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OF THE BRITISH
POETS

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THE POEMS OF GOLDSMITH

 

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OLIVER GOmD SMT iE
9
WITH A LIFE OF THE POET BY

THE REV. JOERMN, MITEORD.

 

LONDON

GEORGE BELL AND SONS’ YORK STREET
COVENT GARDEN
1878“HISWICK PRESS :—C. WHITTINGHAM, TOOKS COURT,

CHANCERY LANE.ADVERTISEMENT.

), HE former Aldine Edition of the

. Life and Poems of Goldsmith,”

feel originally published in 1831, was

edited by the Rev. John Mitford, and was

generally admitted to be the most complete

and correct edition that had up to,that time
appeared.

This edition is for the most part a reprint
of Mr. Mitford’s: the life has been carefully
revised, two additional poems are included,
and by the kind permission of Mr. Bolton
Corney, in whose possession the manuscript
now is, the publishers are enabled to reprint
«¢ Vida’s Game of Chess.” Several illustra-
tive notes have been added, chiefly from
Northcote’s ** Life of Sir Joshua Reynolds,”
and Mr. Forster’s admirable biography of
the poet.

June, 1866,CONTENTS.

“*&\ EMOIR of Goldsmith, by the Rev. J. Mit-
j ford ;

The Traveller; or, A Prospect of et

x The Deserted Village

The an of Venison. <A Poetical Epistle t a Nard
Clare our.

Retaliation

Postscript .

The Hermit :

The Double Transformation :

The Gift. To Iris, in Bow Street, Wovent Garden

The Logicians Refuted. . :

On a beautiful Youth struck blind by Lightning <

A New Simile . ;

Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog.

The Clown’s Reply

Stanzason Woman .

A Description of an Author’ s ‘Bedchamber :

Song, intended to have been sung in the Comedy of
“She Stoops to Conguer” .

Stanzas on the taking of Quebec, and Mente oF General
Wolfe - . 3 Mee oe

Epitaph on chon Parnell a oe

Epitaph on Edward Purdon. .

An Elegy on that Glory of her Sex, Mrs. ‘Mary Blaize

Reply to an Invitation to Dinner

Ai Madrigal .3. 9.7: wipes CTR

Song. ‘“ The wretch condemned with life to Hart,”

Sone “© Memory! thou fond deceiver”. . . -

 

93.

94
95
95
96
98
100
100
101y1ll CONTENTS.

Prologue written and spoken by the Poet Laberius .
Prologue to Zobeide .
Epilogue spoken by Mr. Lee ewes, 7 in the Character
of Harlequin, atihis Benefit, © <. . ...
Epilogue to the Comedy of “ The Sister ” :
Epilogue to the Comedy of “ She Stoops to Conquer”
Epilogue spoken by Mrs. Bulkley, and Miss Catley .
Epilogue intended for Mrs, ee Ss ee
Threnodia Augustalis. . Seah eee
Lines attributed to Dr. Goldsmith . He
On seeing Mrs. * * perform in the Character of wee
On the Death of the Right Hon. * * * ,
An Epigram addressed to the eordonen reflected on
In the: * Rosctad’” © . ee ee
Wo G.-C.cand R. Ts... et ce ee
“In all my Emma’s beauties blest Dee Boece ys
Translations from Classic Authors .. . .
Verses, “The window, patched with paper, lent a ray” ae
‘*Chaste are their instincts, faithful is their fire” .
Song, “ Let schoolmasters puzzle their brain” .

“The Captivity,” an Oratqnio .  . . sig (Reh re
Letter in prose and verse to Mrs. Bunbury ee oi gol te
Vida’s Game of Chess Oye Wie eke cleus teu te

 

    

Page
1035
104

106

132THE LIFE OF OLIVER GOLDSMITH.

BY THE REV. JOHN MITFORD.

SLIVER GOLDSMITH, one of the
most celebrated of English writers,
was born on the 10th November,
1728, at a small old parsonage house
in a lonely, remote, and almost inac-
cessible Irish village on the southern banks of
the river Inny, called Pallas or Pallasmore,! the
property of the Edgeworths of Edgeworthstown,
in the County of Longford.* His father, the Rev.
Charles Goldsmith, belonged to the established
church; in May, 1718, he married Anne, the
daughter of the Rey. Oliver Jones, master of the
Diocesan School at Elphin, and as he possessed no
private fortune, it appears that the young couple
depended entirely on the kindness and bounty of

 

1“ Pallas is often written Pallice or Pallis, and seems to
have been so written by Goldsmith’s father.”— Forster.

2 “This dwelling was afterwards supposed to be haunted
by the fairies or good people of the district, who could not,
however, save it from being levelled to the ground.” — Jéid.

b

 

 

 

EN ee ee ee
Bane f

Ne.
—x LIFE OF GOLDSMITH.

their relations. The Rev. Mr. Green, her unele,
lent them a house, and at his death the father of
our Poet succeeded to the vacant benefice.

The Poet might with reason be proud of his
father’s name.t He is described in the well
written and elegant narrative, which passes under
the authority of Dr. Percy’s name, as equally
distinguished for his attainments in literature
and for his benevolence of disposition. It seems
generally supposed that the portrait of the country
pastor, in the ‘“ Deserted Village,” was intended
to delineate the character of this estimable man,
and was both a fond and faithful tribute of filial
affection: a more perfect model of a teacher of
the gospel and a follower of Christ could hardly
be designed; it reminds one of the character of
those plain and simple men, the faithful guar-
dians of their flock, who during the preceding
century defended and adorned the protestant
church ; with whom an unwearied activity of
mind, solid and extensive learning, and rich in-
tellectual endowments, were found united with
extreme simplicity of manners, the most devout
feelings, and the most retired habits of private
hfe.

The family of this excellent and singlehearted
man consisted of four sons and two daughters.®

' Mr. T. Campbell says, “there was a tradition in the
family that they were descended from Juan Romeiro, a
Spanish gentleman, who had settled in Ireland in the six-
teenth century, and had married a woman, whose name of
Goldsmith was adopted by their descendants.”

i pee. a} ay. Inocts, vi. p. 251,
? Oliver himself; Charles, who went to America; Maurice,

DS >) DEO SD
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Mead. tmLIFE OF GOLDSMITH. x]

The eldest son, Henry, is said to have inherited
his father’s talents, and was distinguished both
at school and college; but a very early, and it
seems an imprudent marriage, at once closed all
prospects of reasonable ambition, and he retired
upon a curacy, as his only means of maintenance.
It is to him that “The Traveller” is dedicated ;
and we might infer from some passages in it,
that this retirement from the world was neither
regretted by himself, nor disapproved by his
friends. He is there described, “ as one who
despising fame and fortune, has retired early to
happiness and obscurity, with an income of forty
pounds a year.” “I now perceive, my dear bro-
ther,” says Goldsmith, “ the wisdom of your
humble choice; you have entered upon a sacred
office, where the harvest is great and the labourers
are few, while you have left the field of ambition,
where the labourers are many, and the harvest
not worth carrying away.”

Oliver, the subject of this memoir, was the
fourth son born to the Rev. Charles Goldsmith.!
The slender resources of his parents seem to have
been exhausted in the comparatively expensive
education of Henry and the others; our Poet’s
prospects were therefore necessarily of an humbler

who was a cabinet-maker in Dublin; and Henry, the clergy-
man. The sisters, Catherine and Jane, lived and died at
Athlone.

1“ A new birth was but a new burthen; and little
dreamt the humble village preacher, then or ever, that from
the date of that 10th of November, on which his Oliver was
born, his own virtues and very foibles were to be a legacy of
pleasure to many generations of men.”— “orster.eRe: pene
Ger cee eT

5 4 : f a? CMEC
aE, eae ore rates ! :

 

       
   
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
   
  
  
  
 
  
    

Xi LIFE OF GOLDSMITH.

kind.t. He was sent to the village school to learn
little more than those common rudiments of edu-
cation which are now familiar even to the poor.
The school was under the care of a Seotchman,
named Delap, who, to fit him for his employment,
had been quartermaster in the army during the
wars of Queen Anne; he used to recount to his
little flock of scholars the marvellous adventures
of a soldier’s life; and he gave them narratives of
his various travels, his exploits, and his dangers,

** Shouldered his crutch, and showed how fields were won.”

When in the subsequent periods of his life, our
Poet often evinced a strong passion for travelling,
and when his wild wandering propensities broke
out, it has been conjectured that these unsettled
habits and visionary plans may have been pro-
duced by the impressions left on his youthful
mind of the eccentric character and romantic
histories of his old schoolmaster. However that
may be, it would appear that Oliver was a boy

' “A trusted dependant in Charles Goldsmith’s house, a
young woman related to the family, afterwards known as
Elizabeth Delap, schoolmistress of Lishoy, first put a book
into Oliver Goldsmith’s hands. She taught him his letters;
lived till it was matter of pride to remember; often talked
of it to Dr. Strean, Henry Goldsmith’s successor in the
curacy of Kilkenny West; and at the ripe age of ninety,
when the great writer had been thirteen years in his grave,
boasted of it with her last breath. ‘That her success in the
task had not been much to boast of, she at other times con-
fessed, ‘ Never was so dull a boy! he seemed impenetrably
stupid,’ said the good Elizabeth Delap, when she bored her
friends, or answered curious inquiries about the celebrated
Dr. Goldsmith.”— Forster,

» > Yy>;
Pp DP)LIFE OF GOLDSMITH. xiii

of singular habits of mind, and distinguished for
an odd, irregular application of his early talents.
It is said, that he did not much resemble the
other children of the same age; that he was
sometimes very grave and thoughtful, at others
gay and frolicsome, even to extravagance and
excess; but through all the caprices and imper-
fections of the boy a strong vein of early genius
was observed to rise. Poeta nascitur—before he
was eight years old he scribbled verses on scraps
of paper, and then committed them to the flames.
His early attempts at rhyme afforded amusement
to his father’s family; manifest gleams of opening
genius were displayed, and the after time spent
at the university was less marked by indications
of his dawning talents than the period which he
passed at his humble village school.

Although it had been the intention of his
parents to bring Oliver up to trade, his mother,
perceiving the natural superiority of his genius,
used all her influence to rescue him from a situation
so much beneath him; and after great exertion,
she succeeded in persuading his father to give him
a learned education. Yet there was much to be
overcome before the maternal wish could be ac-

' °¢ He was considered by his contemporaries and school -
fellows, with whom I have often conversed upon the subject,
as a stupid heavy blockhead, little better than a fool, whom
every one made fun of; but his corporeal powers differed
widely from this apparent state of mind, for he was remark-
ably active and athletic, of which he gave proofs in all exer-
cises among his playmates, and eminently in ball playing,
which he was very fond of, and practised whenever he could.”
A. Strean’s Letter, p. 149.

)
i
AY eeXIV LIFE OF GOLDSMITH.

complished. His father’s income was very small,
and his family was numerous. Henry’s education
had been expensive, yet the affection of the parents
yielded, as the boy’s attachment to study more and
more displayed itself; and at length Oliver was
placed under the care of the Rey. Mr. Griffin, the
master of the school at Elphin. He was boarded
in the house of his uncle, John Goldsmith, Kisq.
of Ballyoughle, near Elphin, where his wit, his
talents, and his good disposition made him a
TayOuribe.: 6 Qs

The earliest specimen of Oliver’s poetry which
has been preserved is referred in Dr. Perey’s nar-
rative to this period of our Poet’s life. It was di-
rected in spleen against a village Orpheus, whe
had likened him to Asop dancing.

** Our herald hath proclaimed this saying,
See Alsop dancing, and his monkey playing.”

This smart repartee, in which poetry gained the
victory over music, procured him great applause.
It may be fairly presumed that he had now become
a clever, quick, if not a studious boy, and his
friends soon determined that he should be sent to
the university. Some of them handsomely con-
tributed to the expense, and the names of Mr.
Green and Mr. Contarine! are mentioned as
standing forward, the kind, and early patrons of

* Mr. Contarine was descended from the noble family of
the Contarini at Venice. His ancestor having married a
nun, was obliged to fly with her to France, where she died.
He then came to England, and at Chester met with a young
lady of the name of Chaloner, whom he married. He after~
wards conformed to the Established Church, and obtained
preferment in the diocese of Elphin.LIFE OF GOLDSMITH. XV

his youth. As a preliminary step, Oliver, now
in his 11th year, was placed at Athlone school,
under the tuition of the Rev. Mr. Campbell.
Having stayed there two years till Mr. Campbell
left his situation, he passed under the care of the
Rey. Patrick Hughes, at Edgeworthstown, in the
county of Longford, where he remained till he
proceeded to the university. His progress here
is said to have been rapid; his master is described
as a very enlightened and kind-hearted man, en-
joying the affection of his scholars, and particularly
of the young Poet, who ever afterwards spoke of
him with gratitude. Before he left this school, a
circumstance is said to have taken place, which
afterwards suggested to him the plot of his amusing
comedy, ‘‘ She Stoops to Conquer.” He mistook a
gentleman’s house for an inn; and showed, if the
story be true, an odd abstraction of mind, very
unusual at so early an age, or a singular simplicity
in not discovering a trick which had been played
on him.

At the age! of fifteen he was sent to the uni-

1 Mr. Mangin believes that Goldsmith remained at Lishoy
till he went, at the age of sixteen, in 1744, to Trinity Col-
lege, Dublin; that he afterwards returned, and assisted his
brother in his school, till he was nineteen, at which time he
went to Edinburgh, occasionally going to Dublin to keep his
termspthe usual custom with those young men whose friends
were unable to support their constant residence at college.
While living at Lishoy he was considered by his old friends
as a prodigy of learning and knowledge, and fiattered his
own vanity by going constantly in an evening “to the
Pidgeons,” “ where he received the respect and homage of the

villagers ;, and he at length spent so many hours there as to

jraw a strong remonstrance from his brother.”
Rev. R. H. Newell's ed. p. 80.

Ah re

     
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    

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Xvi LIFE OF GOLDSMITH.

versity of Dublin, and on the 11th of June, 1744,
he was admitted a Sizar! of Trinity College under
the Rev. Theaker Wilder, one of the fellows.?
The choice was unfortunate. Our Poet’s dispe-
sition is represented as thoughtless and eccen-
tric, his conduct irregular and wild, while the
temper of the tutor was irritable, and even vin-
dictive. Hence perpetual quarrels arose, which
disgusted the boy with learning, made him gloomy
and morose, and even drove him into a willing
exile. Oliver imprudently gave a dance and sup-
per at his rooms to some young friends of both
sexes; this proceeding was of course contrary to
the college discipline. His tutor heard of it, burst
in upon the young offenders in the midst of their
enjoyment, and inflicted personal castigation on the
offending host. Oliver considered himself deeply

* “The first thing exacted of a sizar in those days was to
give proof of classical attainments. He was to show himself
to a reasonable extent a good scholar; in return for which,
being clad in a black gown of coarse stuff without sleeves,
he was marked with the servant’s badge of a red cap, and
put to the servants’ offices of sweeping courts in the morning,
carrying up dishes from the fellows’ dining table in the after-
noon, and waiting in the hall, till the fellows had dined.”

Forster.

2 “His Edgeworthstown schoolfellow, Beatty, had entered
among the sizars with him, and for a time shared his rooms.
They are described as the top rooms adjoining the library of
tbe building numbered 35, where the name of Oliver Gold-
smith may still be seen scratched by himself upon a window-
pane.”— Forster.

° “ A year and a half after he had entered college, his father
suddenly died. The scanty sums required for his support
had been often intercepted, but this stopped them altogether.
It may have been the least and most trifling loss connected
with that sorrow; but “squalid poverty” relieved by occa-LIFE. OF GOLDSMITH. XV

disgraced ; his high spirit could not brook so gross
an affront; and he determined at once to leave his
angry tutor and his unfinished studies, and to fly
to some spot where the rumour of his disgrace had
not been heard. ‘The angry schoolboy sold his
books and clothes, meaning to embark at Cork,
but he lingered thoughtlessly at Dublin, till his
slender finances were reduced to a single shilling.
On this he contrived to live for three days, and
the sale of a few clothes, served to support him a
little longer; but to such straits did his improvi-
dence reduce him, that he was relieved from the
extremity of hunger, only by a handful of grey
peas which some good-natured girl gave him at a
wake.! His wretchedness at last. brought him to
his senses; he was convinced of the folly and rash-
ness of his conduct; and he wrote to his brother
to procure a reconciliation with his tutor. This
was in some measure effected, and he returned to
college. Here he is described as being habitually
indolent, yet occasionally discovering gleams of
genius, and distinguishing himself by superior
sional gifts, according to his small means, from uncle Con-
tarine, by petty loans from Bryanton or Beatty, or by des-
perate pawning of his books of study, was Goldsmith’s lot
thenceforward. Yet even in the depths of that despair arose
the consciousness of faculties reserved for better fortune than
continual contempt and failure. He would write street-
ballads to save himself from actual starving, sell them at the
Reindeer Repository in Mountrath Street for 5s. a-piece, and
steal out of the college at night to hear them sung.”’—
Forster.

1 « He long afterwards told Reynolds that of all the exqui-
site meals he had ever tasted, the most delicious was a hand-
ful of grey peas given him by a girl at a wake after twenty-
four hours’ fasting.” ~forster.

_~

ae eee

wh A
eaeXVill LIFE OF GOLDSMITH.

translations from the classics. The account he
gave of himself to Malone was!—* that though he
made no great figure in mathematies, which was
a study much in repute there, he could turn an
ode of Horace better than any of them.”—It may
be fairly presumed that his advancement in the
solid studies required by the discipline of the uni-
versity was not altogether satisfactory to his tutors ;
for he was not admitted to the degree of Bachelor
of Arts till Feb. 27, 1749, two years after the
regular time. At the university he was contem-
porary with Edmund Burke: and it has been said
that neither of them afforded much promise of his
future celebrity. Such an assertion however does
not deserve entire credit, since we do not know
to whom we are indebted for this statement, nor
with what degree of care and judgment such an
opinion was formed. It would be difficult to be-
lieve that the mind of Burke was at any time
sluggish or inactive; and Goldsmith is said to have
gained a prize at a Christmas examination of the
highest order. At this period it was his misfor-
tune to lose his father; and his uncle Contarine’s
kindness was exerted to supply a parent’s place.
Oliver was designed for holy orders, much, it is
believed, against his inclinations; and he was not
displeased perhaps, when the bishop refused to or-

| Watkins’ Literary Anecdotes, p. 513.
* Goldsmith got a premium at a Christmas examination
in Trin. Coll. Dublin, which I have seen.— Kearney. A pre-
mium obtained at the Christmas examination is more honour-
able than any other, because it ascertains the person who
receives it to be first in literary merit.
Zalone, v. Boswell’s Johnson, i. p- 421,LIFE OF GOLDSMITH. XIX

dain him on account of his youth.1 As a means
of obtaining subsistence, he became private tutor
in the family of a neighbouring gentleman; but
he soon found the situation so irksome and labo-
rious, that he was induced to resign it. He then
purchased a good horse, put in his pocket thirty
pounds which he had saved, abandoned his friends,
and for the second time set off on a journey with-
out any previous notice or preparation.

is sudden departure and protracted absence
excited great alarm; and such wild unfeeling
conduct justly roused the indignation of his family.
Week after week passed away, and no tidings came
of the thoughtless wanderer ; and when at length
he arrived at his mother’s house, his noble steed
had been changed into a miserable pony, which he
called Fiddleback, and his thirty pounds had en-
_tirely disappeared. He said that he had engaged
a passage on board of a ship bound from Cork to
North America, but that when the ship set sail he
was wandering about the country, and was conse-
quently left behind. His subsequent adventures
are too long to be compressed within the space of
this brief memoir ;* it is sufficient to say, that

| ¢ He wasintended for the church, and went tothe Bishop
of Elphin to be examined for orders; but appearing in a
pair of scarlet breeches he was rejected.”

A. Strean’s Letter, p. 150.

2 It is said, that his mother was looking rather gravely
on her imprudent child who had such adventures to relate,
when he concluded by saying, “and now, my dear mother,
having struggled so hard to come home to you, I wonder
that you are not more rejoiced to see aes
Campbell’s Poets, vol. vi. p. 255.

    
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
    

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xX LIFE OF GOLDSMITH.

after being unsuccessful in his attempt to borrow
money from a miserly college friend, who, in lieu
of it, gave him some advice, he was introduced
by him to a gentleman, in whose hospitable house
he remained during several days, and was agree-
ably entertained by his two beautiful daughters.
After borrowing three half guineas of his host,
Oliver went away impressed with sentiments of
great respect for the gentleman, and admiration of
the ladies.

It may be reasonably conjectured that his family
was somewhat at a loss what profession to select
for a person who, with more than average talents,
seemed equally unfit for all.1 After much con-
sultation it was agreed that he should enter on
the study of the law. His biographer seems
to blame the decision, and to consider that his
idle and expensive habits, and his thoughtless
disposition, were little fitted for the severe study,
and the constant application required by that
arduous profession. We have seen, however, that
he could not enter into the church, for which he
certainly was not eminently adapted; and the
profession of medicine will not yield her honours
and emoluments to that unaspiring indolence
which had fled from the toilsome pursuit of
legal studies. Amidst all his follies, and unusually

* “ Oliver Goldsmith must be held to have succeeded in
nothing that his friends would have had him succeed in.
He was intended for a clergyman, and was rejected when
he applied for orders; he practised asa physician, and never
made what would have paid for a degree; what he was not
asked or expected to do was to write; but he wrote and
paid the penalty.”— Forster.LIFE OF GOLDSMITH. XX1

great they were, it may be presumed that Gold-
smith possessed qualities which assured the at-
tachment and forgiveness of his friends. Cer-
tainly they seem to have regarded him with
indulgence and liberality. His uncle Contarine
provided him with funds for his journey to Eng-
land, and his subsequent residence at the Temple.
He set out for London, and took Dublin in the
way: here by accident he met one to whom the
simplicity of this child of nature fell an easy prey;
a sharper engaged him in play, and stripped him
of all his money; and once again he returned
to his mother’s house, without a shilling in his
pocket.

His friends were now at liberty to consider
that such habitual imprudence, such absurdity
passing all common bounds, would form a bar to
his success in any profession. The idea of a legal
career was at once relinquished; and after some
consultation he was fixed at Edinburgh as a stu-
dent of medicine, toward the end of the year
1752. His attention to the studies which were
indispensable to his success in his new line of life,
was far from being regular. Dissipation and play
allured him from the class-room, and both his
health and purse were sacrificed to the demands
of pleasure. His easy temper and good-humoured
qualities rendered him a favourite with the stu-
dents; he entered into their wild pranks and
frolics, telling his story, or singing his song, with
the humour which characterizes his country; and
he is also said at this stage of his career to have
written certain poems, of which no specimen is

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XXli LIFE OF GOLDSMITH.

preserved. Before he left Edinburgh he had ac-
quired the friendship of Mr. L. Maclean and Dr.
Sleigh, who rescued him from the unpleasant con-
sequences of becoming security for a brother stu-
dent * to a cousiderable amount. He now set out
for Holland to complete his professional studies at
Leyden, and narrowly escaped shipwreck on his
passage. A letter from him on his arrival is
preserved, which may be read with interest. “If
Leyden, however, was his object, (says Mr. Camp-
bell), with the usual eccentricities of his motives,
he set out to reach it by way of Bourdeaux.”

TO THE REV. THOMAS CONTARINE.

Leyden (no date).
DEAR SIR,
I supposr by this time I am accused of either
neglect or ingratitude, and my silence imputed to
my usual slowness of writing. But believe me,
sir, when I say, that till now I had not an oppor-
tunity of sitting down with that ease of mind
which writing required. You may see by the
top of the letter that I am at Leyden; but of my
journey hither you must be informed. Some
time after the receipt of your last, I embarked
for Bourdeaux, on board a Scotch ship, called
the St. Andrew, Capt. John Wall, master. The

' “ About the beginning of the year 1754, he arrived at
Sunderland, near Newcastle, where he was arrested at the
suit of one Barclay, a tailor in Edinburgh, to whom he had
given security for his friend.”— Life in Hvans’s Ed. of Gold-
smith’s Poetical Works, p. iii.LIFE OF GOLDSMITH. XXill

ship made a tolerable appearance, and, as another
inducement, I was let to know that six agreeable
passengers were to be my company. Well, we
were but two days at sea, when a storm drove us
into a city of England, called Newcastle-upon-
Tyne. We all went ashore to refresh us, after

the fatigue of our voyage.

Seven men and I

were one day on shore, and on the following
evening, as we were all very merry, the room
door bursts open; enters a serjeant and twelve

erenadiers, with their bayonets screwed, and put

us all under the king’s arrest.

pany were Scotchmen in the French service, and
had been in Scotland to enlist soldiers for the
French army. I endeavoured all I could to prove
my innocence, however | remained in prison with
the rest a fortnight, and with difficulty got off
even then. Dear sir, keep all this a secret, or at
least say it was for debt, for if 1t were once known
at the university, I should hardly get a degree;
but hear how Providence interposed in my fa-
your. The ship was gone on to Bourdeaux before
I got from prison, and was wrecked at the mouth
of the Garonne, and every one of the crew were
drowned. It happened the last great storm.
There was a ship at that time ready for Holland,
I embarked, and in nine days, thank my God, lL
arrived safe at Rotterdam, whence I travelled by

It seems my com-

land to Leyden, and whence I now write.

You may expect some account of this country,
and though I am not well qualified for such an
undertaking, yet I shall endeavour to satisfy some
Nothing surprised

part of your expectations.

o2 ; R

  

mF a oeeetaianal eaten eet eae

 

XXIV LIFE OF GOLDSMITH.

me more than the books every day published
descriptive of the manners of this country. Any
young man who takes it into his head to publish
his travels, visits the countries he intends to des-
cribe, passes through them with as much in-
attention as his valet-de-chambre; and conse-
quently not having a fund himself to fill a volume,
he applies to those who wrote before him, and
gives us the manners of a country not as he must
have seen them, but such as they might have
been fifty years before. The modern Dutchman
is quite a different creature from him of former
times. He in every thing imitates a Frenchman,
but in his easy disengaged air, which is the result
of keeping polite company. The Dutchman is
vastly ceremonious, and is exactly perhaps what
a Frenchman might have been in the reign of
Louis XIV. Such are the better bred; but the
downright Hollander is one of the oddest figures
in nature. Upon a head of lank hair he wears a
half cocked narrow hat, laced with black ribbon,
no coat, but seven waistcoats, and nine pair of
breeches, so that his hips reach almost up to his
armpits. This well clothed vegetable is now fit
to see company, or make love. But what a
pleasing creature is the object of his appetite?
Why she wears a large fur cap, with a deal of
landers lace, and for every pair of breeches he
carries she puts on two petticoats,

A Dutch lady burns nothing about her phleg-
matic admirer but his tobacco. You must know,
sir, every woman carries in her hand a stove, with
coals in it, which, when she sits, she snugs underLIFE OF GOLDSMITH. XXv

her petticoats, and at this chimney dozing Stre-
phon lights his pipe. I take it that this con-
tinual smoking is what gives the man the ruddy
healthful complexion he generally wears, by drain-
ing his superfluous moisture. While the woman,
deprived of this amusement, overflown with such
viscidities as tint the complexion, and give that
paleness of visage, which low fenny grounds and
moist air conspire to cause. A Dutch woman
and a Scotch will well bear an opposition. The
one is pale and fat, the other lean and ruddy.
The one walks as if she were straggling after a
go-cart, and the other takes too masculine a
stride. JI shall not endeavour to deprive either
country of its share of beauty, but must say, of
all objects on this earth, an English farmer’s
daughter is most charming. - Every woman there
is a complete beauty; while the higher class of
women want many of the requisites to make them
even tolerable. Their pleasures here are very
dull, though very various. You may smoke, you
may doze, you may go to the Italian comedy, as
good an amusement as either of the former. This
entertainment always brings in harlequin who is
generally a magician, and in consequence of his
diabolical art, performs a thousand tricks on the
rest of the persons of the drama, who are all
fools. I have seen the pit in a roar of laughter
at this humour, when with his sword he touches
the glass from which another was drinking. It
was not his face they laughed at, for that was
masked, they must have seen something vastly
Cee ae

  

ee ere aa ne

 

 

 

XXVi LIFE OF GOLDSMITH.

queer in the wooden sword, that neither I, nor
you, sir, were you there, could see.

In winter, when their canals are frozen, every
house is forsaken, and all people are on the ice.
Sleds drawn by horses, and skating, are at that
time the reigning amusements. They have boats
here that slide on the ice, and are driven by the
winds. When they spread all their sails they go
more than a mile and a half a minute, and their
motion is so rapid that the eye can scarcely ac-
company them: their ordinary manner of travel-
ing is very cheap, and very convenient. They
sail in covered boats, drawn by horses, and in
these you are sure to meet people of all nations.
Here the Dutch slumber, the French chatter, and
the English play at cards. Any man who likes
company may have them to his taste. For my
part I generally detached myself from all society,
and was wholly taken up in observing the face
of the country. Nothing can equal its beauty.
Wherever I turn my eyes, fine houses, elegant
gardens, statues, grottoes, vistas, presented them-
selves, but when you enter their towns you are
charmed beyond description. No misery is to be
seen here; every one is usefully employed. Scot-

land and this country bear the highest contrast. .

There, hills and rocks intercept every prospect ;
here, it is all a continued plain. There you might
see a well-dressed duchess issuing from a dirty close,
and here a dirty Dutchman inhabiting a palace.
The Scotch may be compared to a tulip planted in
dung, but I never see a Dutchman in his own houseLIFE OF GOLDSMITH. XXVil

but I think of a magnificent Egyptian temple de-
dicated to an ox.

Physic is by no means taught here so well as
at Edinburgh, and in all Leyden there are but four
British students, owing to all necessaries being so
extremely dear, and the professors so very lazy
(the chymical professor excepted), that we do not
much care to come hither. Iam not certain how
long my stay here may be. However, I expect to
have the happiness of seeing you at Kilmore, if I
ean, next March.

Direct to me, if I am honoured with a letter
from you, to Madame Drallion’s, at Leyden.

Thou best of men, may Heaven guard and pre-
serve you, and those you love.

OLIVER GOLDSMITH.

With what diligence he pursued the studies of
his profession is not known; he is said to have
attended the lectures of Gaubius, the favourite
pupil of Boerhaave, on Chemistry, and those of
Albinus on Anatomy; but his friend Dr. Ellis
informs us, that an invincible propensity for play
had now gained possession of his mind, and that,
heedless of remonstrance, he yielded to its seduc-
tions till he lost his last shilling. To this friend
he now came for advice under his new difficulties.
Dr. Ellis perceived the necessity of his leaving
Holland, and suggested a tour through different
countries to divert his mind from his dangerous
pursuits, as well as to enlarge the cirlce of his
knowledge. The Doctor also lent him money to

 

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XXVII LIFE OF GOLDSMITH.

enable him to prosecute this scheme; but his
assistance and advice were equally in vain, the
ereater part of the sum designed to procure
Oliver the advantages of well-directed travel, being
spent in the purchase of some rare and costly
flower roots, and the remainder, as it 1s supposed,
squandered at the gaming-table. Our poet was
consequently obliged to set out on the tour of
Europe, with one clean shirt, and with an empty
pocket.

As a counterbalance to that thoughtless dispo-
sition which was hurrying Goldsmith to the verge
of ruin, nature had bestowed on him two of her
rarest and choicest gifts,—a light heart, and an
easy, cheerful, buoyant frame of mind. There
was a bow of promise shining amid all his storms.
Blessed with a good constitution (to use the lan-
guage of his biographer), and adventurous spirit,
and with that thoughtless, perhaps happy dispo-
sition which takes no care for to-morrow, he con-
tinued his travels for a long time in spite of innu-
merable privations, and neither poverty, fatigue,
nor hardship seems to have damped his ardour,
nor interrupted his progress; it is a well authen-
ticated fact, that this ingenious man performed
the tour of Europe on foot, and that he finished
the arduous and singular undertaking without
any other means than might be obtained by an
occasional display of his scholarship, or a tune
upon his flute. In his “ Inquiry into the Present
State of Polite Literature in Europe” he has ob-
served, that “ countries wear very different ap-
pearances to travellers of different circumstances.LIFE OF GOLDSMITH. XX1X

The man who is whirled through Europe in his
post-chaise, and the pilgrim who performs the
grand tour on foot, will form very different con-
clusions. ‘Haud inexpertus loquor.’ ”

That Goldsmith actually visited several parts of
Europe on foot, and that he had no resources on
which he could rely, save the variety and fertility
of his talents, cannot be doubted. It has been
generally said that his musical powers commanded
the hospitality of the peasants, and that his scho-
larship procured him a ready welcome to the houses
of the learned, and the establishments of the re-
ligious. What scholar of our days can say the same ?
The last century has broken down the fortunes of
the peasant, and swept away the inhabitants of
the monastery: a traveller, however gifted, who
should now adopt the system which is reputed to,
have supported Goldsmith through so long a tour,
would find his “ Philosophical Thesis,” and his
“Tuneful Pipe” a poor passport to continental
hospitality.

To the knowledge of national manners, habits,
and institutions which he acquired in this singular
journey, we are indebted for his finest poem—the
Traveller. The first sketch of it is said to have
been written after his arrival in Switzerland, and
was sent to his brother Henry,in Ireland. Hestayed
during some time at Geneva; he there engaged
himself as a travelling tutor to Mr. S***,1 who,
young as he was, possessed more worldly wisdom

! “Forgot at home, became for hire
A travelling tutor to a squire.”
Swift. Mise. v. 129.

