 135.\\nswain, 112.\\ntawdry, 118.\\ntempt, 130.\\nterms, 134.\\ntides (=times), 134.\\ntigers, 137.\\ntitter, 129.\\nto (=in response to), 137.\\ntorches, 137.\\nTorno, 138.\\ntrain, 129.\\ntruant, 133.\\ntwelve good rules, the, 134.\\nunfit, 138.\\nuntravelled, no.\\nvernal, 113.\\nvery (blest), 138.\\nvista, 136.\\nwastethrift, 132.\\nwave-subjected, 119.\\nwhom (=which), 130.\\nwoodman (=hunter), 135.\\nwrote (\u00e2\u0080\u0094written), 120.\\nzealous, 113.", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0151.jp2"}, "152": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0152.jp2"}, "153": {"fulltext": "SHAKESPEARE.\\nWITH NOTES BY WM. J. ROLFE, A.M.,\\nFormerly Head Master of the High-School, Cambridge, Mass.\\nILLUSTRATED WITH WOODCUTS.\\nTHE MERCHANT OF VENICE. i6mo, Cloth, 90 cts.\\nTHE TEMPEST. i6mo, Cloth, 90 cents.\\nHENRY THE EIGHTH. i6mo, Cloth, 90 cents.\\nJULIUS CAESAR. i6mo, Cloth, 90 cts.\\nThe four volumes in one, $3 00.\\nFrom Prof. F. J. Child, of Harvard University.\\nAfter using the book with an evening class in Shakespeare, Prof. Child\\nwrites as follows\\nI read your Merchant of Venice with my class, and found it in-\\nevery respect an excellent edition. I do not agree with my friend White\\nin the opinion that Shakespeare requires but few notes\u00e2\u0080\u0094 that is, if he is\\nto be thoroughly understood. Doubtless he may be enjoyed, and many\\na hard place slid over. Your notes give all the help a young student\\nrequires, and yet the reader for pleasure will easily get at just what he\\nwants. You have indeed been conscientiously concise.\\nFrom L. R. Williston, A.M., Head Master of the High-School, Cam-\\nbridge, Mass.\\nMr. Rolfe s edition of The Merchant of Venice is an excellent one\\nfor school or general use. The notes contain all the explanations and\\nreferences needful for a critical study of the language, as well as for un-\\nderstanding the thought of the play. The extracts from Schlegel, Mrs.\\nJameson, and others, in the Introduction, helping to a better appreciation\\nof the characters of the play, are a peculiar recommendation of this edition.\\nFrom Rev. A. P. Peabody, D.D., Professor in Harvard University.\\nI regard your own work on this play as of the highest merit, while you\\nhave turned the labors of others to the best possible account. I want to\\nhave the higher classes of our schools introduced to Shakespeare chief\\nof all, and then to other standard English authors but this can not be\\ndone to advantage, unless under a teacher of equally rare gifts and abund-\\nant leisure, or through editions specially prepared for such use. I trust\\nthat you will have the requisite encouragement to proceed with a work\\nso happily begun.\\nYour Merchant of Venice seems to me by no means limited, in its\\nadaptation, to school use. All who have not access to a somewhat ex-\\ntended Shakespearian apparatus need such editions as this and there\\nare many not unintelligent adult readers of Shakespeare who lose half\\nthe pleasure and profit of reading him for lack of precisely such aid as\\nyou supply", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0153.jp2"}, "154": {"fulltext": "Rolfe s Shakespeare.\\nFrom Prof. J. Dorman Steele, Free Academy, Elmira, N. Y.\\nThe copy of the Tempest is at hand, and very carefully examined.\\nWe shall use it in the Spring Term. Adoption in our school is, of\\ncourse, the highest commendation I can give. The Merchant of Ven-\\nice is now in use and gives unqualified satisfaction. Prior to this,\\nShakespeare s plays were failing to interest the pupils, because of the\\ndifficulty found in understanding and appreciating the text. Your beau-\\ntiful and comprehensive edition is very helpful indeed, and it has quick-\\nened the enthusiasm of the pupils.\\nFrom W. C. Collar, A.M., Master of the Roxbury Latin School, Boston.\\nPlease accept my thanks for a copy of your Merchant of Venice. I\\nhave made a trial of it with my first class, and find it admirably adapted\\nfor use in the school-room. I think no one who was not an experienced\\nteacher and a careful student of Shakespeare could have anticipated and\\nsupplied so well the needs of the learner and, if I may judge from my\\nown case, instructors will find the copious references contained in the\\nnotes very helpful in the preparation of their lessons. Give us a few\\nmore plays edited on the same plan, and there will no longer be any ex-\\ncuse for excluding Shakespeare from our classical and high schools.\\nFrom S. M. Capron, A.M., Master of the High-School, Hartford, Conn.\\nIn my judgment, you have produced, in The Merchant of Venice,\\nthe best and most sensible edition of one of Shakespeare s plays which\\nhas yet appeared for school use. The publishers have done every thing\\nfor you in respect to the form and general appearance of the book and\\nyour notes are not only critical, but sufficiently brief and pointed, and, so\\nfar as I have examined them, they seem to cover the very points in the\\ntext which particularly need elucidation.\\nGo on as you have begun.\\nThis work has been done so well that it could hardly have been done\\nbetter. It shows throughout, knowledge, taste, discriminating judgment,\\nand, what is rarer and of yet higher value, a sympathetic appreciation of\\nthe poet s moods and purposes. Mr. Rolfe s notes are numerous\\nbut brief, and are generally well adapted to their purpose, which is that\\nof explanation, instruction, and suggestion without discussion. The pe-\\nculiarities of Shakespeare s style which, rarely obscure, is often involved,\\nand in which the main thought is sometimes suspended, and even for a\\nmoment lost sight of amid the crowd of others that itself has called up\\nare pointed out and elucidated his allusions are explained j his singular\\nuse of words, of moods and tenses and cases is remarked upon and the\\narchaic and transitional phraseology which is found in many passages of\\nhis plays (positively many, but comparatively very few), are made the oc-\\ncasion of instructive but unpedantic comment. N. Y. Times.\\nPublished by HARPER BROTHERS, New York.\\nTj T Sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the United States, on receipt\\nof the price.", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0154.jp2"}, "155": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0155.jp2"}, "156": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0156.jp2"}, "157": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0157.jp2"}, "158": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3038", "width": "2187", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0158.jp2"}, "159": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3017", "width": "2149", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0159.jp2"}, "160": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3271", "width": "2290", "jp2-path": "selectpoemsofoli00gold_0160.jp2"}}