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ere aT)XXX LIFE OF GOLDSMITH.

than his instructor, and had been brought up in a
different school. He was nephew to a pawnbroker,
and articled clerk to an attorney—a hopeful sub-
ject for Goldsmith’s delicacy of taste, and romantic
ideas, to polish into the travelled gentleman. He
bargained to keep the money himself; a stipula-
tion, “which (to use the words of his biographer)
cramped the views and propensities of Goldsmith.”
This illsorted pair quarrelled, and parted at Mar-
seilles; and our Poet, once more on foot, pursued
his journey through France, to the northern dis-
tricts of Italy. He visited Verona, Florence, and
Venice; at Padua he stayed six! months, and he
is said to have taken a medical degree there. At
length his curiosity was satisfied, or more probably,
he was ultimately wearied by the difficulties, and
disgusted with the mortifications inseparable from
so ill supplied and ill conducted a tour; and he
returned home in the same vagrant manner in
which he set out, and reached England about the
breaking out of the war, in 1755-6.

When he arrived in London, he had a few half-
pence in his pocket, and “he found himself (to use
his own words) without friends, recommendation,
money, or impudence.” Immediate exertion was
necessary; and to support himself, he applied to
an academy near London for the place of assistant.
On some ground or other, probably from a notion
that the situation which he solicited for the pur-
pose of relieving his present necessities, was a de-

‘ Mr. Campbell thinks it probable that he received pecu-
niary assistance from his uncle during this time. It can
hardly be doubted that such was the case.LIFE OF GOLDSMITH. XXX1

gradation to his character and profession, Goldsmith
assumed a fictitious name. This step led to farther
embarrassment; but he was relieved by the kind-
ness of his friend Dr. Radcliffe, who obtained the
situation for him. It is said that his letter of
thanks to the Doctor was accompanied by a very
interesting account of his travels and adventures.

It was not to be expected that a situation which
taxes more severely than any other the patience,
the temper, and the intellects of a scholar, should
have been reconcileable for any length of time with
the capricious feelings and desultory habits of a
poet and awit. To him its duties must have been
irksome beyond endurance. The language which
he has put into the mouth of the wanderer’s cousin
may have had a retrospect to himself. ‘I was up
early and late, I was browbeat by the master, hated
for my ugly face by the mistress, worried by the boys
within, and never permitted to stir out to receive
civility abroad ;” but the misery of an usher did
not end here, the consummation of wretchedness
was to come. “After the fatigues of the day, the
poor usher of an academy is obliged to sleep in the
same bed with a Frenchman, a teacher of that
language to the boys, who disturbs him every
night, an hour perhaps, in papering and filleting
his hair, and stinks worse than a carrion with his
rancid pomatums, when he lays his head beside
him on the bolster.”

Goldsmith’s countenance was never, in his best
days, very prepossessing: and at this time his
equipment was hardly respectable. His accent
was broadly Irish: we cannot therefore wonder,ae

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XXX11 LIFE: OF GOLDSMITH,

that in his attempts to procure a situation from the
medical practitioners on leaving the academy he
was unsuccessful. At length, a chemist near Fish-
street-hill admitted him into his laboratory, where
his medical knowledge rendered him a useful as-
sistant. Soon after this, he discovered that his
friend Dr. Sleigh was in town; he at once sought
him out, and was cordially received by him. Sleigh’s
heart was as warm as ever, and he shared hig purse
and friendship with his old acquaintance.

By the recommendation of his friend, Goldsmith
was enabled to leave the laboratory of the chemist,
and to set up as a medical practitioner at Bankside,
in Southwark, whence he afterwards removed to
the Temple. His practice was, as might be ex-
pected, among the poor, for he had no introduc-
tion to the higher classes; and his patients were
more numerous than his fees. He therefore en-
gaged himself to the booksellers as “a regular
Swiss in their service ;” and thus “ with very little
practice as a physician, and with very little repu-
tation as a poet, he made a shift to live.” His
situation at this time is best described in his own
letter.

TO DANIEL HODSON, ESQ. AT LISHOY, NEAR

BALLYMAHON, IRELAND,

DEAR SIR,

Ir may be four years since my last letters went
to Ireland, and from you in particular I received
no answer, probably because you never wrote toLIFE OF GOLDSMITH. XXXill

me. My brother Charles, however, informs me of
the fatigue you were at in soliciting a subscription
to assist me, not only among my friends and rela-
tions, but acquaintance in general. Though my
pride might feel some repugnance in being thus
relieved, yet my gratitude can suffer no diminu-
tion. How much am I obliged to you, to them,
for such generosity or (why should not your
virtues have the proper name) for such charity to
me at that juncture. Sure I am born to ill for-
tune, to be so much a debtor, and unable to repay.
But to say no more of this; too many professions
of gratitude are often considered as indirect peti-
tions for future favours. Let me only add, that
my not receiving that supply was the cause of my
present establishment in London. You may easily
imagine what difficulties I had to encounter, left
as I was without friends, reeommendations, money,
or impudence, and that in a country where being
born an Irishman was sufficient to keep me unem-
ployed. Many in such circumstances would have
had recourse to the friar’s end, or the suicide’s
halter. But with all my follies, I had principle to
resist the one, and resolution to combat the other.
I suppose you desire to know my present situa-
tion, as there is nothing in it at which I should
lush, or which mankind could censure, I see no
reason for making it a secret. In short, by a very
little practice as a physician, and a very little re-
putation as a poet, I make a shift to live. Nothing
is more apt to introduce us to the gates of the muses
than poverty, but it were well for us if they only
left us at the door; the mischief is, they some-

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XXXIV LIFE OF GOLDSMITH.

times choose to give us their company at the en-
tertainment: and want, instead of being gentleman
usher, often turns master of the ceremonies. Thus
upon hearing I write, no doubt you imagine I
starve: and the name of an author naturally re-
minds you of a garret. In this particular I do not
think proper to undeceive my friends ; but whether
I eat or starve, live in a first floor, or four pair of
stairs high, I still remember them with ardour,
hay, my very country'comes in for a share of my
affection: unaccountable fondness for country, this
maladie du pais, as the French call it! Unac-
countable that he should still have an affection for
a place, who never received, when in it, above
common civility; who never brought any thing
out of it, except his brogue and his blunders.
Surely my affection is equally ridiculous with the
Scotchman’s, who refused to be cured of the itch,
because it made him “ unco thoughtful o’ his wife
and bonnie Inverary.” But now to be serious, let
me ask myself what gives me a wish to see Ireland
again? The country is a fine one perhaps? No.
There are good company in Ireland ? No; the
conversation there is generally made up of a smutty
toast, or a bawdy song. The vivacity supported
by some humble cousin, who has just folly enough
to earn his dinner. Then perhaps there is more
wit and learning among the Irish? Oh! Lord!
no! ‘There has been more money spent in the en-
couragement of the Podoreen mare there in one
season, than given in rewards to learned men since
the time of Usher. All their productions in learn-
ing amount to perhaps a translation, or a few tracts

 

—

Fw ati

ey 7:LIFE OF GOLDSMITH. XXXV

in divinity, and all their productions in wit to just
nothing at all. Why the plague then so fond or
Ireland? Then all at once, because you my dear
friend, and a few men, who are exceptions to the
general picture, have a residence there. This it
is that gives me all the pangs I feel in separation.
I confess I carry this spirit sometimes to the sour-
ing the pleasures I at present possess. If I go to
the opera where Signora Columba pours out all the
mazes of melody, I sit and sigh for Lishoy fireside,
and Johnny Armstrong’s last good night from
Peggy Golden. If I climb Flanstead Hill, than
where nature never exhibited a more magnificent
prospect, I confess it fine, but then I had rather
‘be placed on the Little Mount before Lishoy gate,
and then take in, to me, the most pleasing horizon
in nature. Before Charles came hither, my thoughts
sometimes found refuge from severe studies among
my friends in Ireland. I fancied strange revolu-
tions at home; but I find it was the rapidity of
my own motion that gave an imaginary one to
objects really at rest. No alterations there. Some
friends he tells me are still lean, but very rich;
others very fat, but still very poor. Nay, all the
news I hear of you is, that you and Mrs. Hodson
sometimes sally out in visits among the neighbours,
and sometimes make a migration from the blue
bed to the brown. I could from my heart wish
that you and she, and Lishoy, and Ballymahon,
and all of you would fairly make a migration into
Middlesex; though upon second thoughts this might

1 A person of this name living at Lishoy in 1811. See
the Rev. R. H. Newell’s ed. of Goldsmith, p. 64.|

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XXXVI LIFE OF GOLDSMITTI.

be attended with a few inconveniences. Theretore,
as the mountain will not come to Mahomet, why
Mahomet shall go to the mountain; or to speak
plain English, as you cannot conveniently pay me
a visit, if next summer I can contrive to be absent
six weeks from London, I shall spend three of them
among my friends in Ireland ; but first believe me,
my design is purely to visit, and neither to cut a
figure, nor to levy contributions ; neither to excite
envy, nor to solicit favour. In fact, my circum-
stances are adapted to neither. I am too poor to
be gazed at, and too rich to need assistance.

You see, dear Dan, how long I have been
talking about myself, but attribute my vanity to
my affection, as every man is fond of himself,
and I consider you as a second self, I imagine
you will consequently be pleased with these in-
stances of egotism.

% * se 2k

My dear sir, these things give me real uncasi-
ness, and I could wish to redress them. But at
present there is hardly a thing done in Kurope in
which I am not a debtor. TI have already dis-
charged my most threatening and pressing de-
mands, for we must be just before we can be
grateful. For the rest I need not Say, (you know
I am)

Your affectionate kinsman,

OLiveR GotpsurrH

Temple Exchange Coffee House, near
Temple Bar, where you may direct
an answer, December 27, 1757LIFE OF GOLDSMITH. XXXVil

Several of Goldsmith’s fellow students were now
resident in London; one who was afterwards
eminent in the medical profession, used to give
the following account of our author’s first inter-
view with him, in the metropolis.

‘‘ From the time of Goldsmith’s leaving Edin-
burgh in the year 1754, I never saw him till the
year 1756, when I was in London, attending the
hospitals, and lectures. arly in January he
called upon me one morning before I was up, and
on my entering the room, I recognized my old ac-
quaintance, dressed in a rusty full brimmed black
suit, with his pockets full of papers, which in-
stantly reminded me of the poet in Garrick’s farce
of Lethe. After we had finished our breakfast,
he drew from his pockets part of a tragedy, which
he said he had brought for my correction. In
vain I pleaded inability, when he began to read,
and every part on which I expressed a doubt as
to the propriety, was immediately blotted out.
I then more earnestly pressed him not to trust to
my judgment, but to take the opinions of persons
better qualified to decide on dramatic composi-
tions. He now told me that he had submitted
his production, so far as he had written, to Mr.
Richardson, the author of Clarissa, on which I
peremptorily declined offering another criticism
on the performance. The name and subject of the
tragedy have unfortunately escaped my memory,
neither do I recollect with exactness, how much
he had written, though I am inclined to believe
that he had not completed the third act. J never
heard whether he afterwards finished it. In the|
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XXXVIil LIFE OF GOLDSMITH.

visit, I remember his relating a strange Quixotic
scheme he had in contemplation, of going to de-
cipher the inscriptions on the Written Mountains,!
though he was altogether ignorant of Arabic,
or the language in which they might be supposed
to be written. The salary of £300 per annum,

which had been left for the purpose, was the
temptation.” 2

Goldsmith’s plan of a journey to decipher the
characters on the Written Mountains was too
absurd to be long mentioned even by him: and
from this lofty and ambitious flight into the deserts
of Arabia, he settled down more wisely than he
was wont, into the management of a classical
school at Peckham, which had become vacant by
Dr. Milner’s illness. So well did he acquit him-
self here,* that his employer procured for him a

' On the Wady Mekatteb, and on the Djebal Serbal.

* “Temptation, indeed! The head may be well full of pro-
jects, where the pockets are only full of papers. But not
alas! to decipher inscriptions on the Written Mountains, but
to preside over pothooks at Peckham, was doomed to be the
lot of Goldsmith.”— Forster.

3 It is said that on the death of Dr. Milner, in 1760, Gold-
smith undertook the superintendance of the school for the
widow; who allowed him £20 a year, out of which he gave
so liberally to objects in distress, that his salary was spent
before it became due. This induced Mrs. Milner to say to
him: “You had better, Mr. Goldsmith, let me keep your
money for you, as I do for some of the young gentlemen :”*
to which he replied with great good humour, “In truth, ma-
dam, there is equal need.”— Watkins's Literary Anecdotes,
p- 515.

* “Mrs. Collier informed me that an acquaintance « f hers
had told her that he had been flogged by Goldsmith when
the latter was usher at Peckham.

‘When amusing his younger companions during play-LIFE OF GOLDSMITH. XXNXIX

medical appointment in India; and in the year
1758 Goldsmith was appointed physician to one
of the factories in India. Splendid visions of the
wealth to be acquired in the east now filled our
author’s mind; but to equip himself for so long a
voyage was an effort beyond his present means.
To effect this, he drew up and printed proposals
for publishing by subscription his “ Present State
of Polite Literature in Europe:”! the following

hours with the flute, and expatiating on the pleasures de-
rived from music, in addition to its advantages in society as
a gentlemanlike acquirement, a pert boy (named Bishop)
looking at Goldsmith’s situation and present disadvantages
with something of contempt, rudely replied to the effect
that he surely could not consider himself a gentleman: an
offence which, though followed by chastisement, discon-
certed and pained him extremely..... When the des-
pised usher was a celebrated man, young Bishop met his
old teacher. Goldsmith recognized him instantly, as a lad
he had been fond of at Peckham, and embraced him with de-
light. .... But the introduction had not unsettled the child’s
image in the kind man’s heart. It was still the bov before
him, still Master Bishop, the lad he used to cram with fruit
and sweetmeats, to the judicious horror of the Milners
‘Come, my boy,’ he said, as his eye fell upon a basket-
woman at the corner of the street, ‘Come, Sam, I am de-
lighted to see you. I must treat you to something. What
shall it be? Willyou havesomeapples? Sam,’ added Gold-
smith, suddenly, ‘have you seen my picture by Sir Joshua
Reynolds? Have you seen it,Sam ? Have you got an en-
graving ?’ Not to appear negligent of the rising fame of his
old preceptor, Bishop replied that he had not yet procured
it; he was just furnishing his house, but he had fixed upon
the spot the print was to occupy, as soon as he was ready to
receive it. ‘Sam,’ returned Goldsmith, with some emotion,
‘if your picture had been published, I should not have
waited an hour without having it.’ ”—Forsier.

! In this very year, 1758, Goldsmith sold to Mr. Edward
Dilly, for twenty guineas, ‘The Memoirs of a Protestant
condemned to the Gallies of France for his Religion. Written

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xl LIFE OF GOLDSMITH.

letters will best explain his situation, and views
at the time.

TO DANIEL HODSON, ESQ. AT LISHOY, NEAR
BALLYMAHON, IN IRELAND.
(No date, but written in the sammer of LoS)
DEAR SIR,

You cannot expect regularity in one who is regu-
lar in nothing. Nay, were I forced to love you
by rule, I dare venture to say, I could never do

it sincerely. Take me then with all my faults ;

let me write when I please, for you see I say
what I please, and am only thinking aloud when
writing to you. I suppose you have heard of my
intention of going to the East Indies. The place
of my destination is one of the factories on the
coast of Coromandel, and I go in the quality of
physician and surgeon, for which the company
has signed my warrant, which has already cost
me £10. I must also pay £50 for my passage,
and £10 for my sea stores, and the other inci-
dental expenses of my equipment will amount to
£60, or £70 more. The salary is but trifling,
viz. £100 per annum, but the other advantages,
if a person be prudent, are considerable. The
practice of the place, if I am rightly informed,
generally amounts to not less than £1000 per

by himself.” Translated from the orig’) al, just published at
the Hague, by James Wilinington. Two volumes, 12mo —-
Arin’s Life of Goldsmith, ). xvi.

  

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asLIFE OF GOLDSMITH. xii

annum, for which the appointed physician has an
exclusive privilege. This, with the advantages
resulting from trade; with the high interest which
money bears, viz. twenty per cent. are the induce-
ments which persuade me to undergo the fatigues
of the sea, the dangers of war, and the still greater
dangers of the climate, which induce me to leave
a place where I am every day gaining friends and
esteem, and where I might enjoy all the conve-
niences of life. JI am certainly wrong not to be
contented with what I already possess, trifling as
it is; for should I ask myself the serious question,
What is it I want? what can I answer? my de-
sires are capricious as the big bellied woman’s,
who longed for a piece of her husband's nose.
I have no certainty, it is true. But why cannot I
do as some men of more merit, who have lived on
more precarious terms? Scarron used jestingly
to call himself the Marquis of Quenault, which
was the name of the bookseller that employed
him. And why may not I assert my privilege
and quality on the same pretensions? Yet upon
deliberation, whatever airs I give myself on this
side of the water, my dignity, I faney, would be
evaporated before I reached the other. I know
you have in Ireland a very indifferent idea of a
man who writes for bread, though Swift and Steele
did so in the earliest part of their lives. You
imagine, I suppose, that every author by pro-
fession lives in a garret, wears shabby clothes, and
converses with the meanest company. Yet I do
not believe there is one single writer, who has
abilities to translate a French novel, that does

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xl LIFE OF GOLDSMITH.

not keep better company, wear finer clothes, and
live more genteelly than many who pride them-
selves for nothing else in Ireland. I confess it,
again, my dear Dan, that nothing but the wildest
ambition could prevail on me to leave the enjoy-
ment of that refined conversation which I am
sometimes permitted to partake in, for uncertain
fortune, and paltry show. You cannot conceive
bow I am sometimes divided: to leave all that is
dear to me gives me pain, but when I consider I
may possibly acquire a genteel independence in
life; when I think of that dignity which philo-
sophy claims, to raise itself above contempt and
ridicule. When I think thus, I eagerly long to
embrace every opportunity of separating myself
from the vulgar, as much in my circumstances, as
I am already in my sentiments. I am going to
publish a book, for an account of which I refer
you to a letter which I wrote to my brother Gold-
smith. Circulate for me among your acquaintance
a hundred proposals, which I have given orders
may be sent to you, and if, in pursuance of such
circulation, you should receive any subscriptions,
let them, when collected, be transmitted to Mr.
Bradley, who will give a receipt for the same.

I know not how my desire of seeing Ireland,
which had so long slept, has again revived with so
much ardour, so weak is my temper, and so un-
steady, that I am frequently tempted, particularly
when low spirited, to return home, and leave my
fortune, though just beginning to look kinder.
But it shall not be. In five or six years I hope toLIFE OF GOLDSMITH. xlili

indulge those transports. I find I want constitu-
tion and a strong steady disposition, which alone
makes men great. I will however correct my
faults, since I am conscious of them.

TO EDWARD MILLS, ES@., NEAR ROSCOMMON,
IRELAND.!

DEAR SIR,
You have quitted, I find, that plan of life which

you once intended to pursue, and given up ambi- .

tion for domestic tranquillity. Were I to consult
your satisfaction alone in this change, I have the
utmost reason to congratulate your choice; but
when I consider my own, I cannot avoid feeling
some regret, that, one of my few friends has de-
clined a pursuit in which he had every reason to
expect success. The truth is, like the rest of the
world, I am self-interested in my concern; and
do not so much consider the happiness you have
acquired, as the honour I have probably lost in the
change. I have often let my fancy loose when you
were the subject, and have imagined your gracing
the bench, or thundering at the bar, while I have
taken no small pride to myself, and whispered all

1 The letters of Goldsmith are so excellent, that it is to
be hoped his next biographer will delight us with an in-
creased collection of them. I find in Johnstone’s Mem. of
Parr, vol. ii. p. 489, that the Doctor says—“ Sir W. Scott
has written to ask if I had found among Bishop Bennett’s
papers some letters relating to Goldsmith, which passed be-
tween him and Burke and Johnson, and Morley, and which
were supposed to be in the Bishop’s possession.” There is
one of Goldsmith’s letters in the Atheneum for March, 1832.

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xliy LIFE OF GOLDSMITH.

that I could come near, that this was my cousin.
Instead of this, it seems you are contented to be
merely a happy man: to be esteemed only by your
acquaintance ; to cultivate your paternal acres; to
take unmolested a nap under one of your own
hawthorns, or in Mrs. Mills’ bedchamber, which
even a Poet must confess is rather the most com-
fortable place of the two.

But however your resolutions may be altered
with respect to your situation in life, I persuade
myself they are unalterable with regard to your
friends in it. I cannot think the world has taken
such entire possession of that heart (once so sus-
ceptible of friendship), as not to have left a corner
there for a friend or two; but I flatter myself that
I even have my place among the number. This I
have a claim to from the similitude of our disposi-
tion ; or, setting that aside, I can demand it as my
right by the most equitable law in nature, I mean
that of retaliation ; for indeed you have more than
your share in mine. I am a man of few profes-
sions; and yet this very instant I cannot avoid the
painful apprehension, that my present professions
(which speak not half my feelings,) should be con-
sidered only as a pretext to cover a request, as I
have a request to make. No my dear Ned, I know
you are too generous to think so; and you know
me too proud to stoop to mercenary insincerity. I
have a request, it is true, to make; but, asI know
to whom I am a petitioner, I make it without
diffidence or confusion. It is in short this; I am
agoing to publish a book in London, entitled, “ An
dssay on the present State of Taste and Literature

 

 

 

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5 eyLIFE OF GOLDSMITH. xlv

in Europe.” Every work published here the prin-
ters in Ireland republish there, without giving the
author the least consideration for his copy. I
would in this respect disappoint their avarice, and
have all the additional advantages that may result
from the sale of my performance there to myself.
The book is now printing in London, and I have
requested Dr. Radcliff, Mr. Lauder, Mr. Bryanton,
my brother Mr. Henry Goldsmith, and brother-
in-law Mr. Hodson. to circulate my proposals among
their acquaintance. The same request I now make
to you; and have accordingly given directions to
Mr. Bradley, bookseller in Dame Street, Dublin,
to send youa hundred proposals. Whatever sub-
scriptions, pursuant to these proposals, you may
receive, when collected, may be transmitted to Mr.
Bradley, who will give a receipt for the money, and
be accountable for the books. I shall not, by a
paltry apology, excuse myself for putting you to
this trouble. Were I not convinced that you found
more pleasure in doing good natured things, than
uneasiness at being employed in them, I should
not have singled you out on this cccasion. It is
probable you would comply with such a request, if
it tended to the encouragement of any man of
learning whatsoever ; what then may he not expect
who has claims of family and friendship to enforce
his ?
I am, dear sir,
Your sincere Friend and humble Servant,
OrivER GoLDsMITG.

London, Temple Exchange Coffee House,
Temple Bar, August 7, 1759-

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xlyi LIFE OF GOLDSMITH.

TO THE REV. HENRY GOLDSMITH, AT LOWFIELD,
NEAR BALLYMORE, IN WESTMEATH, IRELAND.

(A second letter, subsequent to the preceding, evidently
written in 1759.)

DEAR SIR,

Your punctuality in answering a man whose trade
is writing, is more than T had reason to expect,
and yet you see me generally fill a whole sheet,
which is all the recompense I can make for being so
frequently troublesome. Thebehaviour of Mr. Mills
and Mr. Lauder is a little extraordinary. However,
their answering neither you nor me is a sufficient
indication of their disliking the employment which
Tassigned them. Astheir conduct is different from
what I had expected, soI have made an alteration in
mine. I shall the beginning of next month send
over two hundred and fifty books,! whichare all that
I fancy can be well sold among you, and I would
have you make some distinction in the persons
who have subscribed. The money, which will
amount to £60, may be left with Mr. Bradley as
soon as possible. I am not certain but I shall
quickly have occasion for it. I have met with no
disappointment with respect to my East India
voyage, nor are my resolutions altered; though,
at the same time, I must confess it gives me some
pain to think I am almost beginning the world at
the age of thirty-one. Though I never had a day’s
sickness since I saw you, yet I am not that strong

" “The present State of Polite Literature in Europe,”
subscription price, 5s.LIFE OF GOLDSMITH. xlvui

active man you once knew me. You scarcely can
conceive how much eight years of disappointment,
anguish, and study, have worn me down. If I re-
member right, you are seven or eight years older
than me, yet I dare venture to say, if a stranger saw
us both, he would pay me the honours of seniority.
Imagine to yourself a pale melancholy visage, with
two great wrinkles between the eyebrows, with an
eye disgustingly severe, and a bag wig, and you
may have a perfect picture of my present appear-
ance. On the other hand, I conceive you as per-
fectly sleek and healthy, passing many a happy day
among your own children, or those who knew you
a child. Since I knew what it was to be a man,
this is a pleasure I have not known. I have passed
my days among a parcel of cool designing beings,
and have contracted all their suspicious manner in
my own behaviour.? I should actually be as unfit
for the society of my friends at home, as I detest
that which I am obliged to partake of here. I can
now neither partake of the pleasure of a revel, nor
contribute to raise its jollity. 1 can neither laugh
nor drink, have contracted an hesitating disagree-
able manner of speaking, and a visage that looks
ill nature itself; in short, I have brought myself
into a settled melancholy, and an utter disgust of
all that life brings with it. Whence this romantic
turn, that all our family are possessed with?
Whence this love for every place and every country
but that in which we reside? For every occupa-

' This is all gratis dictum: never was a character so de-

void of suspicion, and so marked by unguarded simplicity,
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xl vill LIFE OF GOLDSMITH.

tion but ourown? This desire of fortune, and yet
this eagerness to dissipate? I perceive, my dear
sir, that 1 am at intervals for indulging this sple-
netic manner, and following my own taste regard-
less of yours.

The reasons you have given me for breeding up
your son a scholar are judicious and convincing.
I should, however, be glad to know for what par-
ticular profession he is designed. If he be assi-
duous, and divested of strong passions (for pas-
sions in youth always lead to pleasure), he may do
very well in your college; for it must be owned
that the industrious poor have good encouragement
there, perhaps better than in any other in Kurope.
But, if he has ambition, strong passions, and an
exquisite sensibility of contempt, do not send him
there unless you have no other trade for him ex-
cept your own. It is impossible to conceive how
much may be done by a proper education at home.
A boy, for instance, who understands perfectly well
Latin, French, arithmetic, and the principles of the
civil law, and can write a fine hand, has an edu-
cation that may qualify him for any undertaking.
And these parts of learning should be carefully in-
culcated, let him be designed for whatever ealline
he will. Above all things, let him never touch a
Tomance or novel; these paint beauty in colours
more charming than nature, and describe happi-
ness that man never tastes. How delusive, how
destructive are these pictures of consummate bliss !
They teach the youthful mind to sigh after beauty
and happiness which never existed ; to despise the
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expecting more than she ever gave: and in general,
take the word of a man who has seen the world,
and has studied human nature more by experience
than precept; take my word for it, I say, that
books teach us very little of the world. The greatest
merit in a state of poverty would only serve to
make the possessor ridiculous; may distress, but
cannot relieve him. Frugality, and even avarice,
in the lower orders of mankind, are true ambi-
tion. These afford the only ladder for the poor
to rise to preferment. Teach, then, my dear SIr,
to your son thrift and economy. Let his poor
wandering uncle’s example be placed before his
eyes. I had learned from books to be disinterested
and generous, before I was taught from experience
the necessity of being prudent. I had contracted
the habits and notions of a philosopher, while I
was exposing myself to the insidious approaches of
cunning ; and often by being, even with my narrow
finances, charitable to excess, I forgot the rules of
justice, and placed myself in the very situation of
the wretch who did not thank me for my bounty.
When I am in the remotest part of the world, tell
him this, and perhaps he may improve from my
example. But I find myself again falling into my
gloomy habit of thinking.

My mother, I am informed, is almost blind:
even though I had the utmost inclination to return
home, under such circumstances I could not; for
to behold her in distress, without a capacity of
relieving her from it, would add too much to my
splenetic habit. Your last letter was much too
short; it should have answered some queries I

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made in my former. Just sit down as I do, and
write forward until you have filled all your paper ;
it requires no thought, at least from the ease with
which my own sentiments rise when they are ad-
dressed to you: for believe me, my head has no
share in all I write; my heart dictates the whole.
Pray give my love to Bob Bryanton, and entreat
him, from me, not to drink, My dear sir, give me
some account about poor Jenny.1 Yet her husband
loves her: if so, she cannot be unhappy.

I know not whether I should tell you—yet why
should I, why should I conceal those trifles, or
indeed any thing from you? There is a book of
mine will be published in a few days, the life of
a very extraordinary man, no less than the great
Voltaire. You know already by the title that it
is no more than a catchpenny. However I spent
but four weeks upon the whole performance, for
which I received £20. When published, I shall
take some method of conveying it to you, unless
you may think it dear of the postage, which may
amount to four or five shillings. However, I fear
you will not find an equivalent of amusement.
Your last letter, I repeat it, was too short; you
should have given me your opinion of the design
of the heroi-comical poem which I sent you; you
remember I intended to introduce the hero of the
poem as lying in a paltry alehouse. You may
take the following specimen of the manner, which
I flatter myself is quite original. The room in
which he lies may be described somewhat in this
way:

* His youngest sister, who had married unfortunately.LIFE OF GOLDSMITH.

The window, patched with paper, lent a ray,

That feebly showed the state in which he lay.

The sanded floor which grits beneath the tread,
The humid wall with paltry pictures spread ;

The game of goose was there exposed to view,
And the twelve rules the royal martyr drew ;

The seasons, framed with listing, found a place,
And Prussia’s monarch showed his lampblack face.
The morn was cold, he views with keen desire

A rusty grate unconscious of a fire;

An unpaid reckoning on the frieze was scored,
And five cracked teacups dressed the chimney board.

And now imagine after his soliloquy, the land-
lord to make his appearance, in order to dun him
for the reckoning ;

Not with that face, so servile and so gay,

That welcomes every stranger that can pay 3

With sulky eve he smoked the patient man,

Then pulled his breeches tight, and thus began, &c.

All this is taken, you see, from nature. It is a
good remark of Montaigne’s, that the wisest men
often have friends with whom they do not care
how much they play the fool. Take my present
follies as instances of regard. Poetry is a much
easier, and more agreeable species of composition
than prose; and could a man live by it, it were no
unpleasant employment to be a poet.

I am resolved to leave no space, though I should
fill it up by only telling you, what you very well
know already, I mean that I am your most affec-
tionate Friend and Brother,

OLIVER GOLDSMITH.

The reason which led to the abandonment of
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jiu LIFE OF GOLDSMITH.

posed to have been set aside in consequence of the
impossibility of raising the necessary sum for his
equipments ; or more probably from his cireum-
stances rapidly improving by the increasing pa-
tronage of the booksellers. The purity and ele-
gance of his style, the clearness of the language,
and the happiness of the expression ensured a
ready sale for his productions. He published the
Bee—the Essays in. the British Magazine after-
wards collected—and various Criticisms in Reviews
and Newspapers. His toil, though very laborious,
was now becoming profitable. He wrote regularly
for Mr. Griffiths in the Monthly Review from nine
till two every day ;1 his engagement was for board,
lodging, and a handsome salary ; but it is probable
that Goldsmith found the drudgery too irksome,
for at the end of seven or eight months the agree-
ment made for a year was dissolved. He then
wrote for Newbery, at a salary of £100 a year, and
contributed his Chinese Letters to the Public
Ledger. His Criticism on Massey’s Translation
of Ovid’s Fasti? had introduced him also to the
notice of Smollett, who warmly interested himself
in his welfare, and he assisted that eminent man
in the conduct of the British Magazine and Critical
Review.

” “Goldsmith never publicly avowed what he had written
in the Monthly Review, any more than the Roman Poet talked
of the millstones he had turned in his days of hunger. . .

All he stated was that all he wrote was tampered with by
Griffiths and his wife.”— Forster.

? Dr. Aikin says that Goldsmith reviewed “ Ovid’s Epis-
tles, translated by a Mr. Barrett, Master of the Grammar
School at Ashford, Kent; ” but I believe he is mistaken, his
review of Massey is in his collected works.LIFE OF GOLDSMITH. li

He had now hired lodgings in Green Arbour
Court, Old Bailey;! a description of them not
very flattering is to be found in an anecdote related
by one of his literary friends. ‘I called on Gold-
smith at his lodgings,” said he, “in March, 1759,
and found him writing his Inquiry in a miserable
dirty-looking room, in which there was but one
chair; and when from civility he resigned it to
me, he was himself obliged to sit on the window.*
While we were conversing together, some one
gently tapped at the door, and being desired to
come in, a poor ragged little girl of a very becom-
ing demeanour entered the room, and dropping a
eurtsey said, ‘My mamma sends her compli-
ments, and begs the favour of you to lend her a
chamber-pot full of coals.’”

Goldsmith’s life had now reached its crisis.
From this humble and almost heart-breaking
situation,? by the exertion of his powers, the in-

' An engraving of the house, illustrated by a description,
was given in the European Magazine, vols xlitie pp, 7578.
The steep flight of stairs leading from the door of his lodg-
ing-house in Green Arbour Court to Fleet Market, was
called Break Neck Steps.

2 “The Danish writer, Baron de Holberg, was much talked
of at this time, as a celebrated person recently dead. His
career impressed Goldsmith. It was that of a man of ob-
scure origin, to whom literature, other sources having failed,
had given great fame, and high worldly station.”— Forster.

3 “George Langton told me, that he was present one day
when Goldsmith, in a circle of good company, began with,
‘When I lived among the beggars of Axe Lane’—every
one present was well acquainted with the varied habits of
Goldsmith’s life, and with the naiveté of his cnaracter; but
this sudden trait of simplicity could not but cause a momen-
tary surprise.”— Best’s Personal Recollections, p. 76.

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liv LIFE OF GOLDSMITH.

dustry of his pen, and certainly the splendour of
his talents, under great disadvantages, he rapidly
rose to literary eminence, to the possession of a
handsome income, and to the society and friend-
ship of men distinguished by their rank, their
talents, and their virtue: the poor unknown writer
in his squalid garret was soon to be raised, by the
force of his own genius, to be the companion of
Burke, the friend of Johnson, and the guest of
Reynolds.!

In 1761, he removed from Green Arbour Court
to Wine Office Court, in Fleet Street; 2 where
(according to the writer of his Life) he occupied
genteel apartments, received visits of ceremony,
and gave entertainments to his friends. “ For-
tune now (says one of his biographers) seemed to
take notice of a man she had long neglected:

1 “When Northcote first came to Sir Joshua, he wished
very much to see Goldsmith; and one day, Sir Joshua, on
introducing him, asked why he had been so anxious to see
him. ‘ Because,’ said Northcote, ‘he is a notable man.’
This expression notable, in its ordinary sense, was so con-
trary to Goldsmith’s character, that they both burst out a-
laughing very heartily.”— Conversations of Northcote, by W.
Hazlitt, p. 40-1.

In his Life of Reynolds Northcote adds :—* He appeared
to me to be very unaffected and good-natured; but he was
totally ignorant of the art of painting, and this he often con-
fessed with much gaiety.”

“He now made his appearance in a professional man-
ner, in a scarlet great coat, buttoned close under the chin,
a physical wig and cane, and declined visiting many of those
public places which formerly were so convenient to him in
point of expense. In truth, he said, one sacrifices some-
thing for the sake of good company; for here am I shut out
of several places where I used to play the fool very agree-
ably.”—Anderson’s Life, p. 207.

   

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esLIFE OF GOLDSMITH. lv

the simplicity of his character, the integrity of his
heart, and the merit of his productions, made his
company very acceptable to a number of respect-
able persons.” Johnson understood and appre-
ciated his powers, and in a conversation with
Boswell asserted “ that Goldsmith was one of the
frst men then existing as an author.” It is not
exactly ascertained at what time the intimacy
between these great men commenced; but on
the 3lst May, 1761, Johnson was at supper in
Goldsmith’s lodgings in Wine Office Court,’ with
other literary persons. Doctor Percy, who was
of the party, was surprised at the great lexicogra-
pher’s unusual spruceness and elegance of dress ;
which Johnson accounted for by saying, “ that
Goldsmith justified his disregard of cleanliness
and decency by quoting his practice, and he was
determined to set him a better example.”

The friendship of Johnson to any man was no
common blessing; to Goldsmith it might have
been beyond all value, for under that forbidding
exterior was a most feeling heart, a warm and
affectionate disposition, and the most unbending
principles of virtue and religion. He was as kind
and generous to others, as he was himself wise
and prudent in the economy of life. Dr. Percy

! Goldsmith, on being visited by Johnson one day in the
Temple, said to him with a little jealousy of the appearance
of his accommodation, “J shall soon be in better chambers
than these.” Johnson at the same time checked him, and
paid him a handsome compliment, wishing that a man of his
talents should be above attention to such distinctions. “Nay,
Sir, never mind that,” © Nil te quesiveris extra.” v. Bosw-
Johnson, vol. iv. p. 359.ee

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lvi LIFE OF GOLDSMITH.

says that their connection was cemented by almost
daily communication, and their friendship im-
proved as their intercourse became more frequent.
Johnson had seen much of the world; he had
been a sagacious observer of mankind, and had
profited by his experience; from his superior age
and wisdom, he was well adapted to be the friend
of the young and the imprudent, and it was not
long before Goldsmith’s embarrassed circumstances
demanded his assistance.

Boswell says (and with truth) that Goldsmith
was very generous, and that when he had money
he gave it liberally away; in fact, his generosity
might too often be called thoughtlessness.1 He
was one of those persons to whom the good or
evil of the present day is the boundary of their

' Among Goldsmith’s pensioners was Jack Pilkington,
who served the Doctor go many tricks that he despaired of
extracting any more money from him without hitting on a
master-stroke. He accordingly called on the Doctor, one
morning, and running about the room in a fit of joy, said his
fortune was made. “How so, Jack?” ‘ Why the Duchess
of Marlborough had a strange wish for a pair of white mice,
and I commissioned a friend to get me a pair from the East
Indies, and he is just arrived with two of the most beautiful
animals in the world.” He then lengthened his visage, by
telling the Doctor all was ruined, for without two guineas he
could not buy a cage to present them in. The Doctor un-
fortunately, as he said himself, had but half a guinea, which
he offered, but Jack was not to be beat out of his scheme. He
saw the Doctor’s watch hanging up, and hinted that if he
could spare it for a week, he could raise a few guineas on it,
which he would repay. The Doctor gave him the watch,
which the other took to the pawnbroker, and Goldsmith
heard no more of his friend Jack, till a message came, in-
forming him he was on his Geath-bed, and requesting a
guinea, which was readily sent.LIFE OF GOLDSMITH. lvii

views, and whom no anxious cares of futurity dis-
turb: he spent his money as he earned it, quickly ;
and indeed the desultory manner in which his
income arrived was not conducive to the practice
of economy. He was now in distress, arrested by
his landlady for the arrears of rent. Fortunately
he had just finished his delightful history of the
“Vicar of Wakefield ;” a tale which, if I may with-
out presumption speak my own opinion, I should
for sweetness and simplicity of style, truth of cir-
cumstance, adherence to nature, easy change of
incident, bright and clear delineation of character,
apart from all violent exaggeration, and command
at once of humour and pathos, place among the
very foremost productions of fiction. It has the
truth of Richardson, without his minuteness; and
the humour of Fielding, without his grossness :
if it yields to Le Sage in the diversified variety of
his views of life, it far excels him in the descrip-
tion of the domestic virtues, and the pleasing moral
of the tale.1

1 * Northcote asked what I thought of the ‘ Vicar of Wake-
field?’ And I answered, ‘ What everybody else did.’ He
said there was that mixture of the ludicrous and the pathetic
running through it, which particularly delighted him; it
gave a stronger resemblance to nature. .... We then
spoke of ‘ Retaliation,’ and praised the character of Burke in
particular, as a masterpiece. Nothing that he had ever said
or done but what was foretold in it: nor was he painted as
the principal figure in the foreground with the partiality of a
friend, or as the great man of the day, but with a back-
ground of history, showing both what he was, and what he
might have been. Northcote repeated some lines from the
* Traveller,’ which were distinguished by a beautiful transpa-
rency, by simplicity, and originality. He confirmed Bos-
well’s account of Goldsmith, as being about the middle
3

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alviii LIFE OF GOLDSMITH.

Goldsmith sent for Johnson in his extremity to
raise a sum for him by the sale of his manuscript.
The account given by the latter is admirably cha-
racteristic of those minds that, formed in ‘“‘nature’s
happier hour,” nothing can permanently depress.
Johnson sent him a guinea, and promised to be
with him directly... When he arrived, he found
that Goldsmith had purchased a bottle of Ma-
deira with the money, and was regaling himself
m his sorrow. Johnson wisely corked up the
bottle, bade him be calm, went out and sold the
novel for £60 to Newbery ; ® and Goldsmith when
he had paid his rent rated his landlady soundly

 

height, rather clumsy standing in his dress.”— Northcote’s
Conversations with W. Hazlitt, p. 170.

“ Fifty-six years after Goldsmith’s death, Goethe wrote to
Zelter (1830), ‘It is not to be described, the effect which
Goldsmith’s Vicar had upon me, just at the critical moment
of mental development. That. lofty and benevolent irony,
ot that fair and indulgent view of all infirmities and faults,
gy that meekness under all calamities, that equanimity under
Ue all changes and chances, and the whole train of kindred

(et virtues, whatever names they bear, proved my best educa—
5 il tion.’ ”— Forster’s Life.

 

1 This story has been related with singular inaccuracy by
| Mrs. Piozzi, in her anecdotes of Johnson, p. 119; and still
Lan more so by the Rev. Edmund Mangin, in his “ Essay on
pa Light Reading,” p. 134. It has been remarked that it has
ot been told by Boswell (v. Life, i. 360), by Mrs. Piozzi
rile (Anecd. p. 119), and by Cumberland (v. Life, p. 273), all
from Johnson’s own relation, and all differently, so difficult
it is to come at the truth.

2 “JT do not love a man who is zealous for nothing.”—
‘¢ When I was a young man, being anxious to distinguish
myself, I was perpetually starting new propositions; but |
soon gave this over, for I found that generally what was new
was false.” These two passages Goldsmith expunged from
his novel.—Bosw. Johnson, vol. i. p. 454; vol. iv. p. 245.
Piozzi’s Letters, vol. i. p. 247.

         

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for using him so ill. I suppose the bookseller
was induced to purchase the manuscript partly
by the recommendation of Johnson, for he was
doubtful of its success, and kept it by him till
Goldsmith’s reputation, firmly established and
widely extended by the “Traveller,” ensured a
profitable sale.

This accidental circumstance led to a farther
acquaintance between Goldsmith and Newbery.
In 1763, the Poet was in lodgings in Canonbury
House, Islington, revising and correcting his vari-
ous works, namely, the “Art of Poetry,’ 2 vols.
12mo; the “Life of Beau Nash; 7 and the
‘‘Chinese Letters,” a work highly, and I think
most justly, praised by his biographer, for a nice
perception, and a delicate delineation of life and
manners, for its wit and humour, and for touch-
ing the vices and follies of the day with the most
playful and diverting satire; and I would add, for
the pure and graceful style in which his observa-
tions are conveyed. Soon after this, or early in
1764, he collected and published his fugitive
pieces, under the title of “ Essays.” They also
were justly and deservedly popular; the same
native grace and innate delicacy of taste which
characterize the other productions of this delight-
ful writer are observable in the choice of the lan-
guage, and the harmony of the style. May I say
without offence, that I am inclined to prefer Gold-
smith to Addison; for while the former is not
inferior in ease and elegance, he excels even the
Virgil of English prose-writers in compactness and
precision.

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lx LIFE OF GOLDSMITH.

The name of Goldsmith had now been for seven
years before the public. His various works had
proved him to be a man of talent, a clever, humo-
rous, and well-informed writer; but he had as
yet published no book of consequence, and he was
not very eminently distinguished. He felt that
he had powers within him which were not gene-
rally known, and he was not a little anxious to
assume that station in the world of letters which
his genius had a right to demand. The publica-
of his “ Traveller” at once realized his hopes, and
procured him the reputation of the first poet of
his age.

This poem was commenced in Switzerland, and
had been put aside by the author, till Johnson’s }
praise of part of it induced him to prosecute the
plan, and prepare it for the press. Itis said that
while, for two years previous to its publication, he
was employed in the drudgery of laborious com-
pilations for the booksellers, his few vacant hours
were fondly devoted to the patient revisal and
correction of this his greatest poem; pruning its
redundancies, or supplying its defects; till it ap-
peared at length perfect and polished in all its
parts. It was given to the world in 17 60,° and

1

Johnson was seen to weep while he repeated Gold-
smith’s character of the English in his “ Traveller,” “ Stern
oer each ibosom.’? &e.—), © Boy), Johnson, vol. iii. p. 40;
vol. v. p. 227. I forgot to mention, that Johnson wrote the
four last lines of the “ Deserted Village.”—v. Bosw. Johnson,
Voliie p. 7.

? “The manner of Carolan’s death (the blind bard of Ire-
land) is related with several degrading circumstances in a
life of him which appeared in the “ European Magazine,” Oc-
tcber, 1765, and in the “ Hibernian Magazine,” November,LIFE OF GOLDSMITH. Ixt

was received with the applause which it so well
deserved. Johnson,! delighted by its success,
pointed out its merits in a review.

And here let me claim the indulgence of the
reader, while I venture a few observations, which
a repeated perusal of the poetry of Goldsmith has
suggested. I should say, that it is equally caleu-
lated both to satisfy the taste of the refined, and
to delight the general class of readers. It does
not depart too widely from our ordinary habits of
thought, nor does it make too imperious demands
on our imaginative faculties. It awakens asso-
ciations which all acknowledge, and it makes an
appeal to the heart, with a tenderness that all enjoy.
To delight in the magnificent creations of Milton,
and the elaborate language in which they are em-
bodied, we must possess a profound knowledge
drawn from books; to understand and value the
brilliant poetry of Pope, we must have a thorough
acquaintance with the habits of society, and the

1765, and is ascribed to the late Dr. Goldsmith, though un-
worthy of the pen of that elegant writer.”
Walker’s Irish Bards, App. 95.
' Johnson wrote line 420,

“ To stop too fearful, and too faint to go,”
and the concluding ten lines, except the last couplet but one.
Sir Egerton Brydges (venerabile nomen) has mentioned a
forgotten poem of Blackmore, called “‘ The Nature of Man,”
in three Books, with the motto, ‘* Quid queeque ferat regio, et
quid quaque recusat,” 1711, 8vo. in which the second book
is filled with topics similar to those of Goldsmith in the
«“Traveller;” the couplet most resembling the style of our
Poet from the passage quoted by Sir Egerton seems to be,
speaking of the French,

“Still in extremes their passions they employ,
Abject their grief, and insolent their joy.”i Hill
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characters of men. But in the poetry of Gold-
smith, there is at once an exercise of the under-
standing not too severe, and an appeal to the
affections of the heart not too powerful. A soft
and serene colouring pervades all his subjects;
a chaste simplicity, a general moderation in his
touch breathes throughout. We are not, as with
other poets, distracted from pursuing the views of
nature, or trains of thought that open before us,
by too elaborate a display of skill in the artist, or
too subtle and laborious a study in ourselves.
His language is rich without being luxuriant, and
his verse is musical without being affected. He
occasionally rises on the wing into sublimity and
grandeur; but he more often descends into the
bosom of domestic scenes and descriptions, in
which tne gracefulness of his fancy, the softness
and tenderness of his thoughts, and the fine deli-
cacy of his taste are chiefly seen. His poem, like a
chaste and mellow Venetian picture, amid its varied
hues, its picturesque descriptions, its beautiful al-
lusions, and its vivid and minute details, possesses
a pure and universal harmony of tone; there is a
close unison of the thought and language that in
its magic links binds and connects the whole.1
The fame of his poem, and the approbation of
the learned did not deter our Poet from again

1 He is, as the variation of the subject requires, alternately
ornamental or plain; sublime without rising by painful or
constrained effort ; simple without descending into vulgarity.
In philosophical reflection, in description, or in sentiment, he
is always master of his subject, and consequently moves
with ease.

  

=k )))dLIFE OF GOLDSMITH. \xill

forming plans of foreign travel, as undigested as
the former. His wanderings extended in imagi-
nation to the interior of Asia; and he formed the
design of collecting at Aleppo all the arts of life
which the oriental nations possessed, to enrich
and adorn his native country. To assist him in
procuring patronage and means for this magnifi-
eent project, he published an ingenious and elo-
quent essay, and made a direct application to
Lord Bute. Both, however, remained unnoticed :
for probably the minister was not unaware of the
unfitness of the applicant; and it required not a
politician’s experience to inform him, that what-
ever discoveries in art or science may minister to
the convenience, or promote the happiness of so-
ciety, will not be long in extending themselves
through the natural channels of commerce, nor
remain undiscovered by the industry, or neglected
by the interests of other nations.

He next conceived the intention of soliciting the
assistance of the Duke of Northumberland, and for
this purpose Lord Nugent procured him an intro-
duction to the house. But with characteristic ab-
straction Goldsmith mistook the gentleman usher
for the Duke ; exhausted on the well dressed menial
all his studied compliments and elaborate eloquence,
and when his grace arrived, the embarrassed poet
blundered out a few apologies, and abruptly de-
parted! This visit to the palaces of the great was

! Some few years after this, Goldsmith was unfortunate
enough to make another blunder in his intercourse with the
Duke. At Bath one morning as the Duke and Duchess were
going to breakfast, the abstracted Poet walked up into the

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Ixiv LIFE OF GOLDSMITH.

not unattended by some ludicrous inconvenience,
The vanity of the Poet was so delighted by the
homage which rank had paid to genius, that his con-
versation was constantly turning on the subject,
both in private and general society. So much was
this the ease that an ingenious bailiff contrived to
draw him to a coffee house under the pretence of
being steward to a nobleman, who, charmed with
his poetry, solicited an interview: and the Poct
was only relieved from his dilemma by the kind-
ness of Mr. Hamilton, the printer of the Critical
Review. It may be mentioned as a trait which
illustrates Goldsmith’s character and does honour
to his memory, that, when on a subsequent occasion
the Duke of Northumberland asked him in what
manner he could promote his interests in Ireland.
at once forgetful of himself, and his own precarious
situation, he told the Duke that he had a brother
in Ireland, a clergyman, who stood in need of his
help.t This was the language of a grateful and
affectionate heart, a heart that the world had not,
and perhaps could not spoil. Oliver remembered
the benefits which this brother had in early life
conferred upon him, and he seized the first, the

room, and threw himself in a free and easy manner on the
sofa. Heat length awoke from his reverie, and in indescrib-
able confusion said, he had mistaken the house for Lord
Nugent’s, and abruptly withdrew.

' The Reverend Henry Goldsmith was never more than
Curate at Lishov, and upon a small. salary. He was won-
derfully beloved and respected. His scholars were some of
the most respectable people in the country. At Lishoy no-
thing is remembered of the father.—v. Newell’s eu. of Gold-
smith, p. 77.LIFE OF GOLDSMITH. lx¢

Lest opportunity of repaying them: feelings like
these may well redeem the character of any man
from the stain of a thousand acts of thoughtless-
ness and folly.*

Goldsmith now took chambers in the Temple,
first in the Library Staircase, next in the King’s
Bench Walk, afterwards in, No. 2, Brick Court.
His rooms were handsomely furnished, and here
he entertained his friends, most of them eminently
distinguished by their genius and accomplishments ;
the names of Fox, Burke, Johnson, Reynolds, and
Jones appear in the list. The friendship of such
men was not to be acquired or maintained by
qualities of an ordinary kind; but Goldsmith had
virtues which ensured their love; and talents that
commanded their admiration: the little and the
envious alone spoke of him with spleen, and he
was too unguarded to escape their shafts.

Soon after the publication of the “ Vicar of Wake-
field,’ Goldsmith printed his beautiful ballad of
the “Hermit.” The simple story, and some of
the thoughts and expressions are taken from the old
ballad of the “Gentle Herdsman,’’? but the beauty of

1 Previous to the publication of the “ Deserted Village,” the
bookseller gave him a note for one hundred guineas for the
copy. On the Doctor mentioning this to a friend, he observed,
it isa very great sum for so short a performance. ‘‘ In truth,”
said Goldsmith, “I think so, it is much more than the honest
man can afford, or the piece is worth. JI have not been easy
since I received it. I will therefore go back, and return him
his note ;” which he actually did, and left it entirely to the
bookseller to pay bim according to the profits produced by
the sale of the poem, which turned out very considerable.

2 See ** Percy Ballads,” vol. ii. p. 78. It was printed from
Dr. Percy’s old folio MS.

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Ixvi LIFE OF GOLDSMITH.

the poetry is wholly original. It has been alleged
that this ballad is merely a translation of an ancient
French poem, entitled “ Raimond et Angeline.’
The discussion that took place on the subject may
be seen in the Monthly Review for September,
1797, and the European Magazine for 1802. It
appeared in an obscure little volume called the
“Quiz,” in 1767. That only one of these poems
can claim originality is clear, but speaking with
diffidence on a production in a foreign language, I
should pronounce the French, in many of its parts,
to have the air of a translation; there is a cold-
ness and flatness in some of the lines; and it ig
certainly very inferior in beauty and spirit to the
English.? This at least is certain, that no such
poem, in its present dress, could have appeared in
an ancient French novel, for it is in the language
and style of Florian and the writers of that day,
a little altered and disguised.

About this time Goldsmith hired a country
house on the Edgeware Road, which he called the
shoemaker’s paradise. Here he wrote his History
of England in a series of letters, which Johnson, in
the warmth of argument, and with a bias invariably

' In an old scarce French romance, “ Les Deux Habitants
de Lozanne.” I shall here add that another fraud on Gold-
smith’s reputation has been practisedin France. At the end
of a volume in 1774 is the following title, “ Histoire de
Francoise Wills, ou la Triomphe de la Bienfaisance, par
l’auteur du Ministre de Wakefield. Traduction de l'Anglais.”
See Southey’s Omniana, i. p. 296.

* This French poem was republished in a volume of Tra-
vels, called “Tales of other Realms.” The correspondent
in the European Magazine was Dr. James Kennedy of Glaa-
gow.

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unfavourable to Scottish writers, pronounced supe-
rior to the verbiage of Robertson or the foppery
of Dalrymple, and indeed ranked among the best
histories in the language. It was attributed to
Lord Lyttelton, and by others to the Karl of Orrery,
neither of whom was known to disavow the work.

Goldsmith had in his literary career exhibited
talents no less versatile than splendid: he had
distinguished himself as a novelist, a poet, a
critic, and historian; he now showed a still
greater variety of powers, by producing his co-
medy of the “Good Natured Man.”* It was
first offered to Garrick, with Johnson and Burke's
recommendation ; and when he, doubting of its
success, declined it, it was given to Colman, who
produced it in January, 1768. Johnson wrote the
prologue, * and Shuter threw his own rich and
peculiar colouring of humour over the character of
Croaker ;3 but the play was not very successful.
It was withdrawn after a run of nine nights, but

1 The joke in act v. of the Landlady, “‘ Pipes and tobacco
for the Lamb.” “The Angel has been outrageous this half
hour,” is taken from “ Brome’s Covent Garden Weeded,” p.
34. Second volume of plays, 8vo.

2 In Johnson’s prologue to the “Good Natured Man,”
after the fourth line :—

<¢ And social sorrow loses half its pain,”
the following couplet was inserted :—
“ Amidst the toils of this returning year
When senators and nobles learn to fear
Our little bard, &c.”

These lines were omitted, lest they should give offence,
and little altered to anzious.

3 Goldsmith owned that he was indebted for his first con-
ception of the character of Croaker to Johnson’s Suspirius
in the Rambler. Croaker’s reading the incendiary letter in
the fourth act was received with a roar of approbation.wien renter Rihana iia

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bxvul LIFE OF GOLDSMITH.

not till it had produced £500 to the author; the
greater part of which Goldsmith spent in furnish-
ing his chambers, and increasing his establishment.
Some part of it went, without doubt, in charity ;
for one of his biographers, who was well ac-
quainted with him, asserts that at this time, “our
doctor, as he was now universally called, had a
constant levee of his distressed countrymen, whose
wants, as far as he was able, he always relieved,
and he has often been known to leave himself even
without a guinea, in order to supply the necessities
of others.”

While Goldsmith was composing his comedy, he
was also earning considerable sums of money by
compiling popular histories for the booksellers, The
History of Rome is one; the History of Greece,
published after his death, it is said, cannot with
certainty be ascribed to him. For his History of
England he received £500, and for his abridgment
of the Roman History, £50. The chief merit of
these works lies in the grace and elegance of their
style.* The facts are often incorrectly and super-

' Mr. T. Evans, p. xvi. of his Memoir.

2 “ Goldsmith’s ‘ Poetical Dictionary.’—It has not been
noticed by any of Goldsmith’s biographers that, in addition
to ‘The Art of Poetry,’ in 2 vols. 12mo., 1762, published by
Newbery, and ‘ The Beauties of the English Poets,’ in 2 vols.
12mo., 1767, published by Griffin; he also edited for New-
bery an useful work entitled «A Poetical Dictionary, or the
Beauties of the English Poets alphabetically displayed,’ in
4 vols., 1761, 12mo. The Preface is evidently written by
Goldsmith, and with his usual elegance and spirit, and the
selection which follows is one of the best which has ever vet
been made. It certainly deserves more notice than it seems

hitherto to have received; and were it only that it contains
Goldsmith’s favourite passages, and may possibly have beenLIFE OF GOLDSMITH. Ixix

ficially stated. Histories of those two great nations,
eminent above all others for their polity, their
genius, and their power, are not to be written
without that extensive research, and that store of
recondite learning, which an author like Goldsmith
had neither leisure, nor inclination to acquire.
Our writers were compiling histories, when they
should have been employed in the more useful,
though humble occupation of collecting materials,
and arranging information. The labours of the critie
and the antiquary must precede and prepare the
tale of the historian :—a History of Greece or Rome
is not to be formed from the text of Herodotus or
Livy. The half-eaten medal, and the mouldering
inscription, the long buried manuscript, and the
forgotten scholiast ; the poetry of the stage, and
the superstition of the temple, will often be the
only guide to truth; and the painful labours of
many a diligent scholar must prepare for us those
rich materials on which the comprehensive mind
and philosophical powers of some future writer
will build his work. When time has thus been
called upon to unroll his treasures, and to display
his pages of truth, many of the sweet and seduc-
tive histories of antiquity will lose all but their
charm of eloquence.

a preparation and incentive to the composition of the ‘ Tra-
veller,’ and the ‘ Deserted Village,’ it ought not to be forgotten
in the list of his compilations. In examining it T have fre-
quently been struck by the appearance of lines and passages,
and sometimes epithets, which were evidently in Goldsmith’s
mind when he wrote his two beautiful poems. Some, but not
all, have been quoted as parallel passages by his editors.”
James CROSSLEY, in Notes and Queriesee .
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Ixx LIFE OF GOLDSMITH.

Goldsmith was often called on to contribute pre-
faces and dedications to the works of other authors,
namely, to Guthrie’s “ History of the World,” and
to Brooke’s “System of Natural History.” The
attention which he bestowed on the latter work
aiterwards led to the compilation of his own “ His-
tory of the Earth and Animated Nature,’ which
was written as a means of livelihood. “Pay no
regard to the muses (he said to a friend), I have
always found productions in prose more sought
after and better paid for”—and again: “by
courting the muses I shall starve; but by my
other labours I shall eat, drink, have good clothes,
and enjoy the luxuries of life.”—_—

Amidst the drudgery of such compilations, when
the hand of genius might well be weary of its
taskwork, Goldsmith seized some happier hours in
which he composed his delightful poem of the
““ Deserted Village ” second only to the “ Traveller”
in merit. It has been very justly remarked,? « that
the former abounds with couplets and single lines
so simply beautiful in point of sentiment, so musical
in cadence, and so perfect in expression, that the
ear is delighted to retain them for their melody, ?
the mind treasures them for their truth, while their
tone of tender melancholy, and their touching pa-

' See the narrative, p. 130, prefixed to his works.

> “One day I met the poet Harding at Oxford, a half
crazy creature, as poets generally are, with a huge broken
brick and some bits of thatch upon the crown of his hat; on
my asking him for a solution of this Prosopopeia, * Sir,’
said he, ‘to-day is the anniversary of the celebrated Dr.
Goldsmith’s death, and I am now in the character of his
* Deserted Village.’”—Cotman’s Ran. Records, i. 307.LIFE OF GOLDSMITH. lxxi

thos indelibly engrave them on the heart. His
delineation of rural scenery, ! his village portraits,
his moral, political, and classical allusions, while
marked by singular fidelity, chasteness, and ele-
gance, are all chiefly distinguished by their natural
and pleasing character. The finishing is exquisitely
delicate, without being overwrought, and with
the feeling of tenderness and melancholy which
runs through the poem, there is occasionally mixed

! Lissoy (or Lishoy) near Ballymahon, where the poet’s
brother, a clergyman, had his living, claims the honour of
being the spot from which the localities of the “ Deserted Vil-
lage” were derived. The church which tops the neighbouring
hill, the mill, and the brook, are still pointed out; and a haw-
thorn has suffered the penalty of poetical celebrity, being
cut to pieces by those admirers of the bard, who desired to
have classical tooth-pick cases and tobacco stoppers. Much
of this supposed locality may be fanciful; but it is a pleasing
tribute to the poet in the land of his fathers.—Sir Walter
Scott, Mise. Prose Works, vol. iii. p. 259, edt. 1834, and
vol. i. p- 293, edt. 1841. Lishoy (adds Mr. Mitford) is
about seven Irish miles distant from Athlone; Pallas is a
small estate about ten miles from Lishoy.—Lishoy was for-
merly the estate of the Dillons, who sold it in 1730 to General
Napier, who amassed a large fortune at Vigo. He enclosed
a domain of nine miles in circumference, in which were in-
cluded three respectable families—the Dawsons, Lemans,
Newsteads, with all their tenants and dependants. Upon
the general’s death, his house was robbed by the indignant
peasants, and all his woods cut down. A gentleman in
company with the venerable Dr. Tully, of Athlone, objecting
that the description of Auburn could not be intended for
Lishoy, as Goldsmith was in England when he wrote the
“Deserted Village;” “ Do you then suppose, sir,” said the
doctor, “that Milton was in hell when he wrote ‘ Paradise
Lost 2?” An edition of Goldsmith with plates and descriptions
of the local scenery of Lishoy, supposed to be alluded to by
Goldsmith, was published in 1811, in 4to. by the Rev R.H.
Newell, B. D.Ixxil LIFE OF GOLDSMITH.

up a slight tincture of pleasantry, which gives an
additional interest to the whole.” ‘To this very
justly written summary of its merits, I shall only
add that the transitions (so difficult a part of
the poet’s task) are managed in the most mas-
terly manner, with all the grace and spirit of
lyric poetry; but that there are some marks of
occasional weakness and negligence! in the ver-
sification. A warm and cordial friendship had
long existed between the poet and Sir J. Rey-
nolds, and the “ Deserted Village” is inscribed to
him in a very elegant and affectionate dedication.
Soon after the publication of this poem he ac-
companied some ladies, the Misses Horneck,? in

* One of the greatest blemishes is the frequent insertion
of the word “here” to fill up the line. Goldsmith is said to
have been four or five years collecting materials for this
poem, and was actually engaged in the construction of it
two years. Dr. Anderson has pointed out a few instances of
carelessness in parts of the poem, chiefly in repetition of the
Same words, or images in the same paragraph. Mr. Todd
thinks that Goldsmith had Chaucer’s Description of the
Parish Priest in his eye, and that he transferred a tract or
two of it to his Ecclesiastic in the “Deserted Village.” v.
““Tilust. of Gower,” p. 257. Mr. T. Campbell’s observations
on the political opinions, and philosophical reflections in this
poem are sensible and just; and his criticisms on the poetical
merits do honour to his taste. v. “ Specimens,” vol. vi. p. 251.

* They were the daughters of Mrs. Horneck, Captain Kane
Horneck’s widow, whose Devonshire family connected her
with Reynolds, and so introduced her to Goldsmith... . .
Burke, who was their guardian, tenderly remembered in his
premature old age the delight they had given him from their
childhood; their social as well as personal charms are uni-
formly spoken of by all; and when Hazlitt met the younger
sister in Northcote’s painting room some twenty years ago
(she survived the elder— Little Comedy—upwards of forty
years, and died little more than seven years since), she was

D> Paes
D> } xLIFE OF GOLDSMITH. Ixxiii

an excursion to Paris; a letter to his friend Sir
Joshua describes his landing in a humorous
manner.

TO SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS.

MY DEAR FRIEND,

We had a very quick passage from Dover to Calais,
which was performed in three hours and twenty
minutes; all of us extremely sea-sick, which must
necessarily have happened, as my machine to pre-
vent sea-sickness was not completed. We were
glad to leave Dover, because we hated to be im-
posed upon; so were in high spirits at coming to
Calais, where we were told but a little money
would go a great way. Upon landing two little
trunks, which was all we carried with us, we were
surprised to see fourteen or fifteen fellows all run-
ning down to the ship to lay their hands upon
them. Four got under each trunk, the rest sur-
rounded and held the hasps, and in this manner
our little baggage was conducted with a kind of
funeral solemnity, till it was safely lodged at the
custom house. We were all well enough pleased
with the people’s civility till they came to be paid.
Every creature that had the happiness of but
touching our trunks with their finger expected
sixpence, and they had so pretty a civil manner of
demanding it, that there was no refusing them.

still talking of her favourite Dr. Goldsmith, with recollection
and affection unabated by time. Still, too, she was beautiful,
beautiful even in years. The Graces had triumphed over
age. ‘I could almost fancy the shade of Goldsmith in the
room,’ says Hazlitt, ‘looking round with complacency.’ ”
Forster [1848 .]
flxxiv LIFE OF GOLDSMITH.

When we had done with the porters, we had next
to speak with the custom house officers, who had
their pretty civil way too. We were directed to
the Hotel d’Angleterre, where a valet de place
came to offer his services, and spoke to me ten
minutes before I once found out that he was
speaking English. We had no occasion for his
services, so we gave him a little money, because
he spoke English, and because he wanted it. I
cannot help mentioning another circumstance; I
bought a new ribbon for my wig at Canterbury,
and the barber at Calais broke it, in order to gain
sixpence by buying me a new one.
* * = * * *
IT am, dear Sir,

Your sincere Friend and obedient Servant,

OtivEeR GoLDsMITH.

Soon after his arrival at Paris, Goldsmith ad-
dressed a second letter to Sir Joshua, dated July
29th; it ran thus:

MY DEAR FRIEND,

I BE@AN a long letter to you from Lisle, giving a
description of all we had done and seen; but find-
ing it very dull, and knowing you would shew it
again, I threw it aside, and it was lost. You see
by the top of this letter that we are at Paris, and
(as I have often heard you say) we have brought
our own amusement with us, for the ladies do not
seem to be very fond of what we have yet scen.
With regard to myself, I find that travelling at
twenty and at forty are very different things. I

  

DD) > yy
>) D | Py : aD }

Lee. erLIFE OF GOLDSMITH. Ixxy

set out with all my confirmed habits about me,
and can find nothing on the Continent as good as
when I formerly left it. One of our chief amuse-
ments here is scolding at everything we meet with and
praising everything and every person we left at home.
You may judge, therefore, whether your name 2s not
Frequently bandied at table among us. . . :
I long to hear from you all: how you your self do,
how Johnson, Burke, Dyer, Chamier, Colman, and
every one of the Club do. I wish I could send
you some amusement in this letter; but I protest
that I am so stupified by the air of this country
(for I am sure that it can never be natural) that I
have not a word to say. I have been thinking of
the plot of a comedy, which shall be entitled “A
Journey to Paris,” in which a family shall be intro-
duced with a full intention of going to France to
save money. You know there is not a place in
the world more promising for that purpose. As
for the meat of this country, I can scarce eat it,
and although we pay two good shillings a head for
our dinner, I find it all so tough that I have spent
less time with my knife than my picktooth. J
said this as a good thing at table, but it was not un-
derstood. I believe it to be a good thing.

As for our intended journey to Devonshire, I and
it out of my power to perform it; for as soon as I
arrive at Dover, I intend to let the ladies go on,
and I will take a country lodging somewhere near
that place in order to do some business. I have
so outrun the constable, that I must mortify a
little to bring it up again. For God’s sake, the
night you receive this, take your pen in yout

BRA RS
BA he eeeaememammaaaitiaal +
= 2 nian a) rrIxxvi LIFE OF GOLDSMITH.

 

hand, and tell me something about yourself and
myself, if you know of anything that has happened.
About Miss Reynolds, about Mr. Bickerstaff, my
nephew, or anybody that you regard. I beg you
will send to Griffin the bookseller to know if there
be any letters left for me, and be so good as to
send them to me at Paris. They may be perhaps
left for me at the Porter’s Lodge, opposite the
pump in Temple Lane. The same messenger will
do. I expect one from Lord Clare from Ireland.
As for others, I am not much uneasy about them.
Is there anything I can do for you at Paris? I
wish you would tell me. The whole of my own
purchases here is one silk coat, which I have put
on, and which makes me look like a fool. But no
more of that. I find that Coleman has gained his
lawsuit. I am glad of it. I suppose you often
meet. I will soon be among you, better pleased
with my situation at home, than I ever was before.
And yet I must say that if anything could make
France pleasant, the very good women, with whom
I am at present, would certainly do it. I could
say more about that, but I intend shewing them this
letter, before I send rt away. What signifies teazing
you longer with moral observations, when the
business of my writing is over. I have one thing
only more to say, and of that I think every hour
in the day, namely, that I am your most sincere
and most affectionate friend.
OLIVER GoLDsMITH.

Direct to me, at the Hotel de Danemarc, Rue
Jacob, Fauxbourg St. Germains.LIFE OF GOLDSMITH. lxxyil

When the Royal Academy of Painting was
established, he was elected Professor of Ancient
History. His new office is mentioned in a letter
to his brother Maurice. “This letter,” says Dr.
Percy, “ exhibits the most unsophisticated simpli-
city of mind, and breathes the same ardent attach-
ment to his country, with the same unalterable
affection for ‘his poor shattered family’ as he was
wont to do when more dependent on them, and
when his present eminence could hardly have been
anticipated.”

TO MR. MAURICE GOLDSMITH,* AT JAMES LAU-
DER’S, ESQ. AT KILMORE, NEAR CARRICK ON
SHANNON.

January, 1770.
DEAR BROTHER,

I suovutp have answered your letter sooner, but
in truth I am not fond of thinking of the neces-
sity of those I love, when it is so very little in my
power to help them. Iam sorry to find you are
still every way unprovided for; and what adds to my
uneasiness is, that I have received a letter from my

1 Goldsmith was succeeded in the professorship by Gib-
bon; at whose death it was given to Wm. Mitford, the his-
torian of Greece.

2 Our Poet’s youngest brother, a cabinet-maker at Dub-
lin. The Duke of Rutland made him an Inspector of the
Licences of the city. He was appointed Macebearer on the
erection of the Irish Royal Academy. He died without
issue.eee .
yp er rah i

i ‘

 

      

lxxvili LIFE OF GOLDSMITH.

sister Johnson, by which I learn that she is pretty

much in the same circumstances.

As to myself,

I believe I could get both you and my poor brother-
in-law something like that which you desire, but
T am determined never to ask for little things, nor
exhaust any little interest I may have, until I can
serve you, him, and myself more effectually. As
yet no opportunity has offered, but I believe you
are pretty well convinced that I will not be remiss
when it arrives. The king has lately been pleased
to make me Professor of Ancient History in a
Royal Academy of Painting, which he has just es-
tablished, but there is no salary annexed; and I
took it rather as a compliment to the institution,
than any benefit to myself. Honours to one in
my situation are something like ruffles to one
that wants a shirt. You tell me that there are
thirteen or fourteen pounds left me in the hands of
my cousin Lauder, and you ask me what I would
have done with them. My dear brother, I would
by no means give any directions to my dear wor-
thy relations at Kilmore how to dispose of money,
whieh is, properly speaking, more theirs than
mine. All that I can say is, that I entirely, and
this letter will serve to witness, give up any right
and title to it; and I am sure they will dispose
of it to the best advantage. To them I entirely
leave it, whether they or you may think the whole
necessary to fit you out, or whether our poor sister
Johnson may not want the half, I leave entirely to
their and your discretion. The kindness of that

good couple to our poor shattered family demands
our sincerest gratitude; and though they have al-LIFE OF GOLDSMI1H. Ixxix

most forgot me, yet, if good things at last arrive,
I hope one day to return, and increase their good
humour by adding to my own. I have sent my
cousin Jenny a miniature picture of myself, as |
believe it is the most acceptable present bean
offer. I have ordered it to be left for her at
George Faulkner’s, folded in a letter. The face you
well know is ugly enough, but it is finely painted.
L will shortly also send my friends over the Shannon
some mezzotinto prints of myself, and some more
of my friends here, such as Burke, Johnson, Rey-
nolds, and Colman. I believe I have written a
hundred letters to different friends in your country,
and never received an answer to any of them.
T do not know how to account for this, or why
they are unwilling to keep up for me those regards
which I must ever retain for them. If then you
have a mind to oblige me, you will write often,
whether I answer you or not. Let me particu-
larly have the news of our family and old ac-
quaintances. For instance, you may begin by
telling me about the family where you reside, how
they spend their time, and whether they ever
make mention of me. Tell me about my mother,
my brother Hodson and his son, my brother Harry’s
gon and daughter, my sister J ohnson, the family of
Ballyoughter ; what is become of them, where
they live, and how they do. You talked of being
my only brother ; I don’t understand you: where
is Charles?! A sheet of paper occasionally filled

1 This, indeed, was a question which Maurice could not
answer then, nor for many years afterwards; but as the
anecdote is curious, and I have it from a friend, on whose

Ne ieeeIxxx LIFE OF GOLDSMITH,

with news of this kind would make me very happy,
and would keep you nearer my mind. As it iS,

authority I can rely, I shall give it a place here nearly in
his own words.

My friend informed me, that whilst travelling in the
stage-coach towards Ireland, in the autumn of 1791, he was
joined at Oswestry by a venerable looking gentleman, who,
in the course of the morning, mentioned that his name was
Goldsmith, when one of the party observed that if he was
going to Ireland, that name would be a passport for him.
The stranger smiled, and asked the reason why? to which
the other replied, that the memory of Oliver was embalmed
amongst his countrymen. A tear glistened in the stranger’s
eye, who immediately answered, “Iam his brother.” The
gentleman who had first made the observation on the name
looked doubtingly, and said, “‘ He has but one brother living ;
I know him well.” “ True,” replied the stranger, “ for it
may be said that I am risen from the dead, having been for
many years supposed to be no longer in the land of the living.
I am Charles, the youngest of the family. Oliver I know is
dead; but of Henry and Maurice I know nothing.”

On being informed of various particulars of his family, the
amin | stranger then told his simple tale; which was, that having
i bi heard of his brother Noll mixing in the first society in Lon-
ae don, he took it for granted that his fortune was made, and
Sa MH that he could soon make a brother’s also; he therefore left
Ml home without notice, but soon found, on his arrival in Lon-
bated don, that the picture he had formed of his brother’s situation
\ was too highly coloured; that Noll would not introduce him
ne (lil to his great friends, and, in fact, that, although out of a jail,
Hei he was also often out of a lodging.
me A Disgusted with this entrance into high life, and ashamed
to return home, the young man left London without acquaint-
ing his brother with his intentions, or even writing to hig
friends in Ireland; and proceeded, a poor adventurer, to
Jamaica, where he lived, for many years, without ever re-
newing an intercourse with his friends, and by whom he was,
of course, supposed to be dead; though Oliver may, at first,
have imagined that he had returned to Ireland. Years now
passed on, and young Charles, by industry and perseverance,
began to save some property ; soon after which he married 4
widow lady of some fortune, when his young family requiring
the advantages of further education, he determined to returnLIFE OF GOLDSMITH. lxxx]

my dear brother, believe me to be yours most af-

fectionately,
OLIVER GOLDSMITH.

to England, to examine into the state of society, and into
the propriety of bringing over his wife and family; on this
project he was then engaged, and was proceeding to Jreland
to visit his native home, and with the intention of making
himself known to such of his relatives as might still be living.
His plan, however, was to conceal his good fortune until he
should ascertain their affection and esteem for him.

On arriving at Dublin the party separated; and my friend,
a few weeks afterwards, returning from the north, called at
the Hotel where he knew Mr. Goldsmith intended to reside.
There he met him: when the amiable old man, for such he
really was, told him that he had put his plan in execution ;
had given himself as much of the appearance of poverty as
he could with propriety, and thus proceeded to the shop of
his brother Maurice, where he inquired for several articles,
and then noticed the name over the door, asking if it had
any connexion with the famous Dr. Goldsmith.

“ J am his brother, his sole surviving brother,” said Mau-
rice.

‘“¢ What then,” replied the stranger, “ is become of the
others?”

‘¢ Henry has long been dead; and poor Charles has not
been heard of for many years.”

* « But suppose Charles were alive,” said the stranger,
“ would his friends acknowledge him?” “ Oh, yes! 7; tea
plied Maurice, “ gladly indeed!” ‘* He lives, then; but as
poor as when he left you.”

Maurice instantly leaped over his counter, hugged him in
his arms, and weeping with pleasure, cried, ‘“‘ Welcome, wel-
come, here you shall find a home and a brother.”

It is needless to add, that this denouement was perfectly
agreeable to the stranger, who was then preparing to return
to Jamaica to make his proposed family arrangement, but
my friend having been engaged for the next twenty years
in traversing the four quarters of the globe, being himself a
wanderer, has never, since that period, had an opportunity
of making inquiries into the welfare of the stranger, for whom
he had, indeed, formed a great esteem even in a few days’

acquaintance.—Worthcote’s Life of Reynolds.Ixx xii LIFE OF GOLDSMITH

The lives of Parnell! and Bolingbroke were the
next productions which Goldsmith’s fertile peu
produced for the booksellers. The former has
received the highest praise from Johnson 2 tas
embellished with some original letters from Pope
and Gay; and without mentioning the authors by
name, contains a severe attack on the rich and
ornamented style of Gray and Collins. Goldsmith
had not much to say concerning his author, and
he laments the want of materials, but the life is
written with elegance and knowledge. A biogra-
phy of Bolingbroke worthy of that extraordinary
man is yet to be composed; a man whose com-
prehensive intellect and captivating eloquence were
employed in assaulting the evidences of relj-
gious faith; whose life was wasted in fierce ani-
mosities at home, or criminal intrigues abroad ;
who, gifted by nature, and adorned by education
and study, possessed powers which might have
raised himself and his country to the highest pin-
nacle of greatness; and who, if he had seconded
the sword of Marlborough in the senate, might
have dictated a peace for England, not in the halls
of Utrecht, but in the saloons of Versailles ; a man
whom Pope, in the affectionate warmth of his
heart and reverence of his understanding, almost
deified; and one specimen of whose senatorial

' Such was now the celebrity of Goldsmith’s writings
that he was even looked up to as a patron and promoter of
schemes of public utility. His biographer has published a
very curious letter from the notorious Thomas Paine, in
which he solicits Goldsmith’s interest in procuring an addi-
tion to the pay of excisemen.

Chalmer’s Eng. Poets, vol. xvi. p. 484.LIFE OF GOLDSMITH. Ixxxili

eloquence, it is said, Canning would have preferred
to any recovered treasure of antiquity.

A writer who could command so captivating a
style, and who touched all subjects with such
felicity and grace as Goldsmith did, was peculiarly
qualified to compose those introductions to works,
which are designed to propitiate the favour of the
reader, or to communicate the author’s design.
Griffin, in an evil hour, employed him to make a
selection of English poetry for young ladies’ board-
ing schools, and to prefix an introduction.* Gold-
smith marked the poems proper for insertion ; but
by what name am I to designate a blunder far more
fatal than his going to be ordained in scarlet
breeches? Was it carelessness, oddity, whim, or a
kind of unaccountable fatuity which made him offer
to the young and tender sex, whose taste and morals
he was refining by his selections, one of Prior’s*
grossest poems? He did more; he introduced
it with a criticism! The boarding-schools wisely
took the alarm; governesses and teachers were in
dismay; the sale of the book was destroyed, and
Goldsmith’s “ Beauties” irrecoverably lost their

1 < Poems for Young Ladies, being a Collection of the
Best Pieces in our Language,” 8vo. 1767.

2 Goldsmith got £200 for this work. Another instance
of his carelessness is mentioned. To assist a needy
author, he ordered him to draw up a Description of China,
which a bookseller had applied to the Doctor for, at a price
he despised, but did not reject. He never gave himself the
trouble to read the MS, but sent to the press an account,
which made the Emperor of China a Mahommedan, and
placed India between China and Japan. Two sheets were
cancelled at Goldsmith’s expense, who kicked his newly
created author downstairs.

, | a ee omer aad

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lxxxiv LIFE OF GOLDSMITH.

reputation. What makes the whole affair more
ludicrous is his observation, while speaking of thig
work, that “a man shews his judgment in these
selections, he may be twenty years of his life cul-
tivating this judgment.”

In 1771, our Poet was invited to visit Bennet
Langton, at his seat in Lincolnshire ; but he was
unable to accept the invitation, and the following
letter exhibits the nature of his employment.

TO BENNET LANGTON, ESQ. AT LANGTON, NEAR

SPILSBY, IN LINCOLNSHIRE.

MY DEAR SIR,

Since I had the pleasure of seeing you last, I have
been almost wholly in the country at a farmer’s
house, quite alone, trying to write a comedy. It
is now finished, but when or how it will be acted,
or whether it will be acted at all, are questions I
cannot resolve. Iam, therefore, so much employed
upon that, that I am under the necessity of put-
ting off my intended visit to Lincolnshire for this
season. Reynolds is just returned from Paris, and
finds himself now in the case of a truant, that must
make up for his idle time by diligence. We have
therefore agreed to postpone our journey till next

1 Johnson would possibly have defended Goldsmith, for
he says, “No, no, Prior is a lady’s book; no lady is ashamed
to have it standing in her library.”  Bosw. Johnson, iv.
p. 45. “And yet Hans Carvel is not over decent.” See Johns
son’s Life of Prior, p. 174,LIFE OF GOLDSMITH. Ixxxy

summer, when we hope to have the honour of
waiting on Lady Rothes and you, and staying
double the time of our late intended visit. We
often meet, and never without remembering you.
I see Mr. Beauclere very often both in town and
country. He is now going directly forward to be-
come asecond Boyle, deep in chemistry and physics.
Johnson has been down upon a visit to a country
parson, Dr. Taylor, and is returned to his old haunts,
at Mrs. Thrale’s. Burke is a farmer, en attendant
a better place; but visiting about too. Every soul
is visiting about, and merry, but myself, and that
is hard too, as I have been trying these three
months to do something to make people laugh.
There have I been strolling about the hedges,
studying jests, with a most tragical countenance.
The Natural History is about half finished, and I
will shortly finish the rest. God knows I am tired
of this kind of finishing, which is but bungling
work; and that not so much my fault as the fault
of my scurvy circumstances. They begin to talk
in town of the opposition’s gaining ground. The
ery of liberty is still as loud as ever. I have pub-
lished, or Davies has published for me, “ An
Abridgment of the History of England,” for which
I have been a good deal abused in the newspapers,
for betraying the liberties of the people. God
knows I had no thought for or against liberty in
my head. My whole aim being to make up a book
of a decent size, that, as Squire Richard says, would
do no harm to nobody. However, they set me
down as an arrant Tory,and consequently an honest
man. When youcome to look at any part of iteae

A % eS ie in 6 ammens : i
: ee a
: = = = ——<—— : =

 

  

Ixxxvi LIFE OF GOLDSMITH.

youll say that I am a sour Whig. God _ bless
you, and with my most respectful compliments to
her ladyship,
I remain, dear Sir,
Your most affectionate humble Servant,

OLIVER GOLDSMITH.
Temple, Brick Court,
Sept, 7, L771.

The farmer’s house mentioned in this letter was
at the sixth milestone, Edgeware Road, and here
Mr. Boswell, and Mr. Mickle, the poet, visited him
in April, 1772. He was then writing his “ His-
tory of Animated Nature;” and they found deserip-
tions and drawings of animals scratched upon the
walls of the room. He was at a distance that en-
abled him, when wearied with study, to retreat
into the pleasures! of the metropolis, of which it
is said (not on Miss Hawking’s authority), that he
partook pretty largely; and when his money and
spirits were exhausted, he returned to his suburban
solitude, to instruct and delight the world by some
fresh production of hig enchanting pen.

For a short time he was concerned in the
“Gentleman’s Journal,” under the management
of Kenrick, Bickerstaff, and others. His next
production was the play of “She Stoops to Con-
quer; or, the Mistakes of a Night.”2 Colman

* Goldsmith (said Johnson) is one of the first men we

have now as an author; and he is a very worthy man too.
He has been loose in hi

S principles, but he is coming right.
Boswell’s Life, i. 417.

* She Stoops to Conquer; or, the Mistakes of a Night; a
Comedy ; London, printed for F. Newbery, in St. Paul’s
Churchyard, 1773. Price 1s. 6d. (8vo.) When Goldsmith'sLIFE OF GOLDSMITH. Ixxxvil

thought and spoke unfavourably of it, and at length
reluctantly produced it in 1773. It found, how-
ever, a strenuous and steady supporter in John-
son. ‘The dialogue,” he said, “ was quick and
gay, and the incidents are so prepared as not to
seem improbable.” Some interesting accounts of
the opinions of its merits, and the efforts made for
its suecess among his friends, may be found in
“ Gumberland’s Memoirs ;”! a joke of Colman’s,
which ought only to have excited a laugh, dis-
solved the friendship of these irritable authors for
ever.2 The play was dedicated to Johnson, who

comedy of ‘ She Stoops to Conquer” was to be brought out on
the stage, on the 15th of March, in this year, he was at a loss
what name to give it, till the very last moment, and then,
in great haste, called it, “ She Stoops to Conquer, or the
Mistakes of a Night.” Sir Joshua, who disliked this name
for a play, offered a much better to him, saying, *‘ you ought
to call it the ‘ Belle’s Stratagem,’ and if you do not I will
damn it.” However, Goldsmith chose to name it himself,
as above; and Mrs. Cowley has since given that name to
one of her comedies.—WNorthcote’s Life of Reynolds.

1 Goldsmith, who had been wandering in St. James’s
Park the evening of the performance, was advised to come to
the theatre. At his arrival he was shocked by a hiss: run-
ing up to the manager he exclaimed, ‘‘ What’s that! what’s
that!” ‘‘Pshaw! Doctor,” replied Colman, in a sarcastic
tone, “ don’t be terrified at a squib, when we have been sit-
ting these two hours upon a barrel of gunpowder.” One of
the most ludicrous circumstances (says Dr. Anderson) this
comedy contains (that of the robbery) is borrowed from
“ Albumazar,” (1615. )

2 See Supplement to vol. xc. of the “‘Gentleman’s Magazine,”
p. 620—637, for the story of the “ Mistakes of a Night ;” see
also “Gentleman’s Magazine,” Feb. 1821, p. 324. In the
elder Colman’s Prologue to Miss Lee’s “‘ Chapter of Acci-
dents,” 1780.

Long has the passive stage, howe’er absurd,
Been ruled by names, and governed by a word.

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Ixxxvlli LIFE OF GOLDSMITH.

said of it, “ that he knew of no comedy for many
years that had so much exhilarated an audience,
that had answered so much the great end of
comedy, that of making an audience merry.”

DR. GOLDSMITH TO MR. GARRICK,

February 6, 1773.
DEAR SIR,

I ask many pardons for the trouble TI gave you
yesterday. Upon more mature deliberation, and
the advice of a sensible friend, I began to think
it indelicate in me to throw upon you the odium
of confirming Mr. Colman’s sentence. I therefore
request you will send my play! back by my ser-
vant ; for having been assured of having it acted
at the other house, though I confess yours in every
respect more to my wish, yet it would be folly in
me to forego an advantage which lies in my power
of appealing from Mr. Colman’s opinion to the judg-
ment of the town. I entreat, if not too late, you
will keep this affair secret for some time.2

I am, dear Sir, your very humble Servant,
OLIVER GoLDsMITH.

Some poor cant term, like magic spells can awe,
And bend our realms like a dramatic law.

When Fielding, Humour’s favourite child, appeared,
Low was the word—a word each author feared !

Till cheered at length by Pleasantry’s bright Tay,
Nature and Mirth resumed their legal sway,

And Goldsmith’s genius basked in open day.

' * She Stoops to Conquer.”
* This Play was acted in March 1773, during a court
mourning for the King of Sardinia. See an anecdote of Dr.

Johnson’s going to see it with Mr, Steevens, in coloured clothes,
Bosw. Johnson, v. p. 222LIFE OF GOLDSMITH. lxxxix

Some illiberal attacks on him in a publication
under the management of Evans the bookseller,
and supposed to have been from the pen of Ken-
rick, so excited the choler of the Poet, that in a
fit of irresistible indignation, he attempted to re-
venge himself by personally chastising his enemy.
But Goldsmith was no match for a strong athletic
Welshman, who returned the Poet’s blows with
interest, and then sent him bruised and battered
to his chambers in a coach. He was threatened
with a prosecution for the assault; and he pub-
lished an address to the public, which was written
in the style of Johnson, and the purpose of which
seems to be, that the correction of the abuses of
the press must be left to private feelings, and the

judgment of the injured. If this opinion were to.

be reduced to practice in our days, and the editors
of newspapers, gazettes, and magazines were to
receive their due rewards,

And, oh! they’d cry, what street, what lane but knows

Our purgings, pumpings, blanketings, and blows.

The address in question appeared in the “ Daily
Advertiser” of Wednesday, March 31, 1773.

TO THE PUBLIC.

Lxest it should be supposed that I have been
willing to correct in others an abuse of which
I have been guilty myself, I beg leave to declare
that in all my life I never wrote or dictated a
single paragraph, letter, or essay in a newspaper,
except a few Moral Essays, under the character
of a Chinese, about ten years ago, in the “ Ledger;”’
and a letter, to which I signed my name, in the

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XC LIFE OF GOLDSMITH.

“St. James’s Chronicle.” If the liberty of the
press, therefore, has been abused, I have had no
hand init. I have always considered the press
as the protector of our freedom—as a watchful
guardian capable of uniting the weak against the
encroachments of power. What concerns the public
most properly admits of a public discussion; but
of late the press has turned from defending public
interest, to making inroads upon private hfe:
from combating the strong, to overwhelming the
feeble. No condition is now too obscure for its
abuse, and the protector has become the tyrant of
the people. In this manner the freedom of the
press is beginning to sow the seeds of its own
dissolution. The great must oppose it from prin-
ciple, and the weak from. fear, till at last every
rank of mankind shall be found to give up its
benefits, content with security from insults.

How to put a stop to this heentiousness, by
which all are indiscriminately abused, and by
which vice consequently escapes in the general
censure, I am unable to tell. All I could wish 1s,
that as the law gives us no protection against the
injury, so it should give calumniators no shelter
after having provoked correction. The insults
which we receive before the public, by being more
open, are the more distressing. By treating them
with silent contempt we do not pay a sufficient
deference to the opinion of the world. By recur-
ring to legal redress, we too often expose the
weakness of the law, which only serves to increase
our mortification, by failing to relieve us. In
short, every man should singly consider himself asLIFE OF GOLDSMITH. xel

a guardian of the liberty of the press, and as far
as his influence can extend, should endeavour to
prevent its licentiousness becoming at last the
grave of its freedom.

OLIVER GoLDSMITH.

His successful comedy! brought him in about
£800, and he is supposed to have realized, this
year, from his productions qbout’ £1800; but a
fatal and recurring passion for the gaming table,
and the demands of some artful and needy authors
who surrounded him, so exhausted his means, that
he was soon involved in all the embarrassments of
debt.?

About this time our Poet, who was anxious to
mingle in the world of fashion, and who was not

' About this time, to oblige Mr. Quick, who had success~-
fully exerted his talents in the character of Tony Lumpkin,
Goldsmith reduced Sedley’s “Grumbler” to a farce; it was
performed for Quick’s benefit on the 8th May, but was never
printed. I am obliged for the perusal of it to the kindness
of Mr. J. P. Collier, whose learned and accurate “ History of
the English Stage” is a great accession to that branch of our
literature.

2 Purdon, Pilkington, and Hifferman, are mentioned by
name, and particularly some of his own countrymen. His
biographer, T. Evans, says, “‘ that Goldsmith was subject to
loud fits of passion, and that his servants have been known
upon these occasions purposely to throw themselves in his
way, that they might profit by it immediately after, for he
who had the good fortune to be reproved was certain of being
rewarded for it.” He had two or three poor authors always
as pensioners, besides several widows and poor housekeepers,
and when he had no money to give the latter he sent them
away with shirts, or old clothes, and sometimes with the
whole contents of his breakfast table, saying, “‘ Now let me
suppose I have eaten a heartier breakfast than usual, and
am nothing out of pocket.”aE

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XCli LIFE OF GOLDSMITH.

averse from those gaieties and amusements of life,
into which learned doctors usually refrain from
entering, dropped his title, and assumed the plain
name of Mr. Goldsmith. This step, however, was
not permitted. The world was not willing that
he should lose his degree, and though only a
bachelor in physic, he was called Doctor to the
day of his death.

In 1774, his “‘ History of the Earth and Ani-
mated Nature”? appeared, and closed his literary
labours. He received for it, and the recompense
certainly was not too great, £850. To speak of
it as a work which did honour to science, or which
extended the boundaries of knowledge, would be
absurd; yet it is the production of no common
mind. The descriptions and definitions are often
loose and inaccurate, and it becomes evident that
the work is a mere compilation from books. It
has therefore none of the freshness of personal
observation ; nothing which awakens the curiosity
and inspires the confidence of the reader, as in the
delightful pages of White, Montagu, or Rennie,
His obligations to Buffon are willingly acknow-
ledged ; but the work of that great naturalist was
then unfinished, and Goldsmith in many parts of
his History was forced to seek other guides. He
is also too fond of embellishing his narrative with
wild and marvellous narrations from the inaccurate
pages of the early travellers ;* he thought it neces-

" His elegant style in prose flowed from him with such
facility, that in whole quires of his Histories, Animated Na-

ture, &c. he had seldom occasion to correct, or alter a single
word.

* Such as the story of the dolphin caught in the Red Sea,LIFE OF GOLDSMITH. X¢lil

sary perhaps to break occasionally through the
dryness of detail, and allure his readers by the
variety of the entertainment. Still it is bare jus-
tice to observe, that the book is written with
labour and care, and based on the most authentic
authorities which the author could command. The
state of science was in his time comparatively
imperfect and undeveloped; and a work which
professed to be so comprehensive in its outline,
and so minute in its details, demanded all the
powers of a mind, which had been trained in the
school of science and philosophy. The never-
failing grace of Goldsmith’s style shines however
throughout, and the author, as if not insensible of
the shortcomings of his work, pleases and diverts
his readers, where he fails to instruct them, by
drawing with no sparing hand upon the stores of

and known by a mark to have been in the Mediterranean:
of horses that lived on oysters: of apes who watch the male
population out of the villages to work, in order to seize on
their undefended wives: of their keeping the females against
their wilés in the forests for the pleasure of their company,
and feeding them plentifully: of their regular oratorical de-
bates, conducted with more than the order of the British
senate: of monkeys, who when they feel a desire to eat a
crab, put their tails in the water, and the crab catching hold
of them is drawn out with a jerk; of their passing their
vacant hours in imposing on the gravity of cats: of the Boa
Constrictor seizing a buffalo, when at every twist the bones
of the buffalo are heard to crack, as loud as the report of a
cannon: the story from Gesner of two nightingales, who
were distinctly heard discoursing together of some village
scandal: the drunken host and his scolding wife: and of the
impending war between the emperor and the protestants. I
shall say nothing of his theories of breeding zebras for our
use as large as cart horses, or his hopes of seeing the next
generation mounted on ostriches; because more wonderful
things are daily coming to pass.XClV LIFE OF GOLDSMITH.

a poetical imagination. The style of the narrative,
though occasionally careless, is elegant and per-
spicuous, and the reflections are often just and
beautiful. More than once I have been reminded
of those fine moral contemplations, and calm dig-
nified thoughts, with which Pliny! closes his sci-
entific chapters, and ends his instructive com-
mentaries with a touching appeal to the language
of the heart. Goldsmith, it must be recollected,
brought no knowledge to his subject, but acquired

1 Goldsmith at one time intended to translate Pliny’s
Natural History, with notes and observations. Traces of his
study of the Roman naturalist may be found in his work.
See vol. i. p. 54; also a beautiful passage on birds, vol vi.
p. 144, and vol. v. p. 333, which I shall transcribe. ‘‘ The
music of every bird in captivity produces no very pleasing
sensations. It is but the mirth of a little animal insensible
of its unfortunate situation: it is the landscape, the grove,
the golden break of day, the contest upon the hawthorn, the
fluttering from branch to branch, the soaring in the air, and
the answering of its young, that give the bird’s song its true
relish. These united, improve each other, and raise the
mind to a state of the highest, yet most harmless exultation.
Nothing can in this situation of mind be more pleasing than
to see the lark warbling on the wing; raising its note as it
soars, until it seems lost in the immense heights above us;
the note continuing, the bird itself unseen; to see it then
descending with a swell, as it comes from the clouds, yet
sinking by degrees, as it approaches its nest; the spot where
all its affections are centred; the spot that has prompted all
this joy.” How fine the selection of images in this charming
passage, how exquisite the language! I shall now lay before
the reader a passage of a different kind. ‘‘ Every one knows
how sympathetic yawning is, and that for one person to
yawn, is sufficient to set all the rest of the company a yawn-
ing. A ridiculous instance of this was commonly practised
on the famous M’Laurin, one of the professors at Edinburgh.
He was very subject to have his jaw dislocated; so that
when he opened his mouth wider than ordinary, or when
he yawned, he could not shut it again. In the midst of hisLIFE OF GOLDSMITH. XCV

information as he wrote; and his History, super-
ficial and inaccurate as it sometimes is, bears no
weak testimony to the variety of his attainments,
the flexibility of his powers, and the quickness of
his discernment.

The last production which remains to notice,
is the poem of “ Retaliation ;” a full and interesting
account of the occasion which introduced it will be
found in “ Cumberland’s Memoirs ;” the characters
of Goldsmith’s friends are all drawn with wonder-
ful spirit, cleverness, and humour ; the portraits of
Burke and Garrick are pre-eminently fine.t_ Though
it was much admired when read at the club, the
prevailing sentiment was entirely hostile to its
publication, and it therefore remained in manu-
script till Goeldsmith’s death. He kept it (he
said) ‘“‘as a rod in pickle for any future occasion
which might occur.” Mrs. Piozzi says that the
character of Cumberland is ironically drawn, and
that the commendation consequently is not serious.”

To relieve himself, it is supposed, from his

harangues, therefore, if any of his pupils began to be tired
of his lecture, he had only to gape, or yawn, and the pro-
fessor instantly caught the sympathetic affection, so that
he thus continued to stand speechless, with his mouth wide
open, till his servant, from the next room, was called in to
set his jaw again.”

' Why is there no portrait of Johnson given in “ Retalia-
tion ?” was it affection or fear that withheld the Poet’s hand?

? For the following account of the origin of this poem, we
are indebted to Mr. P. Cunningham, who printed it for the
first time in his edition from the original MS. in the posses¢
sion of Mr. Daniel of Islington.

“ Ata meeting of a company of gentlemen, who were well
known to each other, diverting themselves, among many
other things, with the peculiar oddities of Dr. Goldsmith, whoa

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xevl LIFE OF GOLDSMITH.

great pecuniary difficulties, he now proposed to
publish “ A Universal Dictionary of Arts and
Sciences ;” for which, if he had met with encour-
agement, and been remunerated in the same pro-
portion as he was for his other works, he might have
expected to realize a considerable sum. He had
engaged all his literary friends, particularly Burke,
Johnson, and Reynolds, to assist him ; but the
booksellers received his proposals coldly, and he
with reluctance abandoned a favourite design.

He had for some time beea subject to stran-
gury ; the state of his affairs affected him much,
and produced an almost habitual despondency.}
In the spring of 1774, he was attacked by a ner-
vous fever; on Friday, the 25th March, finding
himself very ill, he sent for Mr. Hawes,* the apo-
would never allow a superior in any art, from writing poetry
down to dancing a hornpipe, the Doctor, with great eager-
ness, insisted upon trying his epigrammatie powers with Mr,
Garrick, and each of them was to write the other’s epitaph.
Mr. Garrick immediately said that his epitaph was finished,
and spoke the following distich extempore :—

* Here lies Nolly Goldsmith, for shortness called Noll,
Who wrote like an angel, but talked like poor poll.’
Goldsmith, upon the company’s laughing very heartily,
grew very thoughtful, and either would not or could not
write anything at that time: however, he went to work; and
some weeks after produced the poemcalled ‘ Retaliation,’ which
has been much admired, and gone through several editions.
The public in general have been much mistaken in imagining
that the poem was written in anger by the Doctor: it was
just the contrary; the whole was done on all sides with the

greatest good humour.”— Garrick MS.
" “His disappointments” (says Mr. Evans) “made him
peevish and sullen, and he has often left a party of convivial

friends, abruptly in the evening, in order to go home and
brood over his misfortunes.”

* For a detailed account of Goldsmith’s last illness, seeLIFE OF GOLDSMITH. xevil

thecary, who found him with pain in the head,
cold shivering, and other alarming symptoms of
fever. Goldsmith relied too much on his own
medical knowledge, or was absurdly obstinate in
his opinions; for he persisted in taking James’s
powders, contrary to all advice. As greater dan-
ger appeared, Dr. Fordyce, and afterwards Dr.
Porter, attended him, but their skill and anxiety
were vain, and he died on the 4th April, 1774, in
the forty-fifth year of his age.*

Of poor Goldsmith, said Johnson, there is little
to be told, more than the papers have made public.
He died of a fever, made, I am afraid, more
violent by uneasiness of mind. His debts began
to be heavy, and all his resources were exhausted.
Sir Joshua is of opinion that he owed no less than
£2000. “ Was ever poet so trusted before?” *

To this his biographer’s narrative adds that
these debts were chiefly to managers for comedies
which he promised, or to booksellers for works,
which he engaged to furnish, and that he meant

the “ Monthly Review,” 1774, vol. i. p. 404. There was a
pamphlet by Mr. Hawes published on the subject, from
which the accounts in the various memoirs are taken.

1 Goldsmith had begun another novel, of which he read
the first chapter to the Miss Hornecks a little before his
death.—Northcote’s Conversations with William Hazlitt, p.
916.

2 Sir Joshua was much affected by the death of Goldsmith,
to whom he had been a very sincere friend. He did not
touch the pencil for that day, a circumstance most extraor-
dinary for him, who passed no day without a line. He acted
as executor, and managed in the best manner the confused
state of the Doctor’s affairs.—Worthcote’s Life of Reynolds.
When Burke was told, he burst into tears.— Forster.

3 In the course of fourteen years it is calculated that the
produce of Goldsmith’s pen amounted to more than £8000.eas!

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X¢CV1i1 LIFE OF GOLDSMITH.

to have fulfilled his engagements with the strictest
honour. The disclosure of his embarrassed affairs,
and the amount of his debts, formed the reasons
which very properly deterred hig friends from
honouring his remains with a public funeral in
Westminster Abbey. He was, therefore, privately
buried in the Temple burying ground, on Saturday,
Jth April, a few friends attending the funeral.
The Literary Club subscribed for a monument, and
the chisel of Nollekens executed a cheap and simple
design.* It was erected in Westminster Abbey,
between the monument of Gay and that of the
Duke of Argyll. The Latin inscription of Dr.
Johnson is known to all, and admired for its clear

and masterly delineation of our poet’s literary
character.

OLIVERII GoLpsmiTH
Poetz, Physici, Historici,
qui nullum feré scribendi genus
non tetigit,
nullum quod tetigit non ornavit:
Sive risus essent movendi,
Sive lacryme,
affectuum potens, at lenis dominator ;
ingenio sublimis, vividus, versatilis ;
oratione grandis, nitidus, venustus:
hoc monumento memoriam coluit
Sodalium amor,
Amicorum fides,
Lectorum veneratio.
Natus in Hibernia Forneice Lonfordiensis
In loco cui nomen Pallas,

‘ Mr. Hugh Kelly, Messrs. John and Robert Day, Mr.
Palmer (nephew of Sir J. Reynolds), Mr. Etherington, and
Mr. Hawes, were the persons who paid the last mournful tri-
bute to his memory.

? A large medallion, exhibiting a good likeness of the
author, embellished with literary ornaments.

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2LIFE OF GOLDSMITH.

Nov. xxix. Mpccxxxi.!
Eblane literis institutus
Obiit Londini
Apr. iv. MDCCLXXIV.

In a letter® to Bennet Langton he also testified
his affection for his deceased friend, in some Greek
verses, which do honour to his scholarship as well
as his feelings; these I shall transcribe with
pleasure, though perhaps the language may not be
altogether free from objection. Johnson was a
good judge of style in the ancient languages, and
an excellent scholar, as one not professing to be
what is called critical; but he did not always com-
pose with the accuracy which might be desired.
The latinity of his inscription has been objected

1 This was a mistake, discovered after the monument was
erected. Goldsmith was born in 1728. Johnson wrote, it
appears, another epitaph on Goldsmith, in which the words
“ Rerum Civilium, sive Naturalium,” were inserted. See hes
Letter to Sir J. Reynolds in Bosw. Johnson, ili. p. 447.

2 In Dr. Aikin’s “Life of Goldsmith,” p. xliv, a sketch of
the poet by way of epitaph is given, written by a friend as
soon as he heard of his death: beginning

‘“‘ Here rests from the cares of the world and his pen,
A poet, whose like we shall scarce meet again,” &c.

Had Goldsmith outlived Johnson, he probably would have
written his life. He once asked Mrs. Piozzi, ‘‘Who will be
my biographer do youthink?” “Goldsmith, no doubt,” she
replied, “and he will do it best among us.” “The dog
would write it best to be sure,” replied he, “but his par-
ticular malice towards me, and general disregard of truth,
would make the book useless to all, and injurious to my
character.’ —Piozzi’s Anecdotes, p. 24.—I find the ladies are
rather bitter against poor Goldsmith in their “ Recollections.”
These words of Johnson are very strong, and I trust not cor-
rectly repeated; besides, it must be considered, that they
were thrown off in the heat and hurry of conversation, and
might be contrasted with some declarations of a ditferent
nature.Aen nan itp

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c LIFE OF GOLDSMITH.

to,’ though I consider without sufficient reason,
The Literary Club was not satisfied, and expostu-
lated with him about it; and Burke, while he
acknowledged its merits, disapproved the language
in which it was written, and considered the charac-
ter of the poet as not delineated with sufficient
fulness or accuracy. Custom, however, has ap-
proved the propriety and convenience, I may add
also the dignity of a language used as the common
medium of communication among the learned,
for monuments erected to the memory of men
remarkable for their genius, or their situation ;
and perhaps the just limits to which a monu-
mental inscription is confined, precludes the power
of doing more than touching on the few promi-
nent features of a character. Certain it is that
the sepulchral inscriptions of the ancients were
always brief.
Tor r&goy eioopdac roy ’OuBaporo* Koviny
"Agpoor pur) osuviy Beive, rédecor dre.
Oior pépnre dvore, Hétpwy xapue, toya TANALOY,
KnXaiere roiunriy, ioropucdy, pvotkdy.?

It now only remains to say a few words on

' See “Classical Journal,” No. xxvi. p. 351; the article is
signed Z, and is disgracefully flippant, pert, and irreverent:

‘—on the “Round Robin,” sent by the Club, see Boswell’s

Johnson, ed. Croker, vol. iii. p. 448.

* “Goldsmith died in the prime of his age and powers,
because his strength had been overtasked and his mind was
ill at ease; but, by this, the world’s enjoyment of what he
left has been in no respect weakened or impaired. Nor was
his lot, upon the whole, an unhappy one, for him or for us.
Nature is vindicated in the sorrows of her favourite children ;
for a thousand enduring and elevating pleasures survive, to
relieve their temporary sufferings. Goldsmith worthily did
the work that was in him to do; proved himself in his garretLIFE OF GOLDSMITH. Cl

those more remarkable features that distinguished
the person and character of this ingenious writer ;
and for these in some parts, even to the language,
I am indebted to his biographers.

The general cast of his figure and physiognomy
bore no resemblance to the well known qualities
of his mind. Nothing could be more amiable
than the latter; the former was not so engaging ;
and the impression made by his writings on the
mind of a stranger was not confirmed by the ex-
ternal graces, either of the person, or manner of
their author. In stature he was under the middle
size: his body was strongly built, and his limbs
were not cast in the most delicate of nature's
moulds; they were more sturdy than elegant:’

a gentleman of nature, left the world no ungenerous bequest,
and went his unknown way. Nor have posterity been back-
ward to acknowledge the debt which his contemporaries left
them to discharge; and it is with calm, unruffled, joyful
aspect, on the one hand, and with grateful, loving, eager
admiration, on the other, that the creditor and his debtors at
length stand face to face. All this is to the world’s honour
as well as gain; which has yet to consider, notwithstanding,
with a view to its own larger profit in both, if its debt to the
man of genius might not earlier be discharged, and if the
thorns, that only become invisible beneath the laurel that
overgrows his grave, should not rather, while he lives, be
plucked away.”— Forster.

1 The etching by Bunbury is supposed to be verylike. I
had always been used to consider the portrait of Goldsmith
in the dining room at Knowle, by Sir J. Reynolds, as the
only original one known; but Mr. Newell says Oliver Gold-
smith Hodson, Esq. of St. John’s, Roscommon, the great
nephew of the Poet, has in his possession the original por-
trait by Sir Joshua. ‘How rarely,” says Mr. D’Israeli,
“are portraits to be depended upon; Goldsmith was a short
thick man with wan features and a vulgar appearance.”—
Cur. of Literature, i. p- 46.a eae aes

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his forehead was low and more than usually
prominent, his complexion pallid, his face almost
round, and marked with the small-pox. His first
appearance therefore was not captivating, yet the
lineaments of his countenance bore the stamp of
intellect and thought, and when he grew easy and
cheerful in company, he relaxed into a playful good
humour, which soon removed every unfavourable
Impression. His pleasantry in company, however,
is said often to have degenerated into buftoonery ;
and this circumstance, united to the inelegance of
his person, and the awkwardness of his deport-
ment, prevented his appearing to so much advan-
tage as might have been expected from his talents
and genius.

His aptitude to blunder, and the deficiency in his
reasoning talent, have often formed the subject of
discussion, and have excited much surprise, when
contrasted with his great and general powers as a
writer. Sir J. Reynolds, who knew him long and
intimately, considered that he wished to disperse
that awe which is supposed to surround the cha-
racters of authors, and forbid the familiarity of
approach, Mr. Boswell attributed it to his vanity
and desire to shine. Others have thought, and
not without reason, that having constantly before
him the example of extraordinary conversational
abilities in Johnson, from an ambition to excel in
such a fascinating talent, he was tempted into too
frequent a display of his own inferior powers,

“Of all solemn coxcombs,” says Dr. J oseph
Warton, “ Goldsmith is the first, yet sensible
but affects te «se Johnson’s hard words in con-LIFE OF GOLDSMITH. eli

versation.”1 | Perhaps the chief fault of Gold-
smith was in his being always over hurried: * he
was too apt to speak without reflection, or a suf-
ficient knowledge of his subject. He touched
humorously on his own weakness when he said,
“That he always argued best when alone.” Wal-
pole, too severely, called him ‘an inspired idiot: ”
and Dr. Johnson observed, ‘‘ That no man was
more foolish when he had not a pen in his hand,
nor more wise when he had.”

The strong features of benevolence and huma-
nity > which distinguished the Poet’s disposition,
were unhappily contaminated by an envious and
captious jealousy of the attainments of others, and
the distinction attending them.* ‘ Every one,”

1 See Wooll’s “‘ Life of Warton,” p. 312.

2 Mrs. Piozzi has favoured us with one specimen of Gold-
smith’s table talk. Poor Dr. Goldsmith said once, “I would
advise every young fellow setting out in life to love gravy ;”
and added, ‘‘ he had formerly seen a glutton’s eldest nephew
disinherited, because his uncle never could persuade him to
say he liked gravy.” —Piozzi’s Travels, vol. ii. p. 315. Bos-
well says that Goldsmith was often fortunate, even when he
entered the lists with Johnson himself: see an instance given
on the subject of writing fables in character, when he tells
Johnson, ‘‘ If you were to make little fishes talk, they would
talk like whales.”—vol. li. p. 220.

3 It is amazing to think how small an amount of mere in-
sensibility would have exalted Doctor Goldsmith’s position
in the literary circles of his day. He lost caste because he
could not acquire it, and could as little assume the habit
of indifference. as trade upon the gravity of the repute he
had won.— Forster.

4», “Mrs. Piozzi’s Letters,” i. p. 186. This is unfortunately
corroborated by one of Beattie’s Letters, 1788. “ What Mrs.
Piozzi says of Goldsmith is perfectly true. He was a poor
fretful creature, eaten up with affectation and envy. He
was the only person I ever knew who acknowledged himselfa een ee
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Clv LIFE OF GOLDSMITH.

says Mrs. Piozzi, “loves Dr. Beattie but Gold-
smith, who says he cannot bear the sight of so
much applause as they all bestow upon him. Did
he not tell us so himself, who could believe he
was so exceedingly ill-natured.” Of this failing
he was himself conscious, and used to complain of
the uneasiness it gave him.

Vanity was another of his weaknesses, and it
was remarked of him, “that he referred every-
thing to that passion, that his virtues and his
vices too were from that motive.” He was vain of
his literary consequence.!' In the simplicity of

to be envious. In Johnson’s presence he was quiet enough,
but in his absence expressed great uneasiness in hearing him
praised. He envied even the dead: he could not bear that
Shakespeare should be so much admired as he is; but surely
he had no occasion to envy me, which, however, he certainly
did, for he owned it, though when we met he was always
very civil; and I received undoubted information that he
seldom missed an opportunity of speaking ill of me behind
my back. His common conversation exhibited a strange
mixture of absurdity and silliness; of silliness so great as
to make me think sometimes he affected it; yet he was a
great genius of no mean rank,” &c.—v. Forbes’s Beattie,
vol. iii. p. 130, and Worthcote’s Life of Reynolds, p. 188,
where Goldsmith is said to have blamed Sir Joshua for flat-
tering Beattie in his allegorical picture, at the expense of
Voltaire. ‘ Dr. B. and his book will not be heard of in ten
years to come, while your picture and the fame of Voltaire
will live for ever.”

‘ Human nature is always the same. It was so with
Johnson and Goldsmith. They would allow no one to have
any merit but themselves. The very attempt was a piece
of presumption, and a trespass on their privileged rights. I
remember a poem that came out, and that was sent to Sir
Joshua: his servant, Ralph, had instructions to bring it in
just after dinner. Goldsmith presently got hold of it; and
seemed thrown into a rage before he had read a line of it.
He then said, “‘ What wretched stuff is here! what c——edLIFE OF GOLDSMITH. CV

his heart, he complained of Lord Camden, “ I met
him,” he said, “at Lord Clare’s house, in the coun-
try, and he took no more notice of me than if I
had been an ordinary man.”! In reciting verses
he was very vain of his harmonious voice and
correct judgment. I was (says Mr. Malone)?
in company with him and Dr. Johnson, and after
dinner, the conversation happening to turn on
that subject, Goldsmith maintained that a poet
was more likely to pronounce verse with accuracy
and spirit than other men. He was called upon
to support his argument by an example, a request
with which he readily complied, and he repeated
the first stanza of the ballad beginning with the
words “At Upton on the hill,” with such false
emphasis, by marking the word “on” very strongly,
that all the company agreed he had by no means
established his position.

I shall close this account of poor Goldsmith’s
weaknesses, “ the follies of the wise,” by a highly
entertaining anecdote, for which I am obliged to
the last and improved edition of Boswell’s John-
son. One day as Colonel O’Moore and Mr.
Burke were going to dine with Sir Joshua Rey-
nolds, they observed Goldsmith, also on his way to
Sir Joshua’s, standing near a crowd of people,
nonsense that is!” and kept all the while marking the pas-
sages with his thumb-nail, as if he would cut them in pieces.
At last, Sir Joshua, who was provoked, interfered, and said,
“ Nay don’t spoil my book, however! ”—Worthcote’s Conver-
sations with Hazlitt, p. 274-5.

1 See a humorous instance of his jealousy when in com-
pany with Graham (who wrote the Masque of “ Telemachus)”

and Dr. Johnson, in * Boswell,” ii. p. 330.
2 See Malone’s “* Life of Dryden,” p. 518.
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cyl LIFE OF GOLDSMITH.

who were staring and shouting at some foreign
women in the windows of some of the houses in
Leicester Square. ‘* Observe Goldsmith,” said Mr.
Burke, “and mark what passes between him and
me by and by at Sir Joshua’s.” They passed on,
and arrived before Goldsmith, who came goon
after, and Mr. Burke affected to receive him very
coolly. This seemed to vex poor Goldsmith, who
begged Mr. Burke to tell him how he had the
misfortune to offend him. Burke appeared very
reluctant to speak, but after a good deal of press-
ing, said, “That he was really ashamed to keep
up an intimacy with one who could be guilty of
such monstrous indiscretions as Goldsmith had
just exhibited in the square.” Goldsmith, with
great earnestness, pretended he was quite uncon-
scious of what was meant. “ Why,” said Burke,
“did you not exclaim, as you were looking up at
those women, what stupid beasts the crowd must
be for staring with such admiration at these
painted jezebels, while a man of your talents
passed unnoticed ?” Goldsmith was horror-struck,
and said, “Surely, surely, my dear friend, I did
not say so.” “ Nay,” replied Burke, “if you had
not said so, how should I have known it?” “That’s
true,” answered Goldsmith, with great humility,
“‘T am very sorry, it was very foolish; I do recol-
lect that something of the kind passed through
my mind, but I did not think I had uttered it.’’1
There is something in this anecdote, as the editor
observes, that looks a little too highly coloured,

 Croker’s Edition of “Boswell’s Johnson,” vol. i. p.
423.LIFE OF GOLDSMITH. evil

but in the main, it ig no doubt true. The cata-
logue of our poor Poet’s frailties and weaknesses
is now sufficiently complete; let us turn from
them, and close our Memoir.

1 The anecdote is more creditable to Goldsmith than to
Burke, to whose disadvantage it was probably afterwards
remembered. It should be added that Burke had a turn for
ridicule of this kind; and got up a more good-humoured
trick against Goldsmith at his own house, not long after
this, in which a lively kinswoman was played off as a raw
Irish authoress, arrived expressly to see “the great Gold-
smith,”? and got his subscription to her poems, which, with
liberal return of praise (for she had read several out aloud),
the simple poet gave, abusing them heartily the instant she
was gone. Garrick founded a farce upon the incident which,
with the title of the “ Irish Widow,” was played in 1772.—
Forster.

aR RE a aE! acetal

iTHE TRAVELLER;
OR,

A PROSPECT OF SOCIETY.

A POEM.

Lonpon:
PRINTED FoR J[oHN| NEWBERY, IN
Sr. Paur’s CHURCHYARD.

MDCCLXY,

4to,TO THE REV. HENRY GOLDSMITH.

DEAR Sir,

AM sensible that the friendship be-
tween us Gan acquire no new force
from the ceremonies of a dedication :
and perhaps it demands an excuse
thus to prefix your name to my
attempts, which you decline giving with your
own. But as a part of this poem was formerly
written to you from Switzerland, the whole can
now, with propriety, be only inscribed to you.
It will also throw a light upon many parts of it,
when the reader understands that it is addressed
to a man, who, despising fame and fortune, has
retired early to happiness and obscurity, with an
income of forty pounds a. year.

I now perceive, my dear brother, the wisdom of
your humble choice. You have entered upon a
sacred office, where the harvest is great, and the
labourers are but few; while you have left the
field of ambition, where the labourers are many,
and the harvest not worth earrying away. But

 

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of all kinds of ambition, what from the refinement
of the times, from different systems of criticism,
and from the divisions of party, that which pur-
sues poetical fame is the wildest.

Poetry makes a principal amusement among un-
polished nations; but in a country verging to the
extremes of refinement, painting and music come
in fora share. As these offer the feeble mind a
less laborious entertainment, they at first rival
poetry, and at length supplant her: they engross
all that favour once shown to her, and, though
but younger sisters, seize upon the elder’s birth-
right.

Yet, however this art may be neglected by the
powerful, it is still in greater danger from the
mistaken efforts of the learned to improve it.
What criticisms have we not heard of late in favour
of blank verse, and Pindaric odes, choruses, ana-
pests. and iambies, alliterative care and happy
negligence! Hvery absurdity has now a champion
to defend it; and as he is generally much in the
wrong, so he has always much to say; for error is
ever talkative.

But there is an enemy to this art still more
dangerous, I mean party. Party entirely distorts
the judgment, and destroys the taste. When the
mind is once infected with this disease, it can
only find pleasure in what contributes to increase
the distemper. Like the tiger, that seldom desists
from pursuing man, after having once preyed upon
human flesh, the reader, who has once gratified his
appetite with calumny, makes, ever after, the most
agreeable feast upon murdered reputation. Such~

DEDICATION. oD

readers generally admire some half-witted thing,
who wants to be thought a bold man, having
lost the character of a wise one. Him they dig-
nify with the name of poet: his tawdry lampoons
are called satires; his turbulence is said to be
force, and his phrenzy fire.

What reception a poem may find, which has
neither abuse, party, nor blank verse to support it,
I cannot tell, nor am I solicitous to know. My
alms are right. Without espousing the cause of
any party, I have attempted to moderate the rage
of all. I have endeavoured to show, that there
may be equal happiness in states that are differ-
ently governed from our own; that each state has
a particular principle of happiness, and that this
principle in each may be carried to a mischievous
excess. There are few can judge better than
yourself, how far these positions are illustrated in
this poem. Iam,

Dear Sir,

Your most affectionate Brother,

OxiveR GoLDSMITH.

! I suppose this paragraph to be directed against Paul
Whitehead, or Churchill. (Mitford).[The Lraveller was first published in December, 1764,

though it has 1765 on ‘ha title page, and became very

popular. Goldsmith received for it twenty guineas; it wag
the first work to which he prefixed his name ].

=h > ))THE TRAVELLER;'
OR,

A PROSPECT OF SOCIETY.

>) EMOTE, unfriended, melancholy, slow,
Or by the lazy Scheld,or wandering Po;
=\_ Or onward, where the rude Carin-
g SINS thian boor

Against the houseless stranger shuts the door ;
Or where Campania’s plain forsaken hes,

A weary waste expanding to the skies ;

Where’er I roam, whatever realms to see,

My heart untravelled fondly turns to thee :

Still to my Brother turns, with ceaseless pain,
And drags at each remove a lengthening chain.” 10

Eternal blessings crown my earliest friend,
And round his dwelling guardian saints attend ;

1 In this poem several alterations were made, and some
new verses added, as it passed through different editions.—
We have printed from the ninth, which was the last edition
published in the lifetime of the author.

2 «The farther 1 travel, I feel the pain of separation with
stronger force. Those ties that bind me to my native country
and you, are still unbroken ; by every remove I only drag a
greater length of chain.” — Citizen of the World, vol. i. lett. 3.ad

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THE POEMS

Blest be that spot, where cheerful guests retire
To pause from toil, and trim their evening fire:
Blest that abode, where want and pain repair,
And every stranger finds a ready chair:

Blest be those feasts with simple plenty crowned,
Where all the ruddy family around

Laugh at the jests or pranks that never fail,

Or sigh with pity at some mournful tale : 20
Or press the bashful stranger to his food,

And learn the luxury of doing good.

But me, not destined such delights to share,
My prime of life in wandering spent and care:
Impelled, with steps unceasing, to pursue
Some fleeting good, that mocks me with the view ;
That, like the cirele bounding earth and skies,
Allures from far, yet, as I follow, flies ;

My fortune leads to traverse realms alone,
And find no spot of all the world my own. 80

K’en now, where Alpine solitudes ascend,
I sit me down a pensive hour to spend ;
And, placed on high above the storm’s career,
Look downward where a hundred realms appear ;
Lakes, forests, cities, plains, extending wide,
The pomp of kings, the shepherd’s humbler pride.

When thus Creation’s charms around combine,
Amidst the store, should thankless pride repine ?
Say, should the philosophic mind disdain
That good which makes each humbler bosom vain ?
Let school-taught pride dissemble all it can,  4l
These little things are great to little man ;OF GOLDSMITH.

And wiser he, whose sympathetic mind

Exults in all the good of all mankind.

Ye glittering towns, with wealth and splendour
crowned ;

Ye fields, where summer spreads profusion round ;

Ye lakes, whose vessels catch the busy gale ;

Ye bending swains, that dress the flowery vale ;

For me your tributary stores combine:

Creation’s heir, the world, the world is mine! 50

As some lone miser, visiting his store,
Bends at his treasure, counts, recounts it o’er ;
Hoards after hoards his rising raptures fill,
Yet'still he sighs, for hoards are wanting still:
Thus to my breast alternate passions rise,
Pleased with each good that Heaven to man supplies:
Yet oft a sigh prevails, and sorrows fall,
To see the hoard of human bliss so small ;
And oft I wish, amidst the scene, to find
Some spot to real happiness consigned, 60
Where my worn soul, each wandering hope at rest,
May gather bliss to see my fellows blest.

But, where to find that happiest spot below,
Who can direct, when all pretend to know ?
The shuddering tenant of the frigid zone
Boldly proclaims that happiest spot his own ;
Extols the treasures of his stormy seas,

And his long nights of revelry and ease ;

The naked negro, panting at the line,

Boasts of his golden sands and palmy wine, 70
Basks in the glare, or stems the tepid wave,
And thanks his gods for all the good they gave.10 THE POEMS

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

And yet, perhaps, if countries we compare,

And estimate the blessings which they share,
Though patriot’s flatter, still shall wisdom find
An equal portion dealt to all mankind :

As different good, by art or nature given,

To different nations makes their blessings even. so

Nature, a mother kind alike to all,
Still grants her bliss at labour’s earnest call ;
With food as well the peasant ig supplied
On Idra’s cliffs as Arno’s shelvy side ;
And though the rocky crested summits frown,
These rocks, by custom, turn to beds of down.
From art more various are the blessings sent ;
Wealth, commerce, honour, liberty, content.
Yet tnese each other’s power so stroug contest,
That either seems destructive of the rest, 90
Where wealth and freedom reign, contentment

fails,

And honour sinks where commerce long prevails,
Hence every state to one loved blessing prone,
Conforms and models life to that alone.
Kach to the favourite happiness attends,
And spurns the plan that aims at other ends ;
Till carried to excess in each domain,
This favourite good begets peculiar pain.

But let us try these truths with closer eyes,
And trace them through the prospect as it lies:
Here for a while my proper cares resigned, 101
Here let me sit in sorrow for mankind ;OF GOLDSMITH. EH

Like yon neglected shrub at random east,
That shades the steep, and sighs at every blast.

Far to the right where Apennine ascends,
Bright as the summer, Italy extends ;
Its uplands sloping deck the mountain’s side,
Woods over woods in gay theatric pride ;
While oft some temple’s mouldering tops between
With venerable grandeur mark the scene. 110

Could nature’s bounty satisfy the breast,
The sons of Italy were surely blest.
Whatever fruits in different climes were found,
That proudly rise, or humbly court the ground ;
Whatever blooms in torrid tracts appear,
Whose bright succession decks the varied year ;
Whatever sweets salute the northern sky
With vernal lives, that blossom but to die ;
These here disporting own the kindred soil,
Nor ask luxuriance from the planter’s toil ; 120
While sea-born gales their gelid wings expand
To winnow fragrance round the smiling land.

But small the bliss that sense alone bestows,
And sensual bliss is all the nation knows.
In florid beauty groves and fields appear,
Man seems the only growth that dwindles here.
Contrasted faults through all his manners reign :
Though poor, luxurious; though submissive, vain ;
Though grave, yet trifling; zealous, yet untrue ;
And even in penance planning sins anew. 130
All evils here contaminate the mind,
That opulence departed leaves behind ;ae

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2 THE POEMS

For wealth was theirs, not far removed the date,

When commerce proudly flourished through the
state ;

At her command the palace learnt to rise,

Again the long-fallen column sought the skies ;

The canvas glowed beyond e’en nature warm,

The pregnant quarry teemed with human form:

Till, more unsteady than the southern gale,

Commerce on other shores displayed her sail 5 140

While nought remained of all that riches gave,

But towns unmanned, and lords without a slave:

And late the nation found with fruitless skill

Its former strength was but plethoric ill.

Yet still the loss of wealth is here supplied
By arts, the splendid wrecks of former pride ;
From these the feeble heart and long-fallen mind
An easy compensation seem to find,
Here may be seen, in bloodless pomp arrayed,
The pasteboard triumph and the cavalcade ; 150
Processions formed for piety and love,
A mistress or a saint in every grove.
By sports like these are all their cares beguiled,
The sports of children satisfy the child;
Kach nobler aim, represt by long control,
Now sinks at last, or feebly mans the soul ;
While low delights, succeeding fast behind,
In happier meanness occupy the mind:
As in those domes, where Cxsars once bore

sway,

Defaced by time and tottering in decay, 160
There in the ruin, heedlegs of the dead,
The shelter-seeking peasant builds his shed :OF GOLDSMITH. is

And, wondering man could want the larger pile,
Exults, and owns his cottage with a smile.

My soul, turn from them, turn we to survey
Where rougher climes a nobler race display,
Where the bleak Swiss their stormy mansion tread,
And force a churlish soil for scanty bread ;

No product here the barren hills afford,

But man and steel, the soldier and his sword. 170
No vernal blooms their torpid rocks array,

But winter lingering chills the lap of May ;

No zephyr fondly sues the mountain’s breast,

But meteors glare, and stormy glooms invest.

Yet still, even here, content can spread a charm,
Redress the clime, and all its rage disarm.
Though poor the peasant’s hut, his feast thoughsmall,
He sees his little lot the lot of all;

Sees no contiguous palace rear its head

To shame the meanness of his humble shed; _180

No costly lord the sumptuous banquet deal,

To make him loathe his vegetable meal,

But calm, and bred in ignorance and toil,

Each wish contracting, fits him to the soil.

Cheerful at morn, he wakes from short repose,

Breasts the keen air, and carols as he goes;

With patient angle trolls the finny deep,

Or drives his venturous ploughshare to the steep ;

Or seeks the den where snow-tracks mark the
way,

And drags the struggling savage into day. 190

At night returning, every labour sped,

He sits him down the monarch of a shed;—

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44 THE POEMS

Smiles by his cheerful fire, and round surveys
His children’s looks, that brighten at the blaze ;
While his loved partner, boastful of her hoard,
Displays her cleanly platter on the board:

And haply too some pilgrim, thither led,

With many a tale repays the nightly bed.

Thus every good his native wilds impart,
Imprints the patriot passion on his heart ; 200
And e’en those ills, that round his mansion rise,
Enhance the bliss his scanty fund supplies.

Dear is that shed to which his soul conforms,
And dear that hill which lifts him to the storms F
And as a child, when scaring sounds molest,
Clings close and closer to the mother’s breast,

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

Such are the charms to barren states assigned ;
Their wants but few, their wishes all confined. 210
Yet let them only share the praises due,

If few their wants, their pleasures are but few ;
For every want that stimulates the breast
Becomes a source of pleasure when redrest.
Whence from such lands each pleasing science
flies,
That first excites desire, and then supplies ;
Unknown to them, when sensual pleasures cloy,
To fill the languid pause with finer joy;
Unknown those powers that raise the soul to flame.
Catch every nerve, and vibrate through the frame.
Their level life is but as mouldering fire, 221
Unqnenched by want, unfanned by strong desire ;OF GOLDSMITH.

Unfit for raptures, or, if raptures cheer

On some high festival of once a year,

In wild excess the vulgar breast takes fire,
Till, buried in debauch, the bliss expire.

But not their joys alone thus coarsely flow:
Their morals, like their pleasures, are but low;
For, as refinement stops, from sire to son,
Unaltered, unimproved, the manners run ; 230
And love’s and friendship’s finely-pointed dart
Fall blunted from each indurated heart.

Some sterner virtues o’er the mountain’s breast

May sit, like falcons cowering on the nest ;

But all the gentler morals, such as play

Through life’s more cultured walks, and charm the
way,

These, far dispersed, on timorous pinions fly,

To sport and flutter in a kinder sky.

To kinder skies, where gentler manners reign,

I turn; and France displays her bright domain. 240

Gay sprightly land of mirth and social ease,

Pleased with thyself, whom all the world can
please,

How often have I led thy sportive choir,

With tuneless pipe, beside the murmuring Loire ?

Where shading elms along the margin grew,

And, freshened from the wave, the zephyr flew ;

And haply, though my harsh touch faltering still,

But mocked all tune, and marred the dancer’s
skill ;

Yet would the village praise my wondrous power,

And dance, forgetful of the noontide hour. 250

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16 THE POEMS

Alike all ages. Dames of ancient days

Have led their children through the mirthful
maze,

And the gay grandsire, skilled in gestic lore,

Has frisked beneath the burthen of threescore.

So blest a life these thoughtless realms display,
Thus idly busy rolls their world away :
Theirs are those arts that mind to mind endear,
For honour forms the social temper here:
Honour, that praise which real merit gains,
Or even imaginary worth obtains, 260
Here passes current; paid from hand to hand,
It shifts in splendid traffic round the land:
From courts to camps, to cottages it strays,
And all are taught an avarice of praise ;
They please, are pleased, they give to get esteem,
Till, seeming blest, they grow to what they seem.:

But while this softer art their bliss supplies,
It gives their follies also room to rise ;
For praise too dearly loved, or warmly sought,
Enfeebles all internal strength of thought : 270
And the weak soul, within itself unblest,
Leans for all pleasure on another’s breast.
Hence ostentation here, with tawdry art,
Pants for the vulgar praise which fools impart ;

‘ “There is perhaps no couplet in English rhyme more
perspicuously condensed than those two lines of The Tra-
veller in which the author describes the at once flattering,

vain, and happy character of the French.”—Campbell’s Bri-
tish Poets.OF GOLDSMITH. LZ

Here vanity assumes her pert grimace,

And trims her robes of frieze with copper lace ;
Here beggar pride defrauds her daily cheer,

To boast one splendid banquet once a year ;

The mind still turns where shifting fashion draws,
Nor weighs the solid worth of self-applause. 280

To men of other minds my fancy flies,
Embosomed in the deep where Holland les.
Methinks her patient sons before me stand,
Where the broad ocean leans against the land,
And, sedulous to stop the coming tide,

Lift the tall rampire’s artificial pride.
Onward, methinks, and diligentty slow,

The firm connected bulwark seems to grow ;
Spreads its long arms amidst the watery roar,
Scoops out an empire, and usurps the shore. 290
While the pent ocean, rising o’er the pile,
Sees an amphibious world beneath him smile ;
The slow canal, the yellow-blossomed vale,
The willow-tufted bank, the gliding sail,

The crowded mart, the cultivated plain,

A new creation rescued from his reign.*

Thus, while around the wave-subjected soil
Impels the native to repeated toil,
Industrious habits in each bosom reign,
And industry begets a love of gain. 300
Hence all the good from opulence that springs,
With all those ills superfluous treasure brings,

1 A new] ‘‘ Holland seems to be a conquest upon the sea
and in a manner rescued from its bosom.”
Goldsmith’s Animated Nature, i. p. 27%

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~18 THE POEMS

Are here displayed. Their much loved wealth
imparts

Convenience, plenty, elegance, and arts ;

But view them closer, craft and fraud appear,

Even liberty itself is bartered here.

At gold’s superior charms all freedom flies,

The needy sell it, and the rich man buys ;

A land of tyrants, and a den of slaves,}

Here wretches seek dishonourable graves, 310

And calmly bent, to servitude conform,

Dull as their lakes that slumber in the storm.

Heavens! how unlike their Belgic sires of old!
Rough, poor, content, ungovernably bold ;
War in each breast, and freedom on each brow ;
How much unlike the sons of Britain now!

Fired at the sound, my genius spreads her wing,
And flies where Britain courts the western spring ;
Where lawns extend that scorn Arcadian pride, 319
And brighter streams than famed Hydaspes glide,
There all around the gentlest breezes stray,
There gentle music melts on every spray ;
Creation’s mildest charms are there combined,
Extremes are only in the master’s mind !

Stern o’er each bosom reason holds her state
With daring aims irregularly great ;

Pride in their port, defiance in their eye,

I see the lords of human kind pass by ;

Intent on high designs, a thoughtful band, 329

* “ A nation once famous for setting the world an example
of freedom is now become a land of tyrants, and a den of
slaves.” —Cit. of the World, i. p. 147.OF GOLDSMITH. 19

By forms unfashioned, fresh from nature’s hand,
Fierce in their native hardiness of soul,

True to imagined right, above control,

While even the peasant boasts these rights to scan,
And learns to‘venerate himself as man.

Thine, freedom, thine the blessings pictured here,
Thine are those charms that dazzle and endear ;
Too blest, indeed, were such without alloy,

But fostered even by freedom, ills annoy ;

That independence Britons prize too high, 339
Keeps man from man, and breaks the social tie ;
The self-dependent lordlings stand alone,

All claims that bind and sweeten life unknown :
Here by the bonds of nature feebly held,

Minds combat minds, repelling and repelled.
Ferments arise, imprisoned factions roar,
Represt ambition struggles round her shore,
Till overwrought, the general system feels

Its motions stop, or frenzy fire the wheels.

Nor this the worst. As nature’s ties decay,
As duty, love, and honour fail to sway, 350
Fictitious bonds, the bonds of wealth and law,
Still gather strength, and force unwilling awe.
Hence all obedience bows to these alone,
And talent sinks, and merit weeps unknown ;
Till time may come, when, stript of all her charms,
The land of scholars, and the nurse of arms,
Where noble stems transmit the patriot flame,
Where kings have toiled, and poets wrote for fame,
One sink of level avarice shall lie,
And scholars, soldiers, kings, unhonoured die. 360a . “

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20) THE POEMS

Yet think not, thus when freedom’s ills I state,
I mean to flatter kings, or court the great ;
Ye powers of truth, that bid my soul aspire,
Far from my bosom drive the low desire ;
And thou, fair freedom, taught alike to feel
The rabble’s rage, and tyrant’s angry steel ;
Thou transitory flower, alike undone
By proud contempt, or favour’s fostering sun,
Still may thy blooms the changeful clime endure,
I only would repress them to secure; 370
For just experience tells, in every soil,
That those who think must govern those that toil ;
And all that freedom’s highest aims can reach,
Is but to lay proportioned loads on each.
Hence, should one order disproportioned grow,
Its double weight must ruin all below.

O then how blind to all that truth requires,
Who think it freedom when a part aspires !
Calm is my soul, nor apt to rise in arms,
Except when fast-approaching danger warms: 380
But when contending chiefs blockade the throne,
Contracting regal power to stretch their own,
When I behold a factious band agree
To call it freedom when themselves are free ;
Kach wanton judge new penal statutes draw,
Laws grind the poor, and rich men rule the law ;}
The wealth of climes, where savage nations roam,
Pillaged from slaves to purchase slaves at home;
Fear, pity, justice, indignation start,

" “What they may then expect may be seen by turning our
eyes to Holland, Genoa, or Venice, where the laws govern
the poor, and the rich govern the law.”— Vic. of Wakef. cxix.

  

>>> > >
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2) DP DP) =

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Leh. atermOF GOLDSMITH. Oi.

Tear off reserve, and bare my swelling heart; 390
Till half a patriot, half a coward grown,
I fly from petty tyrants to the throne.

Yes, Brother, curse with me that baleful hour,
When first ambition struck at regal power ;
And thus polluting honour in its source,
Gave wealth to sway the mind with double force.
Have we not seen, round Britain’s peopled shore,
Her useful sons exchanged for useless ore?
Seen all her triumphs but destruction haste,
Like flaring tapers brightening as they waste; 400
Seen opulence, her grandeur to maintain,
Lead stern depopulation in her train,
And over fields where scattered hamlets rose,
In barren solitary pomp repose ?
Have we not seen at pleasure’s lordly call,
The smiling long-frequented village fall?
Beheld the duteous son, the sire decayed,
The modest matron, and the blushing maid,
Forced from their homes, a melancholy train,
To traverse climes beyond the western main; 410
Where wild Oswego spreads her swamps around,
And Niagara stuns with thundering sound ?

Even now, perhaps, as there some pilgrim strays

Through tangled forests, and through dangerous
ways ;

Where beasts with man divided empire claim,
And the brown Indian marks with murderous aim ;
There, while above the giddy tempest flies,
And all around distressful yells arise,
The pensive exile, bending with his woe,

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22 THE POEMS OF GOLDSMITH.

To stop too fearful, and too faint to go,! 420
Casts a long look where England’s glories shine,
And bids his bosom sympathise with mine.

Vain, very vain, my weary search to find
That bliss which only centres in the mind:
Why have I strayed from pleasure and repose,
To seek a good each government bestows ?
In every government, though terrors reign,
Though tyrant kings, or tyrant laws restrain,
How small, of all that human hearts endure,
That part which laws or kings can cause or cure.
Still to ourselves in every place consigned, 431
Our own felicity we make or find:
With secret course, which no loud storms annoy,
Glides the smooth current of domestic joy.
The lifted axe, the agonizing wheel,
Luke’s iron crown,? and Damiens’? bed of steel,
To men remote from power but rarely known,
Leave reason, faith, and conscience, all our own.

" This line was written by Dr. Johnson, as were also the
last ten lines of the poem, with the exception of the last
couplet but ‘one.—Croker’s Boswell.

2 Luke’s iron crown | This appears to be a mistake. Luke
and George Dosa, brothers, were both engaged in a desperate
rebellion in Hungary in 1513, and George suffered the tor-
ture of the red-hot crown of iron, as a punishment for allow-
ing himself to be proclaimed king by the revolted peasants.
See Wares’ Glossary, art. Crown Iron, Biblioth. Parriana,
p. 519, and Biographie Universelle, xi. 604.

3 Damiens] For an account of the attempted assassination
of Louis XV. by Damiens, see Anecdotes de la Cour de Franee
pendant la faveur de Mad. de Pompadour, 1802, 8vo. p. 143—
204. Horace Walpole, in his Memoirs of George II. gives

an account of the horrible tortures with which Damiens was
put to death.

&THE DESERTED VILLAGE.

A POEM.

LonpDoN:
Prinrep ror W. Grirrin, at Garricn’s Heap,
In CATHARINE-STREET, STRAND.
MDCCLEX.

4T0.SS es SENT RT ne

aes ae

 

[The Deserted Village, a poem, by Dr. Goldsmith: Len-
don: Printed for W. Griffin, at Garrick’s Head, in Catharine
Street, Strand, 1770, 4to, was first published in May, 1770
and ran through six editions in the same year in which it

was first published. The price was 2s. The sum received
by Goldsmith for The Deserted Village is unknown].TO SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS.
Dear SIR,

CAN have no expectations in an ad-
dress of this kind, either to add to
} your reputation, or to establish my
Z& own. You can gain nothing from my
admiration, as 1 am ignorant of that art in which
you are said to excel; and I may lose much by
the severity of your judgment, as few have a
juster taste in poetry than you. Setting interest
therefore aside, to which I never paid much atten-
tion, I must be indulged at present in following
my affections. The only dedication I ever made
was to my brother, because I loved him better
than most other men. He is since dead. Permit
me to inscribe this poem to you.

How far you may be pleased with the versifica-
tion and mere mechanical parts of this attempt,
I do not pretend to enquire; but I know you will
object (and indeed several of our best and wisest
friends concur in the opinion) that the depopu-
lation it deplores is no where to be seen, and the
disorders it laments are only to be found in the
poet’s own imagination. To this I can scarcely
make any other answer than that I sincerely be-

 

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26 DEDICATION.

lieve what I have written; that I have taken all
possible pains, in my country excursions, for these
four or five years past, to be certain of what I
allege, and that all my views and enquiries have
led me to believe those miseries real, which I
here attempt to display. But this is not the
place to enter into an enquiry, whether the
country be depopulating, or not; the discussion
would take up much room, and I should prove
myself, at best, an indifferent politician, to tire
the reader with a long preface, when I want his
unfatigued attention to a long poem.

In regretting the depopulation of the country,
I inveigh against the increase of our luxuries ;
and here also I expect the shout of modern pohiti-
cians against me. For twenty or thirty years
past, it has been the fashion to consider luxury
as one of the greatest national advantages; and
all the wisdom of antiquity, in that particular, as
erroneous. Still, however, I must remain a pro-
fessed ancient on that head, and continue to
think those luxuries prejudicial to states by which
so Many vices are introduced, and so many king-
doms have been undone. Indeed so much has
been poured out of late on the other side of the
question, that, merely for the sake of novelty and
variety, one would sometimes wish to be in the
right. I.am,

Dear Sir,
Your sincere Friend,

And ardent Admirer,

Otiver Gorpsmtrn.

> D PP)
> ae)THE DESERTED VILLAGE.

;WEET Auburn! loveliest village of the
Sy, plain,

8 Where health and plenty cheered the
: labouring swain,

Where smiling spring its earliest visit paid,

And parting summer’s lingering blooms delayed:
Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease,

Seats of my youth, when every sport could please,
How often have I loitered o’er thy green,

Where humble happiness endeared each scene !
How often have I paused on every charm,

The sheltered cot, the cultivated farm, 10
The never-failing brook, the busy mill,

The decent church that topt the neighbouring hil,
The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade,
For talking age and whispering lovers made!
How often have I blest the coming day,

When toil remitting lent its turn to play,

And all the village train, from labour free,

Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree,
While many a pastime circled in the shade,

The young contending as the old surveyed ; 20
And many a gambol frolicked o’er the ground,
And sleights of art and feats of strength went
round.28 THE POEMS

And still as each repeated pleasure tired,
Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspired ;
The dancing pair that simply sought renown,

By holding out, to tire each other down;

The swain mistrustless of his smutted face,
While secret laughter tittered round the place ;
The bashful virgin’s sidelong looks of love,

The matron’s glance that would those looks re-

prove. 30
These were thy charms, sweet village! sports like
these,

With sweet succession, taught even toil to please ;

These round thy bowers their cheerful influence shed,

These were thy charms—but all these charms are
fled.

Sweet smiling village, loveliest of the lawn,
Thy sports are fled, and all thy charms withdrawn ;
Amidst thy bowers the tyrant’s hand ig seen,
And desolation saddens all thy green:

One only master grasps the whole domain,

And half a tillage stints thy smiling plain ; 40
No more thy glassy brook reflects the day,

But, choked with sedges, works its weedy way ;
Along thy glades, a solitary guest,

The hollow-sounding ! bittern guards its nest ;
Amidst thy desert walks the lapwing flies,

And tires their echoes with unvaried eries.

Sunk are thy bowers in shapeless ruin all,

And the long grass o’ertops the mouldering wall,

1 The hollow~sounding| “There is no sound so dismall
9 vy

hollow as the booming of the bittern.”— Gold. An. Nat. vi.
Pe 2.OF GOLDSMITH. 29

and, trembling, shrinking from the spoiler’s hand,
Far, far away, thy children leave the land. 50

Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey,
Where wealth accumulates, and men decay :
Princes and lords may flourish, or may fade ;

A breath can make them, as a breath has made:
But a bold peasantry, their country’s pride,
When once destroyed, can never be supplied.

A time there was, ere England’s griefs began,
When every rood of ground maintained its man ;
For him light labour spread her wholesome store,
Just gave what life required, but gave no more: 6¢
His best companions, innocence and health ;

And his best riches, ignorance of wealth.

But times are altered; trade’s unfeeling train
Usurp the land and dispossess the swain ;
Along the lawn, where scattered hamlets rose,
Unwieldy wealth and cumbrous pomp repose ;
And every want to opulence allied,
And every pang that folly pays to pride.
Those gentle hours that plenty bade to bloom,
Those calm desires that asked but little room, 7¢
Those healthful sports that graced the peaceful

scene,

Lived in each look, and brightened all the green ;
These, far departing, seck a kinder shore,
And rural mirth and manners are no more.

Sweet Auburn! parent of the blissful hour,
Thy glades forlorn confess the tyrant’s power.; E ee a d ee aes a 4 ae heen > a a ca . ss a om z
Saar ec ° : ‘

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Be

 

  
 
 
 
 
  
  

  
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  

30 THE POEMS

Here, as I take my solitary rounds,

Amidst thy tangling walks, and ruined grounds,
And, many a year elapsed, return to view

Where once the cottage stood, the hawthorn grew,!
Remembrance wakes with all her busy train, 81
Swells at my breast, and turns the past to pain.

In all my wanderings round this world of care,
Tn all my griefs—and God has given my share—
I still had hopes my latest hours to crown,
Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down;

To husband out life’s taper at the close,

And keep the flame from wasting by repose :2

I still had hopes, for pride attends us still,
Amidst the swaing to show my book-learned skill,
Around my fire an evening group to draw, 91
And tell of all I felt, and all I saw;

And, as a hare, whom hounds and horns pursue,
Pants to the place from whence at first he flew,

I still had hopes, my long vexations past,

Here to return—and die at home at last.

O blest retirement, friend to life’s decline,
Retreats from care, that never must be mine,
How happy he who crowns in shades like these,
A youth of labour with an age of ease ; 100
Who quits a world where strong temptations try,
And, since ’tis hard to combat, learns to fly !

' The following couplet appears in the first edition —
Here as with doubtful, pensive steps I range,
Trace every scene and wonder at the change.

* Var. My anxious day to husband near the close,
And keep life's flame from wasting by repose,OF GOLDSMITH. 31

For him no wretches, born to work and weep,
Explore the mine, or tempt the dangerous deep ;
Nor surly porter stands in guilty state,

To spurn imploring famine from the gate ;

But on he moves to meet his latter end,

Angels around befriending virtue’s friend ;

Bends to the grave with unperceived decay,
While resignation gently slopes the way ; 110
And, all his prospects brightening to the last,

His heaven commences ere the world be past !*

Sweet was the sound, when oft at evening’s close
Up yonder hill the village murmur rose ;
There, as I past with careless steps and slow,
The mingling notes came softened from below ;
The swain responsive as the milkmaid sung,
The sober herd that lowed to meet their young ;
The noisy geese that gabbled o’er the pool,
The playful children just let loose from school ;
The watchdog’s voice that bayed the whispering

wind, 121

And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind ;
These all in sweet confusion sought the shade,
And filled each pause the nightingale had made.
But now the sounds of population fail,

1 Gir Joshua Reynolds painted a particularly fine picture
in point of expression, especially of Resignation, and dedi-
cated the engraving taken from it to Dr. Goldsmith, in these
words: “This attempt to express a character in ‘ The De-
serted Village,’ is dedicated to Dr. Goldsmith by his sincere
friend and admirer, Josnua Reynoups.” (1772). This
seems to have been done by Sir Joshua as a return of the
compliment to Goldsmith, whe had dedicated the poem to
him.oe THE POEMS

No cheerful murmurs fluctuate in the gale,

No busy steps the grass-grown footway tread,
For all the bloomy flush of life is fled,

All but yon widowed, solitary thing,

That feebly bends beside the plashy spring; 130
She, wretched matron, forced in age, for bread,
To strip the brook with mantling cresses spread
To pick her wintry faggot from the thorn,

To seek her nightly shed, and weep till morn ;
She only left of all the harmless train,

The sad historian of the pensive plain.

Near yonder ecopse, where once the garden smiled,
And still where many a garden flower grows wild :
There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose,
The village preacher’s modest mansion rose,
A man he was to all the country dear,

And passing rich with forty pounds a year ;

Remote from towns he ran his godly race,

Nor e’er had changed, nor wished to ch
place ;

Unpractised he to fawn, or seck for power,

By doctrines fashioned to the varying hour ;

Far other aims his heart had learned to prize,

More skilled to raise the wretched than to rise.

His house was known to all the vagrant train,

He chid their wanderings, but relieved their pain ;

The long remembered beggar was his guest, 151

Whose beard descending Swept his aged breast ;

The ruined spendthrift, now no longer proud,

Claimed kindred there, and had his claims allowed ;

The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay,

Sat by his fire, and talked the night away ;

140

ange hisOF GOLDSMITH.

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

won.

Pleased with his guests, the good man learned to
glow, :

And quite forgot their vices in their woe ; 160

Careless their merits, or their faults to scan,
His pity gave ere charity began.

Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride,
And even his failings leaned to virtue’s side ;
But in his duty prompt at every call,
He watched and wept, he prayed and felt for all.
And, as a bird each fond endearment tries
To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies,
He tried each art, reproved each dull delay,
Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way. 170

Beside the bed where parting life was laid,
And sorrow, guilt, and pain, by turns dismayed,
The reverend champion stood. At his control
Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul ;
Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise,
And his last faltering accents whispered praise.

At church, with meek and unaffected grace,
His looks adorned the venerable place ;
Truth from his lips prevailed with double sway,
And fools, who came to scoff, remained to pray. 180
The service past, around the pious man,
With steady zeal, each honest rustic ran ;
Even children followed with endearing wile,
And plucked his gown,to share the good man’ssmile.
D

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34 THE POEMS

His ready smile a parent’s warmth exprest,

Their welfare pleased him, and their cares distrest ;
To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given,
But all hig serious thoughts had rest in heaven.
As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form, 189
Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm,
Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread,
Eternal sunshine settles on its head.

Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way,
With blossomed furze unprofitably gay,
There, in his noisy mansion, skilled to rule,
The village master taught his little school ;
A man severe he was, and stern to view,
I knew him well, and every truant knew ;
Well had the boding tremblers learned to trace
The day’s disasters in his morning face ; 200
Full well they laughed with counterfeited glee
At all his jokes, for many a joke had he;
Full well the busy whisper circling round,
Conveyed the dismal tidings when he frowned ;
Yet he was kind, or, if severe in aught,
The love he bore to learning was in fault ;
The village all declared how much he knew ;
"T'was certain he could write and cypher too ;
Lands he could measure, terms and tides presage,
And even the story ran—that he could gauge; 210
In arguing too, the parson owned his skill,
For even though vanquished, he could argue still ;
While words of learnedlength and thundering sound
Amazed the gazing rustics ranged around,
And still they gazed, and still the wonder grew,
That one small head could carry all he knew.OF GOLDSMITH.

But past is all his fame. ‘The very spot
Where many a time he triumphed, is forgot.
Near yonder thorn, that lifts its head on high, 219
Where once the sign-post caught the passing eye,
Low lies that house where nut-brown draughts

inspired,
Where grey-beard mirth, and smiling toil retired,
Where villagestatesmen talked with looks profound,
And news much older than their ale went round.
Imagination fondly stoops to trace
The parlour splendours of that festive place ;
The white-washed wall, the nicely sanded floor,
The varnished elock that clicked behind the door ;
The chest contrived a double debt to pay,
A'bed by night, a chest of drawers by day; —_280
The pictures placed for ornament and use,
The twelve good rules, the royal game of goose ;
The hearth, except when winter chilled the day,
With aspen boughs, and flowers and fennel gay ;
While broken tea-cups, wisely kept for show,
Ranged o’er the chimney, glistened in a row.

Vain transitory splendour! could not all
Reprieve the tottering mansion from its fall?
Obscure it sinks, nor shall it more impart
An hour’s importance to the poor man’s heart ; 24¢
Thither no more the peasant shall repair
To sweet oblivion of his daily care ;

No more the farmer’s news, the barber’s tale,

No more the woodman’s ballad shall prevail ;

No more the smith his dusky brow shall clear,
Relax his ponderous strength, and lean to hear’;
The host himself no longer shall be founderie

ene ey ne

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THE POEMS

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 

Careful to see the mantling bliss go round;
Nor the coy maid, half willing to be prest,
Shall kiss the cup to pass it to the rest. 250

Yes! let the rich deride, the proud disdain,
These simple blessings of the lowly train,
To me more dear, congenial to my heart,
One native charm, than all the gloss of art ;
Spontaneous joys, where nature has its play,
The soul adopts, and owns their firstborn sway :
Lightly they frolic o’er the vacant mind,
Unenyied, unmolested, unconfined.
But the long pomp, the midnight masquerade,
With all the freaks of wanton wealth arrayed, 260
In these, ere triflers half their wish obtain,
The toiling pleasure sickens into pain ;
And, even while fashion’s brightest arts decoy,
The heart distrusting asks, if this be joy ?

Ye friends to truth, ye statesmen who survey
The rich man’s joys increase, the poor’s decay,
‘Tis yours to judge, how wide the limits stand
Between a splendid and a happy land.?

Proud swells the tide with loads of freighted ore,
And shouting Folly hails them from her shore ; 270
Hoards even beyond the miser’s wish abound,
And rich men flock from all the world around.
Yet count our gains. This wealth is but a name
That leaves our useful products still the same.
Not so the loss. The man of wealth and pride

’ “Too much commerce may injure a nation as well as
too little; and there is a wide difference between a conquer-
ing and a flourishing empire.”’— Citizen of the World, i. 98.OF GOLDSMITH. OT

Takes up a space that many poor supplied ;

Space for his lake, his park’s extended bounds,

Space for his horses, equipage, and hounds ;

The robe that wraps his limbs in silken sloth

Has robbed the neighbouring fields of half their
growth, 280

His seat, where solitary sports are seen,

Indignant spurns the cottage from the green ;

Around the world each needful product flies,

For all the luxuries the world supplies.

While thus the land, adorned for pleasure all,

In barren splendour feebly waits the fall.

As some fair female, unadorned and plain,
Secure to please while youth confirms her reign,
Slights every borrowed charm that dress supplies,
Nor shares with art the triumph of her eyes ; 290
But when thosecharms are past, for charms are frail,
When time advances, and when lovers fail,

She then shines forth, solicitous to bless,

In all the glaring impotence of dress.

Thus fares the land, by luxury betrayed,

In nature’s simplest charms at first arrayed,

But verging to decline, its splendours rise,

Its vistas strike, its palaces surprise ;

While, scourged by famine from the smiling land,
The mournful peasant leads his humble band ; 200
And while he sinks, without one arm to save,
The country blooms—a garden and a grave.

Where then, ah! where, shall poverty reside,
To ’scape the pressure of contiguous pride ?
If to some common’s fenceless limits strayed,% a 2

eee

  

2s aero to crane eee ee “ es, . 5
RT rete pei ; wala Vee Pa

 

 

   
  
  
  
    
  

THE POEMS

   
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 

He drives his flock to pick the scanty blade,
Those fenceless fields the sons of wealth divide,
And even the bare-worn common is denied.

If to the city sped—What waits him there?
To see profusion that he must not share; 310
To see ten thousand baneful arts combined
To pamper luxury, and thin mankind ;

‘To see those joys the sons of pleasure know

Extorted from his fellow creature’s woe.

Here, while the courtier glitters in brocade,

There the pale artist plies the sickly trade ;

Here, while the proud their long-drawn pomps dis-
play,

There the black gibbet glooms beside the way.

The dome where pleasure holds her midnight reign,

Here, richly decked, admits the gorgeous train ; 320

Tumultuous grandeur crowds the blazing square,

The rattling chariots clash, the torches glare.

Sure scenes like these no troubles e’er annoy !

Sure these denote one universal joy !

Are these thy serious thoughts? Ah, turn thine eyes

Where the poor houseless shivering female lies.!

She once, perhaps, in village plenty blest,

Has wept at tales of innocence distrest ;

Her modest looks the cottage might adorn,

Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn :

1 “These poor shivering females have once seen happier
days, and been flattered into beauty. They have been pro-
stituted to the gay and luxurious villain, and are now turned
out to meet the severity of the winter. Perhaps now lying
at the doors of their betrayers, they sue to wretches whose
hearts are insensible.”— Cit. of the World, ii. 211.OF GOLDSMITH. 39

Now lost to all; her friends, her virtue fled, 331

Near her betrayer’s door she lays her head,

And, pinched with cold, and shrinking from the
shower,

With heavy heart deplores that luckless hour,

When idly first, ambitious of the town,

She left her wheel and robes of country brown.

Do thine, sweet Auburn, thine, the loveliest
train,
Do thy fair tribes participate her pain?
Even now, perhaps, by cold and hunger led,
At proud men’s doors they ask a little bread! 340

Ah, no. To distant climes, a dreary scene,
Where half the convex world intrudes between,
Through torrid tracts with fainting steps they go,
Where wild Altama' murmurs to their woe.

Far different there from all that charmed before,
The various terrors of that horrid shore ;

Those blazing suns that dart a downward ray,
And fiercely shed intolerable day ;

Those matted woods where birds forget to sing,
But silent bats in drowsy clusters cling ; 350
Those poisonous fields with rank luxuriance crowned,
Where the dark scorpion gathers death around ;
Where at each step the stranger fears to wake
The rattling terrors of the vengeful snake ;

Where crouching tigers wait their hapless prey,
And savage men more murderous still than they ;

1 Properly Alatamha, a river in Georgia, U.S.
2 This is a poetical licence, the American tiger or Jaguar
being unknown on the banks of the Alatamha.SP

i Fe BE SOS,
\ o

a as Ne

eee es

   
  
 
  
 
    
  
    
 
    
  
  
  
   

 

lo

  
   
 
   
     

 

THE POEMS

While oft in whirls the mad tornado flies,
Mingling the ravaged landscape with the skies,
Far different these from every former scene,

The cooling brook, the grassy vested green, 360
The breezy covert of the warbling grove,

That only sheltered thefts of harmless love.

Good Heaven! what sorrows gloomed th
ing day,
That called them from their native walks away ;
When the poor exiles, every pleasure past,
Hung round the bowers, and fondly looked their
last,

And took a long farewell, and wished in vain
For seats like these beyond the western main ;
And shuddering still to face the distant deep,
Returned and wept, and still returned to weep, 370
The good old sire, the first prepared to go
To new-found worlds, and wept for others’ woe:
But for himself, in conscious virtue brave,
He only wished for worlds beyond the grave.
His lovely daughter, lovelier in her tears,
The fond companion of his helpless years,
Silent went next, neglectful of her charms,
And left a lover’s for a father’s arms.
With louder plaints the mother spoke her woes,
And blest the cot where ever

y pleasure rose; 20
And kissed her thoughtless babes with many a tear,

And clasped them close, in sorrow doubly dear ;
Whilst her fond husband strove to lend relief
In all the silent manliness of grief,

at part-

O, luxury! thou curst by Heaven’s decree,OF GOLDSMITH. 41

How ill exchanged are things like these for thee!
How do thy potions with insidious joy

Diffuse their pleasures only to destroy !
Kingdoms by thee, to sickly greatness grown,
Boast of a florid vigour not their own. 890
At every draught more large and large they grow,
A bloated mass of rank unwieldy woe ;

Till sapped their strength, and every part unsound,
Down, down they sink, and spread a ruin round.

Even now the devastation is begun,
And half the business of destruction done ;
Even now, methinks, as pondering here I stand,
I see the rural virtues leave the land.

Down where yon anchoring vessel spreads the sail
That idly waiting flaps with every gale, 400
Downward they move, a melancholy band,

Pass from the shore, and darken all the strand.
Contented toil, and hospitable care,

And kind connubial tenderness, are there ;

And piety with wishes placed above,

And steady loyalty, and faithful love.

And thou, sweet Poetry, thou loveliest maid,

Still first to fly where sensual joys invade ;

Unfit in these degenerate times of shame,

To catch the heart, or strike for honest fame ; 410
Dear charming nymph, neglected and decried,
My shame in crowds, my solitary pride.

Thou source of all my bliss, and all my woe,
That found’st me poor at first, and keep’st me so ;
Thou guide, by which the nobler arts excel,
Thou nurse of every virtue, fare thee well !
Farewell, and O! where’er thy voice be tried,

 

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ar oe

SE I tm

 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 

42 THE POEMS OF GOLDSMITH.

On Torno’s cliffs, or Pambamarcea’s side,
Whether where equinoctial fervours glow,

Or winter wraps the polar world in snow, 420
Still let thy voice, prevailing over time,

Redress the rigours of the inclement clime ;

Aid slighted truth, with thy persuasive strain ;
Teach erring man to spurn the rage of gain:
Teach him, that states of native strength possest,
Though very poor, may still be very blest;

That trade’s proud empire hastes to swift decay,
As ocean sweeps the laboured mole away ;

While self-dependent power can time defy,

As rocks resist the billows and the sky. 430

' “Dr. Johnson favoured me, at the same time, by marking
the lines which he furnished to Goldsmith’s ‘ Deserted
Village,’ which are only the last four.” Boswell.THE HAUNCH OF VENISON.

A POETICAL EPISTLE TO
LORD CLARE.

1771.eee ee ee

: Reem oe enone Eee = - ~ ane = emma ar ems ‘ ¥ 2 D
ese : x TS ON ae Ce ene mrad , : a

 

[Lhe Haunch of Venison, though written about 1771, was
not published till two years after Goldsmith’s death, 1776.
It was addressed to a burly jovial Irish nobleman, Robert

Nugent, created Viscount Clare in 1766, and Earl Nugent
in 1776. He died 1788.
Marguis of Buckingham].

His only daughter married theTHE HAUNCH OF VENISON.’

PF

Me ey ¢ a a ‘
ros) p2cy) HANKS, my lord, for your venison, for
& : yp finer or fatter
Ske S Never ranged in a forest, or smoked in
Pata a, platter ;
The haunch was a picture for painters to study,
The fat was so white, and the lean was so ruddy ;*
Though my stomach was sharp, I could scarce help
regretting,

To spoil such a delicate picture by eating ;

T had thoughts, in my chambers, to place it in view,
To be shown to my friends as a piece of virtu ;

As in some Irish houses, where things are so-so,
One gammon of bacon hangs up for a show: 10
But, for eating a rasher of what they take pride in,
They’d as soon think of eating the pan it is fried in.
Buthold—let me pause—don’t I hear you pronounce,
This tale of the bacon a damnable bounce ;

Well, suppose it a bounce—sure a poet may try,
By a bounce now and then, to get courage to fly.

L&R
wr

 
 
  

nd edition, which contains

1 This iz printed from the seco
and a few additional lines.

the last corrections of the author,
The variations are from the first edition.

VARIATION.
a The white was so white, and the red was so ruddy.a 3 5 3

REIS ET

 

 

    
  
 
 
 
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
    
  
   

46 THE POEMS

But, my lord, it’s no bounce: I protest in my turn
It’s a truth—and your lordship may ask Mr. Byrne.
To go on with my tale—as I gazed on the haunch

I thought of a friend that was trusty and staunch,

So I cut it, and sent it to Reynolds undrest, 21

To paint it, or eat it, just as he liked best ;

Of the neck and the breast I had next to dispose ;

“Twas a neck and abreast that might rival Monroe’s:

But in parting with these I was puzzled again,

With the how, and the who, and the where, and
the when.

There’s Howard, and Coley, and H—rth, and Hiff,

I think they love venison—I know they love beef.

There’s my countryman Higgins—Oh! let him
alone,

For making a blunder, or picking a bone. 30

But hang it—to poets who° seldom can eat,

Your very good mutton’s a very good treat ;

Such dainties to them their health it might hurt,‘

it’s like sending them ruffles, when wanting a shirt.

While thus I debated, in reverie centred,

An acquaintance, a friend as he called himself,
entered ;

An under-bred, fine-spoken fellow was he,°

And he smiled as he look’d at the venison and me.

' Lord Clare’s Nephew.

VARIATIONS.
° There’s Coley, and Williams, and Howard, and Hiff—
© that
d ~———— It would look like a flirt,
Like sending ’em ruffles
* A fine spoken Custom-house officer he,
Who smiled as he gazed on the venison and me.OF GOLDSMITH. 47

«What havewe got here? Why this is good eating!
Your own I suppose—or is it in waiting?’ 10
« Why, whoseshould it be? ” cried I with a flounce:
<< T get these things often; ”__but that was a bounce:
“ Some lords, my acquaintance, that settle the

nation,
Are pleased to be kind—but I hate ostentation.”

“Tf that be the case,” then, eried he, very gay,
“Tm glad I have taken this house in my way.
To-morrow you take a poor dinner with me;

No words—l insist on’t—precisely at three:
We'll have Johnson, and Burke; all the wits will
be there ;
My acquaintance is slight, or I’d ask my Lord
Clare. 50
And now that I think on’t, as I am a sinner !
We wanted this venison to make out the dinner.
What say you—a pasty? it shall, and it must,'
And my wife, little Kitty, is famous for crust.
Here, porter—this venigon with me to Mile-end ;
No stirring—I beg—my dear friend—my dear
friend !’’S
Thus snatching his hat, he brushed off like the

==

 

 

wind,
And the porter and eatables followed behind.

Left alone to reflect, having emptied my shelf,

VARIATIONS.

: make up the dinner,
I'll take no denial—you shall, and you must.
€ No words, my dear Goldsmith! my very g00

5 seizing

 

d friend !

FS
Y

   
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
      

emiaee

ea Ene
Py :

oer a ee

 

 

  

48 THE POEMS

And “ nobody with me at sea but myself;”1 60

Though I could not help thinking my gentleman
hasty,

Yet Johnson, and Burke, and a good venison pasty,

Were things that I never disliked in my life,

Though clogged with a coxcomb, and Kitty his
wite.

So next day, in due splendour to make my approach,

I drove to his door in my own hackney coach.

When come to the place where we all were to dine,
(A chair-lumbered closet just twelve feet by nine:)
My friend bade me welcome, but struck me quite

dumb,
With tidings that Johnson and Burke would: not
come ; 70

“For I knew it,” he eried, “ both eternally fail,
The one with his speeches, and t’other with Thrale;
But no matter, I'll warrant we'll make up the party,
With two full as clever, and ten times as hearty.
The one is a Scotchman, the other a J ew,

They’re both of them merry, and authors like you ;™
The one writes the Snarler, the other the Scourge ;
Some think he writes Cinna—he owns to Panurge.”
While thus he described them by trade and by name,
They entered, and dinner was served as they came. 80

 

* See the letters that passed between his Royal Highness
Henry Duke of Cumberland, and Lady Grosvenor—12mo,
1769.

VARIATIONS.

1 could
«

 

at the house,
' But, I warrant for me, we shall make up the party.
m Who dabble and write in the papers—like you.OF GOLDSMITH. A9

At the top a fried liver and bacon were seen,
At the bottom was tripe, in a swingeing tureen ;
At the sides there was spinage and pudding made

hot;
In the middle a place where the pasty "—was not.
Now, my lord, as for tripe, its my utter aversion,
And your bacon I hate lke a Turk or a Persian ;
So there I sat stuck, like a horse in a pound,
While the bacon and liver went merrily round:
But what vexed me most was that d—d Scottish

rogue,
With his long-winded speeches, his smiles and his
brogue, 90

And, “ Madam,” quoth he, “may this bit be my poison,

A prettier dinner I never set eyes on ;°

Pray a slice of your liver, though may I be curst,

But I’ve eat of your tripe till I’m ready to burst ;”

“The tripe,” quoth the Jew, with his chocolate
cheek,?P

“‘ T could dine on° this tripe seven days in the week :

I like these here dinners so pretty and small ;

But your friend there, the Doctor, eats nothing at
all.”

“O—oh !” quothmy friend, “he'll come on ina trice,

He’s keeping a corner for something that’s nice: 100

«‘ There’s a pasty ”—“a pasty !” repeated the Jew,

“TI dont care if I keep a corner for’t too.”

‘«‘ What the de’il, mon,a pasty!” re-echoed the Scot,

VARIATIONS.

n venison
° If a prettier dinner I ever set eyes on!

P “Your tripe!” quoth the Jew, “if the truth I may speak.
4 eat of

Eeee

ee ee a

 

  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
 
  

50 THE POEMS OF GOLDSMITH.

or

“ Though splitting, ll stillkeep a corner for that.

“ We'll all keep a corner,” the lady cried out ;

“¢ We'll all keep a corner,” was echoed about.

While thus we resolved, and the pasty delayed,

With looks that quite petrified,’ entered the maid ;

A visage so sad, and so pale with affright, 109

Waked Priam in drawing his curtains by night.

But we quickly’ found out, for who could mistake
her ?

That she came with some terrible news from the
baker :

And so it fell out, for that negligent sloven

Had shut out the pasty on shutting his oven.

Sad Philomel thus—but let similes drop—

And now that I think on’t, the story may stop.

To be plain, my good lord, it’s but labour misplaced,

To send such good verses to one of your taste ;

You've got an odd something—a kind of dis-
cerning —

A relish—-a taste—sickened over by learning ; 120

At least, it’s your temper, as very well known,

That you think very slightly of all that’s your own:

So, perhaps, in your habits of thinking amiss,

You may make a mistake, and think slightly of this.

VARIATIONS.

r “ There’s a pasty.” “A pasty!” returned the Scot;
“*T dont care if I keep a corner for thot.”

s looks quite astonishing

* too soon weRETALIATION.

A POEM.

Printep For G. Kearsty, at No. 46

IN FLEET STREET.
MDCOCLXXIV.

470.‘The following authentic account of the origin of this poem
was given for the first time by Mr. Peter Cunningham, in
his edition of Goldsmith’s Works, from a MS. in Garrick’s
handwriting, in the possession of Mr. George Daniel :—

“ At a meeting of a company of gentlemen, who were well
known to each other, and diverting themselves, among many
other things, with the peculiar oddities of Dr. Goldsmith, the
Dr. with great eagerness insisted upon trying his epigram-
matic powers with Mr. Garrick, and each of them was to
write the other’s epitaph. Mr. Garrick immediately said
that his epitaph was finished, and spoke the following dis-
tich extempore :—

‘Here lies Nolly Goldsmith, for shortness called Noll,
Who wrote like an angel, but talked like poor Poll.’

Goldsmith, upon the company’s laughing very heartily, grew
very thoughtful, and*either would not, or could not, write
anything at that time; however, he went to work, and some
weeks after produced the following printed poem, called
Retaliation.”

This, the last work of Goldsmith, did not appear till after
his death, being published on 18th April, 1774.RETALIATION,

A POEM.

  

% F old, when Scarron his companions

) invited,

744 Hach guest brought his dish, and the
SS feast was united ;

If our landlord? supplies us with beef and with
fish,

Let each guest bring himself,—and he brings the
best dish :

Our Dean® shall be venison, just fresh from the
plains ;

Our Burke? shall be tongue, with the garnish of
brains ;

Our Will* shall be wildfowl, of excellent flavour,
And Dick® with his pepper shall heighten the
savour :

1 The master of the St. James’s coffeehouse, where the
Doctor, and the friends he has characterized in this poem,
occasionally dined.

2 Doctor Bernard, Dean of Derry, in Ireland.

3 The Right Hon. Edmund Burke.

4 Mr. William Burke, late secretary to General Conway,
M.P. for Bedwin, and a relative of Edmund Burke.

5 Mr. Richard Burke, a barrister, younger brother of the
great statesman.

=
ONL AY
Sean sean ee ae Sara eninTT54 THE POEMS

Our Cumberland’s! sweetbread its place shall ob-
tain,

And Douglas* is pudding, substantial and plain:

Our Garrick’s? a salad; for in him we see ll

Oil, vinegar, sugar, and saltness agree:

To make out the dinner, full certain I am,

That Ridge‘ is anchovy, and Reynolds® is lamb ;

That Hickey’s® a capon, and, by the same rule,

Magnanimous Goldsmith a gooseberry fool.

At a dinner so various, at such a repast,

Who’d not be a glutton, and stick to the last?

Here, waiter, more wine! let me sit while ’m
able,

Till all my companions sink under the table; 20

Then, with chaos and blunders encircling my head,

Let me ponder, and tell what I think of the dead.

Here lies the good Dean,’ reunited to earth,

! Mr. Richard Cumberland, author of the “ West Indian,”
“ Fashionable Lover,” “ The Brothers,” and other dramatic
pieces.

* Doctor Douglas, canon of Windsor, an ingenious Scotch
gentleman, who has no less distinguished himself as a citizen
of the world, than a sound critic, in detecting several literary
mistakes (or rather forgeries) of his countrymen ; particularly
Lauder on Milton, and Bower’s History of the Popes. He
subsequently became Bishop of Carlisle (1787), and of Salis-
bury (1791). He died in 1807.

3 David Garrick.

* Counsellor John Ridge, a gentleman belonging to the
Trish Bar.

° Sir Joshua Reynolds.

° An eminent Irish attorney, whose hospitality and good
humour aquired him in his club the title of “honest Tom
Hickey.”

" Here lies the good Dean] See apoem by Dean Bernard
to Sir J. Reynolds, in Northcote’s Life of Reynolds, p. 130.OF GOLDSMITH. 55

Who mixed reason with pleasure, and wisdom with
mirth :

If he had any faults, he has left us in doubt,

At least, in six weeks I could not find ’em out;

Yet some have declared, and it can’t be denied ’em,

That slyboots was cursedly cunning to hide ’em.

Here lies our good Edmund,! whose genius was

such,

We scarcely can praise it, or blame it too much ; 30

Who, born for the universe, narrowed his mind,

And to party gave up what was meant for mankind.

Though fraught with all learning, yet straining his
throat,

To persuade Tommy Townshend * to lend him a
vote :

Who, too deep for his hearers, still went on refining,

And thought of convincing, while they thought of
dining ;

Though equal to all things, for all things unfit,

Too nice for a statesman, too proud for a wit ;

For a patriot too cool; for a drudge disobedient ;

And too fond of the right to pursue the expedient. 40

In short, ’twas his fate, unemployed, or in place, Sir,

To eat mutton cold, and cut blocks with a razor.

Here lies honest William,* whose heart was a
mint,

1 Edmund Burke.
2 Mr. T. Townshend, M.P. for Whitchurch, afterwards
Lord Sydney.
3 William Burke.

Determiner

aes
aA
as56 THE POEMS

While the owner ne’er knew half the good that
was in’t ;

The pupil of impulse, it forced him along,

His conduct still right, with his argument wrong ;

Still aiming at honour, yet fearing to roam,

The coachman was tipsy, the chariot drove home ;

Would you ask for his merits? alas! he had none ;

What was good was spontaneous, his faults were
his own. 50

Here lies honest Richard,! whose fate I must
sigh at;

Alas, that such frolic should now be so quiet !
What spirits were his! what wit and what whim,
Now breaking a jest, and now breaking a limb:
Now wrangling and grumbling to keep up the ball,
Now teazing and vexing, yet laughing at all!
In short, so provoking a devil was Dick,
That we wished him full ten times adayat Old Nick ;
But, missing his mirth and agreeable vein,
As often we wished to have Dick back again. 30

Here Cumberland lies, having acted his parts,
The Terence of England, the mender of hearts ;
A flattering painter, who made it his care
‘To draw men as they ought to be, not as they are.
His gallants are all faultless, his women divine,
And comedy wonders at being so fine ;

Like a tragedy queen he has dizened her out,

‘ Mr. Richard Burke. This gentleman having slightly
fractured one of his arms and legs, at different times, the
Doctor has rallied him on those accidents, as a kind of retri-
butive justice for breaking his jests upon other people.OF GOLDSMITH.

Or rather like tragedy giving a rout.

His fools have their follies so lost in a crowd

Of virtues and feelings, that folly grows proud ; 70

And coxcombs alike in their failings alone,

Adopting his portraits, are pleased with their own.

Say, where has our poet this malady caught ?

Or, wherefore his characters thus without fault ?

Say, was it that vainly directing his view

To find out men’s virtues, and finding them few,
uite sick of pursuing each troublesome elf,

He grew lazy at last, and drew from himself?

Here Douglas retires from his toils to relax,
The scourge of impostors, the terror of quacks: 80
Come, all ye quack bards, and ye quacking divines,
Come, and dance on the spot where your tyrant

reclines :
When satire and censure encircled his throne,
I feared for your safety, I feared for my own ;
But now he is gone, and we want a detector,
Our Dodds?! shall be pious, our Kenricks* shall
lecture ;
Macpherson * write bombast, and call it a style,
Our Townshend make speeches, and I shall compile;
New Laudersand Bowers‘ the Tweed shall cross over,
No countryman living their tricks to discover ; 90

1 The Rey. Dr. Dodd; hanged for forgery, 1777.

2 Dr. Kenrick, who read lectures at the Devil Tavern,
under the title of “‘ The School of Shakespeare.”

3 James Macpherson, Esq., who lately, from the mere
force of his style, wrote down the first poet of all antiquity.
[Alluding to his translation of Homer].

4 William Lauder and Archibald Bower, Scotch writers,
exposed by Bishop Douglas. See note p. 54.ig, rt
ed at —s
om ¢

——

eS

 

     
   
  
 
 
 
 
   
  
 
 
 
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
   

58 THE POEMS

Detection her taper shall quench to a spark,

And Scotchman meet Scotchman,! and cheat in
the dark.

Here lies David Garrick, describe me who can,
An abridgment of all that was pleasant in man;
As an actor, confest without rival to shine:

As a wit, if not first, in the very first line:
Yet, with talents like these, and an excellent heart,
The man had his failings, a dupe to his art.
Like an ill-judging beauty, his colours he spread,
And beplastered with rouge his own natural red. 100
On the stage he was natural, simple, affecting ;
"Twas only that, when he was off, he was acting.
With no reason on earth to go out of his way,
He turned and he varied full ten times a day :
Though secure of our hearts, yet confoundedly sick,
If they were not his own by finessing and trick:
He cast off his friends, as a huntsman his pack,
For he knew when he pleased he could whistle
them back.
Of praise a mere glutton, he swallowed what came
And the puff of a dunce he mistook it for fame se110
Tul his relish grown callous, almost to disease,
Who peppered the highest, was surest to please.
But let us be candid, and speak out our mind,
If dunces applauded, he paid them in kind.
Ye Kenricks, ye Kellys,? and Woodfalls? so grave,

' “And gods meet gods, and jostle in the dark.”
See Farquhar’s Love in a Bottle, vol. i. p. 150.
* Hugh Kelly, author of “ False Delicacy,” “Word to the
Wise,” “Clementina,” ‘School for Wives,” &c. &¢c, died 1777.

° William Woodfall, printer of the Morning Chronicle,
died 1803.OF GOLDSMITH. 59

What a commerce was yours, while you got and
you gave !

How did Grub-street re-echo the shouts that you
raised,

While he was be-Rosciused, and you were bepraised!

But peace to his spirit, wherever it flies,

To act as an angel and mix with the skies: 120

Those poets who owe their best fame to his skill,

Shall still be his flatterers, go where he will,

Old Shakspeare receive him with praise and withlove,

And Beaumonts and Bens be his Kellys above.*

Here Hickey reclines, a most blunt, pleasant
creature,
And slander itself must allow him good nature ;

1 The following poems by Mr. Garrick, may, in some
measure, account for the severity exercised by Dr. Gold-
smith, in respect to that gentleman:

JUPITER AND MERCURY. A FABLE.
Here Hermes, says Jove, who with nectar was mellow,
Go fetch me some clay—I will make an odd fellow ;
Right and wrong shall be jumbled,—much gold and some

dross ;

Without cause be he pleased, without cause be he cross:
Be sure, as 1 work, to throw in contradictions,
A great love of truth, yet a mind turned to fictions!
Now mix these ingredients, which warmed in the baking,
Turned to learning and gaming, religion and raking.
With the love of a wench, let his writings be chaste ;
Tip his tongue with strange matter, his pen with fine taste ;
That the rake and the poet o’er all may prevail,
Set fire to the head, and set fire to the tail:
For the joy of each sex, on the world I’ll bestow it,
This scholar, rake, Christian, dupe, gamester, and poet ;
Though a mixture so odd, he shall merit great fame,
And among brother mortals—be Goldsmith his name;
When on earth this strange meteor no more shall appear,
You, Hermes, shall fetch him—to make us sport here.60 THE POEMS

He cherished his friend, and he relished a bumper,

Yet one fault he had, and that one was a thumper !

Perhaps you may ask if the man was a miser ?

I answer, no, no, for he always was wiser : 130

Too courteous, perhaps, or obligingly flat ?

His very worst foe can’t accuse him of that:

Perhaps he confided in men as they go,

And so was too foolishly honest? ah no!

Then what was his failing? come, tell it, and,
burn ye,—

He was, could he help it 2—a special attorney.

Here Reynolds is laid, and, to tell you my mind,
He has not left a wiser or better behind ;
His pencil was striking, resistless, and grand;
His manners were gentle, complying, and bland ;
Still born to improve us in every part, 141
His pencil our faces, his manners our heart:
To coxcombs averse, yet most civilly steering,
When they judged without skill, he was still hard

of hearing:

When they talked of their Raphaels, Correggios,

and stuff,
He shifted his trumpet,! and only took snuff.2

 

 

 

ON DR. GOLDSMITH’S CHARACTERISTICAL COOKERY.
A JEU D’ESPRIT.
Are these the choice dishes the doctor has sent us?
Is this the great poet whose works so content us?
This Goldsmith’s fine feast, who has written fine books?
Heaven sends us good meat, but the devil sends cooks.

' Sir Joshua Reynolds was so remarkably deaf as to be
under the necessity of using an ear-trumpet in company, he
was also a great snuff-taker. _

* This poem is unfinished; had Goldsmith lived, he would
have concluded it with an Epitaph on himself,OF GOLDSMITH.

POSTSCRIPT.

After the fourth edition of this poem was printed, the
publisher received the following epitaph on Mr. Whitefoord,'
from a friend of the late Doctor Goldsmith.

ERE Whitefoord reclines, and deny it
who ean,

Though he merrily lived, he is now a
x grave man:*
Rare compound of oddity, frolic, and fun!
Who relished a joke, and rejoiced in a pun ;
Whose temper was generous, open, sincere ;
A stranger to flattery, a stranger to fear ;
Who scattered around wit and humour at will ;
Whose daily bon mots half a column might fill :
A Scotchman, from pride and from prejudice free ;
A scholar, yet surely no pedant was he. Lo

  

What pity, alas! that so liberal a mind
Should so long be to newspaper essays confined !
Who perhaps to the summit of science could soar,
Yet content “if the table he set on a roar Re
Whose talents to fill any station was fit,
Yet happy if Woodfall’ confessed him a wit.

1 Mr. Caleb Whitefoord, author of many humorous essays.

2 Mr. W. was so notorious a punster, that Doctor Gold-
smith used to say it was impossible to keep him company,
without being infected with the itch of punning.

3 Mr. H. S. Woodfall, printer of the Public Advertiser.62 THE POEMS OF GOLDSMITH.

Ye newspaper witlings ! ye pert scribbling folks !
Who copied his squibs, and re-echoed his jokes ;
Ye tame imitators, ye servile herd, come,

Still follow your master, and visit his tomb: — 20
To deck it, bring with you festoons of the vine,
And copious libations bestow on his shrine ;

Then strew all around it (you can do no less)
Cross readings, Ship news, and Mistakes of the press.+

Merry Whitefood, farewell! for thy sake I admit
That a Scot may have humour, I had almost said
wit:
This debt to thy memory I cannot refuse,
“Thou best-humoured man with the worst-hu-
moured muse.” ?

* Mr. Whitefoord frequently indulged the town with hu-
morous pieces under these titles in the Public Advertiser.
On C. Whitefoord, see Smith’s Life of Nollekens, vol. i.
p- 338—340. See his poem to Sir Joshua Reynolds, “‘ Ad-
mire not dear knight,” in Northcote’s Life of Reynolds,
p. 128.

* “ When you and Southern, Moyle, and Congreve meet,

.The best good men, with the best natured wit.”
C. Hopkins. v. Nicholls’ Col. Poems, ii. p. 207.THE HERMIT.

A BALLAD.

MDCCLXIV.

e[Written 1764, and privately printed the same year, “ fon
the amusement of the Countess of Northumberland.” It
was first published in 1766, in the Vicar of Wakefield.
Though this poem is generaliy known as “ The Hermit,”

Goldsmith himself printed it with the title of “ Edwin and
Angelina”],Car Z . “Fan
lp : 1 (c&% SS
nes SA

Gi Ve ‘ar
SAN
SOS (CAR

Ly, » Q-
ies 7

i

Mis

THE FOLLOWING LETTER,

ADDRESSED TO THE PRINTER OF THE SAINT JAMES 8
CHRONICLE, APPEARED IN THAT PAPER

IN JUNE, MDCCLXVII.

1PCZS)

<E¥8 there is nothing I dislike so much
°) as newspaper controversy, particularly
Z S upon trifles, permit me to be as concise
3 as possible in informing a correspon-
dent of yours, that I recommended Blainville’s
Travels, because I thought the book was a good
one; and I think so still. I said, I was told by
the bookseller that it was then first published ;
but in that, it seems, I was misinformed, and my
reading was not extensive enough to set me right.

Another correspondent of yours accuses me of
having taken a ballad, I published some time ago,
from one! by the ingenious Mr. Perey. I do not
think there is any great resemblance between the
two pieces in question. If there be any, his
ballad is taken from mine. I read it to Mr, Percy

 
  
  

1 « The Friar of Orders Gray.” — Relig. of Anc. Po
p. 243.
EF

 

 
  
  
  
  
 
  
  
 
 
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
 
     

5 a ems mi ron asin amssome years ago; and he (as we both considered
these things as trifles at best) told me, with his
usual good humour, the next time I saw him.
that he had taken my plan to form the fragments
of Shakespeare into a ballad of his own. He then
read me his little Cento, if I may so call it, and I
highly approved it. Such petty anecdotes as these

t

i
7
¥

are scarce worth printing: and, were it not for
the busy disposition of some of your correspondents,
the public should never have known that he owes
me the hint of his ballad, or that I am obliged to
his friendship and learning for communications of
a much more important nature.

I am, Sir, yours, &e.

OLIVER GOLDSMITH.THE HERMIT.!}

Fr.
yew ==F URN, gentle Hermit of the dale,

IS] pary) :
Ell Coy And guide my lonely way,
To where yon taper cheers the vale

With hospitable ray.*

fe
KE

       
  

  

els

‘‘ For here, forlorn and lost I tread,
With fainting steps and slow ;
Where wilds, immeasurably spread,
Seem lengthening as I go.”
re
‘“ Forbear, my son,” the Hermit cries,
“To tempt the dangerous gloom ; 10
For yonder faithless phantom ilies
To lure thee to thy doom.
1 See the Vicar of Wakefield, 1766, chap. viii, from which

the text is taken, but as this differs considerably from the
first edition [1764], the variations are also given.
VARIATION.
® “Deion, saint-like tenant of the dale,
To guide my nightly way,
To yonder fire, that cheers the vale
With hospitable ray.

 

 

Nee eel

somTHE POEMS

BY.

“‘ Here to the houseless child of want
My door is open still ;

And though my portion is but scant,
I give it with good will.

Vie

“Then turn to-night, and freely share
Whate’er my cell bestows ;

My rushy couch and frugal fare,
My blessing and repose. 20

VI.

‘No flocks that range the valley free
To slaughter I condemn:

Taught by that Power that pities me,
I learn to pity them:

Vie

‘“ But from the mountain’s grassy side
A guiltless feast I bring ;

A scrip with herbs and fruits supplied,
And water from the spring.

VE,

“ Then, pilgrim, turn, thy cares forego ;

All earth-born cares are wrong: 30
Man wants but little here below,

Nor wants that little long.” !

‘ ** Man wants but little, nor that little long.”
Young’s Night Thoughts. 4th Night.OF GOLDSMITH.

IX.

Soft as the dew from heaven descends,
His gentle accents fell:

The modest stranger lowly bends,
And follows to the cell.

Xe

Far in a wilderness obscure
The lonely mansion lay ;°
A refuge to the neighbouring poor
And strangers led astray ! 40

xT.

No stores beneath its humble thatch
Required a master’s care ;

The wicket, opening with a latch,°
Received the harmless pair.

Exot

And now, when busy crowds retire
To take their evening rest,?

The Hermit trimmed his little fire,
And cheered his pensive guest:

VARIATIONS,

b Far sheltered in a glade obscure
The modest mansion lay ;

¢ The door just opening with a latch,

4d And now, when worldly crowds retire
To revels or to rest,THE POEMS

 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
   
 
  
 
  
  

xe

And spread his vegetable store,

And gaily pressed and smiled ; 50
And, skilled in legendary lore,

The lingering hours beguiled.

STAY.

Around in sympathetic mirth
Its tricks the kitten tries ;

The cricket chirrups in the hearth ;
The crackling faggot flies.

 

XV.

But nothing could a charm impart
To soothe the stranger’s woe;
For grief was heavy at his heart,
And tears began to flow.® 60

aval
His rising cares the Hermit spied,
With answering care opprest:
“« And whence, unhappy youth,” he cried,
“The sorrows of thy breast ?

XVII.

‘From better habitations spurned,
. Reluctant dost thou rove ?

VARIATION.

€ But nothing mirthful could assuage
The pensive stranger’s woe;

For grief had seized his early age,

And tears would often flow.OF GOLDSMITH.

  
   
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
    
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
 

Or grieve for friendship unreturned,
Or unregarded love ?

XVIII.

=

ie. Nee eet ie Aalelaieliaaeae ana sees serene

“Alas! the joys that fortune brings
Are trifling, and decay ; ic
And those who prize the trifling things,
More trifling still than they.

RX
«‘ And what is friendship but a name,
A charm that lulls to sleep ;
A shade that follows wealth or fame,
And leaves the wretch to weep ?

XX.

‘¢ And love is still an emptier sound,
The modern fair-one’s jest :

On earth unseen, or only found
To warm the turtle’s nest.

XE.
‘For shame, fond youth, thy sorrows hush,
And spurn the sex,” he said:
But while he spoke, a rising blush
His love-lorn guest betrayed.‘

AUT
Surprised, he sees new beauties rise,
Swift mantling to the view ;

VARIATION.
£ The bashful guest betrayed.ne +.
* Q

   
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
 

eee eee

 

 
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
   
 

THE POEMS

 

Like colours o’er the morning skies,
As bright, as transient too.8

XXIII,

The bashful look, the rising’ breast,
Alternate spread alarms: 90
The lovely stranger stands confest
A maid in all her charms.

XXTIY.

“And, ah! forgive a stranger rude,
A wretch forlorn,” she eried ;

“ Whose feet unhallowed thus intrude
Where Heaven and you reside.

XGXGV

“ But let a maid thy pity share,
Whom ilove has taught to stray;
Who seeks for rest, but finds despair

Companion of her way.

ry
cS
a

VARIATIONS,

§ He sees unnumbered beauties rise,
Expanding to the view ;
Like clouds that deck the morning skies;
As bright, as transient too.

" Her looks, her lips, her panting breast.
i “ Forgive, and let thy pious care
A heart’s distress allay ;
That seeks repose, but finds despair
Companion of the way.

‘* My father lived, of high degree,
Remote beside the Tyne ;OF GOLDSMITH.

XXVI.

“‘My father lived beside the Tyne,
A wealthy lord was he ;

And all his wealth was marked as mine,
He had but only me.

XXVII.

<‘*To win me from his tender arms
Unnumbered suitors came ;

Who praised me for imputed charms,
And felt, or feigned a flame,

XXVIII.

** Hach hour a mercenary crowd

With richest proffers strove ; 110
Amongst the rest young Edwin bowed,

But never talked of love.*

XXIxX.

“In humble, simplest habit clad,
No wealth nor power had he;

VARIATIONS.

And as he had but only me,
Whate’er he had was mine.

s¢ To win me from his tender arms,
Unnumbered suitors came ;

Their chief pretence my flattered charms,
My wealth perhaps their aim.

k « Among the rest young Edwin bowed,
Who offered only love.THE POEMS

Wisdom and worth were all he had,
But these were all to me.!

XXX,

“And when beside me! in the dale
He earolled days of love ;
His breath lent fragrance to the gale,
And music to the grove. 120

XXXI.

“The blossom opening to the day,™
The dews of heaven refined,
Could nought of purity display,
To emulate his mind.

XXXII.

“The dew, the blossom on the tree,
With charms inconstant shine ;

Their charms were his, but woe to me!
Their constancy was mine.

* And when beside me] This stanza, written some years
after the rest of the poem, was communicated by Richard
Archdall, Esq. to whom it was given by Goldsmith.

VARIATIONS.

1 A constant heart was all he had,
But that was all to me.

m “Whene’er he spoke amidst the train,
How would my heart attend!
And till delighted even to pain,
How sigh for such a friend!

“ And when a little rest I sought,
In sleep’s refreshing arms,OF GOLDSMITH.
MMOXTE,
‘For still I tried each fickle art,
Importunate and vain ; 130

And while his passion touched my heart,
I triumphed in his pain.

SEX SVs
«Till quite dejected with my scorn,
He left me to my pride ;
And sought a solitude forlorn,
In secret, where he died.”

XXXYV.

‘‘ But mine the sorrow, mine the fault,
And well my life shall pay ;
V’ll seek the solitude he sought,
And stretch me where he lay. 140

XXXVI.

‘‘ And there forlorn, despairing, hid,
V’ll lay me down and die;

VARIATIONS.

How have I mended what he taught,
And lent him fancied charms!

“ Yet still (and woe betide the hour!)
I spurned him from my side,

And still with ill-dissembled power,
Repaid his love with pride.

o “Till quite dejected with my scorn,

He left me to deplore;

And sought a solitude forlorn,
And ne’er was heard of more.

“Then since he perished by my fault,
This pilgrimage I pay; &c.—

eee ee eT

 

 

  

THE POEMS

   
  
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
  
 
 
  
  

"Twas so for me that Edwin did,
And so for him will J.’’°

XXXVII.

“Forbid it, Heaven!” the Hermit cried,
And clasped her to his breast:

The wondering fair one turned to chide,—
"Twas Edwin’s self that prest.

XXX VIII.

“Turn, Angelina, ever dear,
My charmer, turn to see 150
Thy own, thy long-lost Edwin here,
Restored to love and thee.

XXXIX.

“Thus let me hold thee to my heart,
And every care resign :

And shall we never, never part,
My life—my all that’s mine?

VARIATION.

° “And there in sheltering thickets hid,
Pll linger till I die;
"T'was thus for me my lover did,
And so for him will I.”

** Thou shalt not thus,” the Hermit cried,
And clasped her to his breast;

The astonished fair one turned to chide,—
"T'was Edwin’s self that prest.

For now no longer could he hide,
What first to hide he strove;

His looks resume their youthful pride,
And flush with honest love.OF GOLDSMITH.

XL.

“No, never from this hour to part,
We'll live and love so true,

The sigh that rends thy constant heart
Shall break thy Edwin’s too.”?

THE DOUBLE TRANSFORMATION.*

A TALE.
NY ECLUDED from domestic strife,
Jack Bookworm led a college life ;
A fellowship at twenty-five
Made him the happiest man alive ;

 
 

1 First printed as Essay 26, in “Essays by Mr. Gold-
smith,” 1765, 12mo.

VARIATIONS.
P “No, never, from this hour to part,
Our love shall still be new;
And the last sigh that rends thy heart
Shall break thy Edwin’s too.”

In the original draft the ballad ended thus :—

“ Here amidst Sylvan bowers we'll rove,
From lawn to woodland stray ;

Blest as the songsters of the grove,
And innocent as they.

“ To all that want, and all that wail,
Our pity shall be given,

And when this life of love shall fail,

We'll love again in heaven.”a ee ree

 

 

      
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
   
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   

18 THE POEMS

He drank his glass, and cracked his joke,
And freshmen wondered as he spoke.*

Such pleasures, unalloyed with care,
Could any accident impair ?
Could Cupid’s shaft at length transfix
Our swain, arrived at thirty-six ? 10
O had the archer ne’er come down
To ravage in a country town!
Or Flavia been content to stop
At triumphs in a Fleet-street shop.
O had her eyes forgot to blaze !
Or Jack had wanted eyes to gaze.
O! —— but let exclamation cease,
Her presence banished all his peace.»
So with decorum all things carried ; 19

Miss frowned, and blushed, andthen was—married.

Need we expose to vulgar sight
The raptures of the bridal night ?
Need we intrude on hallowed ground,
Or draw the curtains closed around ?
Let it suffice that each had charms ;

VARIATIONS.

# Without politeness aimed at breeding,
And laughed at pedantry and reading.
b Our altered parson now began
To be a perfect lady’s man,
Made sonnets, lisped his sermons O’er,
And told the tales oft told before,
Of bailiffs pumped, and proctors bit,
At college how he showed his wit;
And as the fair one still approved,
He fell in love—or thought he loved.
First HidtionOF GOLDSMITH.

He clasped a goddess in his arms ;
And though she felt his usage® rough,
Yet in a man ’twas well enough.

The honeymoon like lightning flew,
The second brought its transports too. 30
A third, a fourth, were not amiss,
The fifth was friendship mixed with bliss:
But, when a twelvemonth passed away,
Jack found his goddess made of clay ;
Found half the charms that decked her face
Arose from powder, shreds, or lace ;
But still the worst remained behind,
That very face had robbed her mind.

Skilled in no other arts was she,
But dressing, patching, repartee ; 40
And, just as humour rose or fell,
By turns a slattern or a belle ;
Tis true she dressed with modern grace,
Half naked at a ball or race ;
But when at home, at board or bed,
Five greasy nightcaps wrapped her head.
Could so much beauty condescend
To be a dull domestic friend ?
Could any curtain lectures bring
To decency so fine a thing? 50
In short, by night, ’twas fits or fretting ;
By day, twas gadding or coquetting.
Fond to be seen, she kept a bevy®

VARIATIONS.

e visage.
d « Now tawdry madam kept a bevy”

5 »

De name fe grr aw mess ee80 THE POEMS

Of powdered coxcombs at her levy ;

The ’squire and captain took their stations,
And twenty other near relations;

Jack sucked his pipe, and often broke

A sigh in suffocating smoke ;°

While all their hours were passed! between
Insulting repartee or spleen. 60

Thus as her faults each day were known,
He thinks her features coarser grown ;
He fancies every vice she shows,
Or thins her lip or points her nose:
Whenever rage or envy rise,
How wide her mouth, how wild her eyes !
He knows not how, but so it iS,
Her face is grown a knowing phiz ;
And, though her fops are wondrous civil,
He thinks her ugly as the devil. 70

Now," to perplex the ravelled noose,
As each a different way pursues,
While sullen or loquacious strife
Promised to hold them on for hfe,
That dire disease, whose ruthless power
Withers the beauty’s transient flower:
Lo! the smallpox, whose horrid glare
Levelled its terrors at the fair ;

VARIATIONS.

© She in her turn became perplexing,
And found substantial bliss in vexing;
f Thus every hour was passed,
& Each day the more her faults were known,
h ThusOF GOLDSMITH.

And, rifling every youthful grace,
Left but the remnant of a face. 80

The glass, grown hateful to her sight,
Reflected now a perfect fright :
Each former art she vainly tries
To bring back lustre to her eyes.
In vain she tries her paste! and creams,
To smooth her skin, or hide its seams ;
Her country beaux and city cousins,
Lovers no more, flew off:by dozens:
The ’squire himself was seen to yield,
And eyen the captain quit the field. 90

Poor madam, now condemned to hack
The rest of life with anxious Jack,
Perceiving others fairly flown,
Attempted pleasing him alone.

Jack soon was dazzled to behold

Her present face surpass the old;

With modesty her cheeks are dyed,

Humility displaces pride ;

For tawdry finery is seen

A person ever neatly clean ; 100
No more presuming on her sway,

She learns good-nature every day ;

Serenely gay, and strict in duty,

Jack finds his wife a perfect beauty.

VARIATION.

1 pastes.

Oe oar ean aeraTHE POEMS

THE GIFT.

TO IRIS, IN BOW STREET, COVENT GARDEN,!

RAY, cruel Iris, pretty rake,

> _ Dear mercenary beauty,

What annual offering shall I make
Expressive of my duty ?

My heart, a victim to thine eyes,
Should I at once deliver,

Say, would the angry fair one prize
The gift, who slights the giver ?

A bill, a jewel, watch, or toy,

My rivals give—and let ’em ; 10
If gems or gold impart a joy,

I'll give them—when I get ’em.

 

Pll give—but not the full-blown rose,
Or rosebud, more in fashion ;

Such short lived offerings but disclose
A transitory passion.

I'll give thee something yet unpaid,
Not less sincere than civil ;
I'll give thee—ah! too charming maid,
Pll give thee—to the deyil.2 20

1 First printed in The Bee, 1759, De 50:
* The original of this poem is in Menagiana, vol. iv. p. 200.

“PTRENNE A IRIs.

“Pour témoignage de ma flamme,
Tris, du meilleur de mon ame,OF GOLDSMITH.

THE LOGICIANS REFUTED.

IN IMITATION OF DEAN SWIFT.!

  
  

As rational the human mind ;
5 »») Reason, they say, belongs to man,
==? But let them prove it if they can.
Wise Aristotle and Smiglecius,
By ratiocinations specious,
Have strove to prove with great precision,
With definition and division,
Homo est ratione preditum ;
But for my soul I cannot credit ’em. 10

 

e

Je vous donne & ce nouvel an

Non pas dentelle, ni ruban,

Non pas essence, ni pommade,
Quelques boites de marmalade,

Un mouchoir, des gants, un bouquet,
Non pas fleures, ni chapelet,

Quoi done? attendez, je vous donne
O! fille plus belle que bonne,

Qui m’avez toujours refusé,

Le point si souvent proposé,

Je vous donne—Ah! le puis-je dire?
Oui: c’est trop souffrir le martyre,

Il est temps de m’émanciper,
Patience va m’échapper.
Fussiez-vous cent fois plus aimable,
Belle Iris, je vous donne. . . au diable.”

' First printed in the Busy Body, 1759, as a genuine pro-
duction of Swift; it has been frequently included in his
collected works.—

aha RRMA SRIN Ie

 

   
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 

 

THE POEMS

And must in spite of them maintain,

That man and all his Ways are vain ;

And that this boasted lord of nature

Is both a weak and erring creature.

That instinct is a surer guide

Than reason,—boasting mortals’ pride :

And that brute beasts are far before ’em,
Deus est anima brutorwmn.

Who ever knew an honest brute

At law his neighbour prosecute, 20

Bring action for assault and battery,

Or friend beguile with lies and flattery ?
O’er plains they ramble unconfined,

No politics disturb their mind;

They eat their meals, and take their sport,
Nor know who’s in or out at court,

They never to the levee go

To treat as dearest friend, a foe:

They never importune his Grace,

Nor ever cringe to men in place ; 30
Nor undertake a dirty job,

Nor draw the quill to write for Bob,
Fraught with invective they ne’er go
To folks at Paternoster Row:

No judges, fiddlers, dancing-masters,
No pickpockets, or poetasters,

Are known to honest quadrupeds,

No single brute his fellow leads.
Brutes never meet in bloody fray,
Nor cut each others’ throats for pay. 40
Of beasts, it is confessed, the ape

2

’ Sir Robert Walpole.OF GOLDSMITH.

Comes nearest. us in human shape,

Like man he imitates each fashion,

And malice is his ruling passion :

But both in malice and grimaces

A courtier any ape surpasses.

Behold him humbly cringing wait
Upon the minister of state:

View him soon after to inferiors,

Aping the conduct of superiors : 50
He promises with equal air,

And to perform takes equal care.

He in his turn finds imitators ;

At court, the porters, lacqueys, waiters,
Their masters’ manners still contract,
And footmen, lords and dukes can act.
Thus at the court both great and small
Behave alike,—for all ape all.

ON A BEAUTIFUL YOUTH STRUCK BLIND

 
 
   

BY LIGHTNING.

IMITATED FROM THE SPANISH.!

;URE ’twas by Providence designed,

' Rather in pity than in hate,

That he should be, like Cupid, blind,
To save him from Narcissus’ fate.

' First printed in Zhe Bee, p. 8, ed. 1759THE POEMS

A NEW SIMILE.

IN THE MANNER OF SwIFT.!

   

ONG had I sought in vain to find?
KES A likeness for the scribbling kind :
GED) The modern scribbling kind, who write,
7—== In wit, and sense, and nature’s Spite :

Till reading, I forgot what day on,

A chapter out of Tooke’s Pantheon,

I think I met with something there,

To suit my purpose to a hair ;

But let us not proceed too furious,

First please to turn to god Mercurius ; 10

You'll find him pictured at full length

In book the second, page the tenth:

The stress of all my proofs on him I lay,

And now proceed we to our simile.

   
   

Imprimis, pray observe his hat,
Wings upon either side—mark that.
Well! what is it from thence we gather ?
Why, these denote a brain of feather.
A brain of feather ! very right,
With wit that’s flighty, learning light ; 20

First printed among Goldsmith’s Essays (the xxviith).

VARIATION.
* I long had racked my brains to findOF GOLDSMITH.

Such as to modern bard’s decreed ;
A just comparison,—proceed.

In the next place, his feet peruse,
Wings grow again from both his shoes,
Designed, no doubt, their part to bear,
And waft his godship through the air:
And here my simile unites,
For in the modern poet’s flights,
I’m sure it may be justly said,
His feet are useful as his head. 30

Lastly, vouchsafe t’ observe his hand,
Filled with a snake-encircled wand ;
By classic authors termed Caduceus,
And highly famed for several uses.

To wit—most wondrously endued,

No poppy water half so good ;

For let folks only get a touch,

Its soporifie virtue’s such,

Though ne’er so much awake before,

That quickly they begin to snore. 40
Add too, what certain writers tell,

With this he drives men’s souls to hell.

Now to apply, begin we then ;
His wand’s a modern author’s pen ;
The serpents round about it twined
Denote him of the reptile kind ;
Denote the rage with which he writes,
His frothy slaver, venomed bites ;
An equal semblance still to keep,
Alike too both conduce to sleep.

a ea rae aeadl" :

AvTHE POEMS

This difference only, as the god
Drove souls to Tartarus with his rod,
With his goosequill the scribbling elf,
Instead of others, damns himself.

And here my simile almost tript,
Yet grant a word by way of postscript.
Moreover, Mercury had a failing :
Well! what of that? out with it—stealing ;
In which all modern bards? agree,
Being each as great a thief ag he: 60
But e’en this deity’s existence
Shall lend my simile assistance.
Our modern bards! why what a pox
Are they—but senseless stones and blocks ?

VARIATION.

> our scribbling bardy,OF GOLDSMITH.

‘ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A MAD
DOG."

a eee eee

Give ear unto my song ;
And if you find it wondrous short —
It cannot hold you long.

 

In Islington there was a man,
Of whom the world might say,

That still a godly race he ran,—
Whene’er he went to pray.

A kind and gentle heart he had,

To comfort friends and foes ; 19
The naked every day he clad,—

When he put on his clothes.

And in that town a dog was found,
As many dogs there be,

Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound,
And curs of low degree.

1 First printed in the Vicar of Wakefield, c. xvii. 1766;
this is an imitation of the French chanson La Galisse.—See
the Elegy on Mrs. Mary Blaize, p. 96.

In the Citizen of the World, vol. ii. lett. Ixix. is a paper
on the “ Epidemic Terror, the dread of Mad Dogs, which now
prevails; the whole nation is now actually gyoaning under
the malignity of its influence.”THE POEMS

 

This dog and man at first were friends ;
But when a pique began,
The dog, to gain some private ends,
Went mad, and bit the man. 20

Around from all the neighbouring streets
The wondering neighbours ran,

And swore the dog had lost his wits,
To bite so good a man.

The wound it seemed both sore and gad
To every Christian eye ;

And while they swore the dog was mad,
They swore the man would die.

But soon a wonder came to hght,

That showed the rogues they lied 30
The man recovered of the bite,
The dog it was tl.at died.OF GOLDSMITH.

THE CLOWN’S REPLY.

KS OHN TROTT was desired by two witty
peers

To tell them the reason why asses had

2 ears ?

“ An’t please you,” quoth John, “ I’m not given to

letters,

Nor dare I pretend to know more than my betters ;

Howe’er, from this time I shall ne’ersee your graces,

As I hope to be saved ! without thinking on asses.”

  
  

O
4
GS

    

Edinburgh, 1753.

STANZAS ON WOMAN.!

(> ZHEN lovely Woman stoops to folly,

7/3 And finds too late that men betray,
Jy What charm can soothe her melancholy,
What art can wash her guilt away ?

 

The only art her guilt to cover,

To hide her shame from every eye,
To give repentance to her lover,

And wring his bosom—is, to die.

1 First printed in the Vicar of Wakefield, c. xxiv.

Sen ten Cetera eaeSS

SS

THE POEMS

 
 
 
  
    
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
    
  
      

A DESCRIPTION OF AN AUTHOR’S
BEDCHAMBER.}?

}
iG
2

 
  

   
 

CHERE the Red Lion flaring o’er the way,

® Invites each passing stranger that can
Pay:

Where Calvert’s butt, and Parson’s
black champaign,

Regale the drabs and bloods of Drury-lane ;

There in a lonely room, from bailiffs snug,

The Muse found Scroggen stretched beneath a rug ;

A window, patched with paper, lent a ray,

That dimly showed the state in which he lay ;

The sanded floor that grits beneath the tread;

The humid wall with paltry pictures spread: 10

The royal game of goose was there in view,

And the twelve rules the royal martyr drew ;

The seasons, framed with listing, found a place,

And brave prince William showed his lampblack

face :

The morn was cold, he views with keen desire

The rusty grate unconscious of a fire:

With beer and milk arrears the frieze was scored,

And five cracked teacups dressed the chimney board;

A nightcap decked his brows instead of bay,

A cap by night—a stocking all the day! 20

 
 
  

' These lines first appeared in the Citizen of the World,
vol. i, letter xxx. A variation of them appears in the
Deserted Village, see p. 35; see also the Memoir, p. li.OF GOLDSMITH.

SONG.

INTENDED TO HAVE BEEN SUNG IN THE COMEDY

oF “ SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER.” !

yH, me! when shall I marry me?

Lovers are plenty ; but fail to relieve
me.

He, fond youth, that could carry me,
Offers to love, but means to deceive me.

But I will rally and combat the ruiner :
Not a look, nor a smile shall my passion discover.

She that gives all to the false one pursuing her,
Makes but a penitent, and loses a lover.

 

1 TO THE EDITOR OF THE “ LONDON MAGAZINE.”

SIR,
I sEND you a small production of the late Dr. Goldsmith,
which has never been published, and which might perhaps
have been totally lost, had I not secured it. He in-
tended it as a song in the character of Miss Hardcastle, in
his admirable comedy of She Stoops to Conquer, but it
was left out, as Mrs. Bulkley, who played the part, did not
sing. He sung it himself, in private companies very agree-
ably. The tune is a pretty Irish air, called The Humours of
Balamagairy, to which he told me he found it very diffi-
cult to adapt words; but he has succeeded very happily in
these few lines. As I could sing the tune, and was fond of
them, he was so good as to give me them, about a year ago,
just as I was leaving London, and bidding him adieu for
that season, little apprehending that it was a last farewell.
I preserve this little relic, in his own handwriting, with an
affectionate care. I am, Sir,

Your humble Servant,

J AMES BOSWELL.Sete od
m= of ame

ee ee ER S| <P R EL SOc OHTA SEO T ;
a

 

 

  

THE POEMS

 
   
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
   
 
   
 

STANZAS

ON THE TAKING OF QUEBEC, AND DEATH OF

GENERAL WOLFE.!

(<2Y MIDST the clamour of exulting joys,
Which triumph forces from the pa-
triot heart ;
Grief dares to mingle her soul-piercing
voice,
And quells the raptures which from pleasures
start.

 

O Wolfe! to thee a streaming flood of woe,
Sighing we pay, and think e’en conquest dear ;

Quebec in vain shall teach our breast to glow,
Whilst thy sad fate extorts the heart-wrung tear.

Alive, the foe thy dreadful vigour fled,
And saw thee fall with joy-pronouncing eyes: 10
Yet they shall know thou conquerest, though dead !
Since from thy tomb a thousand heroes rise.

' First printed in the Busy Body, 1759.OF GOLDSMITH.

EPITAPH ON THOMAS PARNELL!

¢ HIS tomb inscribed to gentle? Parnell’s
name,

May speak our gratitude, but not his
fame.

What heart but feels his sweetly moral lay,

That leads to truth through pleasure’s flowery way!

Celestial themes confessed his tuneful aid ;

And Heaven, that lent him genius, was repaid.

Needless to him the tribute we bestow,

The transitory breath of fame below:

More lasting rapture from his works shall rise,

While converts thank their poet in the skies. 10

 

EPITAPH ON EDWARD PURDON.

  
 
 

eS yD ERE lies poor Ned Purdon, from misery
il a freed,
g lk Who long was a bookseller’s hack ;
® He led such a damnable life in this
world,—
I don’t think he’ll wish to come back.

1 Dy, Parnell died in 1718, and was buried in Trinity
Church, Chester. Goldsmith wrote his Life, and his poems
form one of the volumes of the Aldine Series.

2  « With softest manners, gentlest arts adorned.”

Pope on Parnell.

3 This gentleman was educated at Trinity College, Dublin ;
where he was the college friend of Goldsmith. Having wasted=
SeSS——
en eee

  

ee ee oer

 

 

 

=

Feahm we

 

his patrimony, he enlisted as a foot soldier:
of that employment, he obtained his disch

a writer in the newspapers. He translated Voltaire’s Hen-
riade. Died March 27, 1767.

96 THE POEMS

AN ELEGY ON THAT GLORY OF HER SEX
MRS. MARY BLAIZE.1

2

YYOOD people all, with one accord,

% Lament for Madam Blaize,

Who never wanted a good word—
From those who spoke her praise.

The needy seldom passed her door, -
And always found her kind ;

She freely lent to all the poor—
Who left a pledge behind.

She strove the neighbourhood to please,
With manners wondrous winning ; 10
And never followed wicked ways—
Unless when she was sinning.

At church, in silks and satins new,
With hoop of monstrous size ;
She never slumbered in her pew—

But when she shut her eyes.

Her love was sought, I do aver,
By twenty beaux and more ;

growing tired
arge, and became

1 First published in The Bee, 1759; p. 128.OF GOLDSMITH.

[he king himself has followed her—
When she has walked before. 20

But now her wealth and finery fled,
Her hangers-on cut short all ;

The doctors found, when she was dead—
Her last disorder mortal.

Let us lament, in sorrow sore,
For Kent-street well may say,

That had she lived a twelvemonth more—
She had not died to-day.?

' This poem is an imitation of the chanson, called “ Le
fameux la Galaise, homme imaginaire,” in fifty stanzas,
printed in the Menagiana, iv. 191.

* Messieurs, vous plait-il d’ouir
L’air du fameux la Galisse,
I] pourra vous réjouir,
Pourvi qwil vous divertisse.
* * * *
** Bien instruit dés le berceau
Jamais, tant il fut honnéte,
I] se mettoit son chapeau
Qwil ne se couvrét la téte.
* * * *
*¢ On dit que dans ses amours
Il fut caressé des belles,
Qui le suivirent toujours,
Tant gwil marche devant elles.
* * * x
“¢ {1 fut par un triste sort,
Blessé d’une main cruelle;
On croit, puisqu’il est mort,
Que la plaie était mortelle.

“ Regretté de ses soldats,

Il mourut digne d’envie,
“t le jour de son trépas

Fut le dernier de sa vie.”

gy * * gs

H

a eee eemrmeeaamatadllie re _-
anne

fe
f 98 THE POEMS
qe
ial VERSES IN REPLY TO AN INVITATION

TO DINNER AT DR. BAKER’S.}

[c. 1769. |

**This isa poem! This is a copy of verses!”

 
 

You may oil go 6 at
by fa Had your senses been right,
* You'd have sent before et ;
As I hope to be saved,
I put off being shaved ;
For I could not make bold,
While the matter was cold,
ate To meddle in suds,
aie} Or to put on my duds; 1
iv So tell Horneck and Nesbitt,
aan And Baker and his bit,
* | And Kauffman beside,
a i Hi And the Jessamy bride,?
tl With the rest of the crew,
i The Reynoldses two,
Little Comedy’s® face,
And the Captain in lace.4
(By the bye you may tell him,
I have something to sell him ; 20

 

' The above verses were first published in 1837, by the
late Sir Henry Bunbury, Bart.

2 Miss Mary Horneck, afterwards Mrs. Gwyn.

3 Miss Catherine Horneck, afterwards Mrs. Bunbury

* Ensign (afterwards General) Horneck.

  

—— SSS ==

= Se

em
2 SE

 
    

«i <= ati naOF GOLDSMITH.

Of use I insist,

When he comes to enlist.
Your worships must know

That a few days ago,
An order went out,

For the foot guards so stout
To wear tails in high taste,

Twelve inches at least ;

Now I’ve got him a scale

To measure each tail,

To lengthen a short tail,
And a long one to curtail.)

Yet how can I when vext,
Thus stray from my text ?

Tell each other to rue
Your Devonshire crew,
For sending so late

To one of my state.
But ’tis Reynolds’s way
From wisdom to stray,
And Angelica’s whim
To be frolick like him,

OLIVER GOLDSMITH.

But alas! your good worships, how could they be
wiser,
When both have been spoiled in to-day’s Advertiser ?a
—
ee =
ooh ei

as ee TET nd

OES * PME eevee tere

 

 

  

  

THE POEMS

   
 
  
    
    
 
    
    
   
 

A MADRIGAL.!

Lost to every gay delight ;
Myra, too sincere for feigning,
Fears the approaching bridal night.

Yet why impair thy bright perfection ?
Or dim thy beauty with a tear ?
Had Myra followed my direction,
She long had wanted cause of fear.

SONG,

ry HE wretch, condemned with life to part

|& Still, still on hope relies ;

And every pang that rends the heart,
Bids expectation rise.

3

Hope, like the gleaming taper’s light,
Adorns and cheers the way ;

And still, as darker grows the night,
Emits a brighter ray.

1 First printed in The Bee, p. 94.OF GOLDSMITH.

SONG.

RG MEMORY! thou fond deceiver,

\\ Still importunate and vain,

To former joys, recurring ever,
And turning all the past to pain ;

 
 

Thou, like the world, opprest oppressing,
Thy smiles increase the wretch’s woe !

And he who wants each other blessing,
In thee must ever find a foe.

 
   
  
 
 
  
  
 

' This and the preceding are variations of songs in the

Oratorio of The Captivity.aaa

atm 8 ee am: i mf we!

 

 

 

    
  
   
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
   

PROLOGUES AND EPILOGUES.

PROLOGUE WRITTEN AND SPOKEN BY
THE POET LABERIUS,

A ROMAN KNIGHT, WHOM CHSAR FORCED UPON THE

STAGE. PRESERVED BY MACROBIUS.!

  

HAT! no way left to shun th’ inglorious

| ‘stage,

And save from infamy my sinking age !

Scarce half alive, oppressed with many
a year,

What in the name of dotage drives me here?

A time there was, when glory was my guide,

Nor force nor fraud could turn my steps aside;

Unawed by power, and unappalled by fear,

With honest thrift I held my honour dear:

But this vile hour disperses all my store,

1 This translation was first printed in the first edition of
one of our Author’s earliest works, The Present State of
Learning in Europe, 12mo. 1759. It was omitted in the
second edition, 1774.THE POEMS OF GOLDSMITH. 103

And all my hoard of honour is no more ; 10
For ah! too partial to my life’s decline,

Czesar persuades, submission must be mine ;

Him I obey, whom heaven itself obeys,

Hopeless of pleasing, yet inclined to please.

Here then at once I welcome every shame,

And cancel at threescore a life of fame ;

No more my titles shall my children tell,

The old buffoon will fit my name as well ;

This day beyond its term my fate extends,

For life is ended when our honour ends.* 20

' See Macrobii Saturn. lib. ii. c. vii. p. 369, ed. Zeunii.
Goldsmith has translated, or rather imitated, only the first
fifteen lines of the Prologue, ending—

“ Uno plus vixi mihi quam vivendum fuit.”

J venture to add the remainder,—

Too lavish still in good, or evil hour,

To show to man the empire of thy power,
Tf fortune, at thy wild impetuous sway,
The blossoms of my fame must drop away,
Then was the time the obedient plant to strain
When life was warm in every vigorous vein,

To mould young nature to thy plastic skill,

And bend my pliant boyhood to thy will.

So might I hope applauding crowds to hear,
Catch the quick smile, and HIs attentive ear.
But ah! for what hast thou reserved my age?
Say, how can I expect the approving stage;
Fled is the bloom of youth—the manly air—
The vigorous mind that spurned at toil and care;
Gone is the voice, whose clear and silver tone
The enraptured theatre would love to own.

As clasping ivy chokes the encumbered tree,

So age with foul embrace has ruined me.

Thou, and the tomb, Laberius, art the same,
Empty within, what hast thou but a name ?

Dace nn nmePane VEY were
Se eee ne

—— a a oe a” aaa

 

   
   
  
  
   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 

104 THE POEMS

PROLOGUE TO “ZOBEIDE: ”

b

A TRAGEDY. WRITTEN-BY JOSEPH CRADDOCK, ESQ.
FIRST ACTED AT THE THEATRE ROYAL, COVENT
GARDEN, 10TH DEC. MDCCLXXI. SPOKEN
BY MR. QUICK, IN THE CHARACTER
OF A SAILOR.

Sy

SN these bold times, when learning’s sons
explore

Sj The distant climate, and the savage

shore ;

When wise astronomers to India steer,

And quit for Venus many a brighter here;

While botanists, all cold to smiles and dimpling,

Forsake the fair, and patiently—go simpling,

When every bosom swells with wondrous scenes,

Priests, cannibals, and hoity-toity queens,

Our bard into the general spirit enters,

And fits his little frigate for adventures. 10

With Scythian stores, and trinkets, deeply laden,

He this way steers his course, in hopes of trading—

Yet ere he lands he has ordered me before

To make an observation on the shore.

Where are we driven? our reckoning sure is lost!

This seems a barren and a dangerous coast.

Lord, what a sultry climate am I under!

Yon ill foreboding cloud seems big with thunder.

(Upper gallery.)OF GOLDSMITH. 105

There mangroves spread, and larger than I’ve seen
*em— ( Pit.)
Here trees of stately size—and turtles in °em—
(Balconies. )
21
(Stage. )
And apples [takes up one and tastes it] bitter apples
strew the ground:
The place is uninhabited I fear:
I heard a hissing—there are serpents here!
O there the natives are a dreadful race ;
The men have tails, the women paint the face.
No doubt they’re all barbarians.—Yes, ’tis so ;
Pll try to make palaver with them though ;
(Making signs.)
"Tis best, however, keeping at a distance.

Here ill-conditioned oranges abound

 

Good savages, our captain craves assistance; —-30
Our ship’s well stored ;—in yonder creek we’ve laid
her ;

His honour is no mercenary trader.

This is his first adventure, lend him aid,

Or you may chance to spoil a thriving trade.

His goods, he hopes, are prime, and brought from
far,

Kqually fit for gallantry and war.

What! no reply to promises so ample?

—I’d best step back, and order up a sample.a

ae or eas

on
a S
eS

eeeesereoeee = —"
ee een
x he a 5

a eee

 

 

  
   
   
  
  
  
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
    

106 THE POEMS

EPILOGUE SPOKEN BY MR. LEE LEWES,
IN THE CHARACTER OF HARLEQUIN,

AT HIS BENEFIT, MAY 7, 1773.

OLD! Prompter, hold! a word befcre
your nonsense ;
I'd speak a word or two, to ease my
conscience.

My a forbids it ever should be said,
My heels eclipsed the honours of my head ;
That I found humour in a piebald vest,
Or ever thought that jumping was a jest.

[ Takes off his mask.
Whence, and what art thou, visionary birth?
Nature disowns, and reason scorns thy mirth,
In thy black aspect every passion sleeps,
The joy that dimples, and the woe that weeps. 10
How hast thou filled the scene with all thy brood,
Of fools pursuing, and of fools pursued !
Whose ins and outs no ray of sense discloses,
Whose only plot it is to break our noses ;
Whilst from below the trap-door demons rise,
And from above the dangling deities ;
And shall I mix in this unhallowed crew ?
May rosined lightning blast me, if I do!
No—I will act, V’ll vindicate the stage:
Shakespeare himself shall feel my tragic rage. 20
Off! off! vile trappings! a new passion reigns !
The maddening monarch revels in my veins.OF GOLDSMITH. 107

Oh! for a Richard’s voice to catch the theme:

Give me another horse! bind up my wounds !—-
soft—’twas but a dream.

Ay, twas but a dream, for now there’s no retreat-
ing:

If I cease Harlequin, I cease from eating.

"Twas thus that Adsop’s stag, a creature blameless,

Yet something vain, like one that shall be nameless,

Once on the margin of a fountain stood,

And eavilled at his image in the flood. 30
‘The deuce confound,” he cries, “‘ these drumstick
shanks,

They never have my gratitude nor thanks ;
Theyre perfectly disgraceful! strike me dead!
But for a head, yes, yes, I have a head.

How piercing is that eye! how sleek that brow!
My horns! I’m told horns are the fashion now.”
Whilst thus he spoke, astonished! to his view,
Near, and more near, the hounds and huntsmen

drew.

“ Hoicks! hark forward!” came thund’ring from
behind,

He bounds aloft, outstrips the fleeting wind: 40

He quits the woods, and tries the beaten ways ;
He starts, he pants, he takes the circling maze.

At length his silly head, so prized before,

Is taught his former folly to deplore ;

Whilst his strong limbs conspire to set him free,
And at one bound he saves himself,—like me.

[ Taking a jump through the stage door.THE POEMS

   
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
  
 
 
  
   
  

EPILOGUE TO THE COMEDY OF
“THE SISTER.” ?

ZMAT ? five long acts—and all to make
us wiser !

Our authoress sure has wanted an

adviser.

Had she consulted me, she should have made

Her moral play a speaking masquerade ;

Warmed up each bustling scene, and in her rage

Have emptied all the green-room on the stage.

My life on’t, this had kept her play from sinking;

Have pleased our eyes, and saved the pain of

  

thinking.
Well! since she thus has shown her want of skill,
What if I give a masquerade ?—I will. 10
But how? ay, there’s the rub ! [pausing]—I’ve got
my cue:
The world’s a masquerade ! the masquers, you, you,
you. [Zo Boxes, Pit, and Gallery.

Lud! what a group the motley scene discloses !

False wits, false wives, false virgins, and false
spouses !

Statesmen with bridles on; and, close beside ’em,

Patriots in party-coloured suits that ride ’em.

" The Sister] A comedy by Mrs. Charlotte Lennox, 1769;
taken from the authoress’s own novel, Henretta. It was
performed only one night. The author of the Biographia
Dramatica says that “ this epilogue is the best that has ap-
peared the last thirty years.”OF GOLDSMITH.

There Hebes, turned of fifty, try once more

To raise a flame in Cupids of threescore.

These in their turn, with appetites as keen,
Deserting fifty, fasten on fifteen, 20
Miss, not yet full fifteen, with fire uncommon,
Flings down her sampler, and takes up the woman :
The little urchin smiles, and spreads her lure,
And tries to kill, ere she’s got power to cure.
Thus ’tis with all—their chief and constant care
Is to seem everything—but what they are.

Yon broad, bold, angry spark, I fix my eye on,
Who seems to have robbed his vizor from the lion;
Who frowns, and talks, and swears, with round

parade,
Looking, as who should say, dam’me! who’s afraid?
[ Mimicking.
Strip but his vizor off, and sure I am 31

You'll find his lionship a very lamb.

Yon politician, famous in debate,

Perhaps, to vulgar eyes, bestrides the state ;

Yet, when he deigns his real shape t’ assume,

He turns old woman, and bestrides a broom.

Yon patriot, too, who presses on your sight,

And seems, to every gazer, all in white,

If with a bribe his candour you attack,

He bows, turns round, and whip—the man’s in
black ! 40

Yon critic, too—but whither do I run?

If I proceed, our bard will be undone!

Well then a truce, since she requests it too:

Do you spare her, and I'll for once spare you.

Biter tr tS4 = —
ne ee
. — 5
a ‘

Aer

 

 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
     

  

110 THE POEMS

EPILOGUE TO THE COMEDY OF “SHE
STOOPS TO CONQUER.”

SPOKEN BY MRS. BULKLEY IN THE CHARACTER

OF MISS HARDCASTLE.

ZULL, having Stooped to Conquer with
success,

And gained a husband without aid
from dress,

Still, as a Peart: I could wish it too,

As I have conquered him, to conquer you:

And let me say, for all your resolution,

That pretty barmaids have done execution.

Our life is all a play, composed to please,

‘We have our exits and our entrances.”

The First Act shows the simple country maid,

Harmless and young, of every thing afraid ; 10

Blushes when hired, and, with unmeaning action,

“TI hope as how to give you satisfaction.”

Her Second Act displays a livelier scene—

The unblushing barmaid of a country inn,

Who whisks about the house, at market caters,

Talks loud, coquets the guests, and scolds the

waiters,

Next the scene shifts to town, and there she soars,

The chop-house toast of ogling connoisseurs.

On ’squires and cits she there displays her arts,

And on the gridiron broils her lovers’ hearts: 20

And as she smiles, her triumphs to complete,OF GOLDSMITH. et

Even common-councilmen forget to eat.

The Fourth Act shows her wedded to the ’squire,
And madam now begins to hold it higher ;

Doats upon dancing, and in all her pride,

Swims round the room, the Heinel of Cheapside ;
Ogles and leers with artificial skill,

Till having lost in age the power to kill,

She sits all night at cards, and ogles at Spadille.
Such, through our lives, the eventful history— 30
The Fifth and Last Act still remains for me.

The barmaid now for your protection prays,
Turns female barrister, and pleads for bays.!

INTENDED EPILOGUE TO “ SHE STOOPS
TO CONQUER.”

Enter Mrs. Bulkley, who curtsies very low as beginning to
speak. Then enter Miss Catley, who stands full before
her, and curtsies to the audience.

MRS. BULKLEY.

i) OLD, Ma’am, your pardon. What's your
| business here ?

 

MISS CATLEY.

The Epilogue.

1 The two Epilogues which follow, written by Goldsmith
for this same comedy, appear never to have been spoken.

Saas aeAe pas —-
iS oeteeteliienmmeat eT

 

 

Agreed,

  
 
   
   
 
   
   
    
  
  
   
  
   
 
 

a? THE POEMS

MRS, BULKLEY,
The Epilogue ?

MISS CATLEY.
Yes, the Epilogue, my dear.

MRS. BULKLEY.

Sure you mistake, Ma’am. The Epilogue? J bring it.

MISS CATLEY.
Excuse me, Ma’am. The author bid me sing it.

RECITATIVE.

Ye beaux and belles, that form this splendid ring,
Suspend your conversation while I sing.

MRS. BULKLEY.

Why, sure the girl’s beside herself! an Kpilogue of
singing ?

A hopeful end indeed to such a blest beginning. 10

Besides, a singer in a comic set !—

Excuse me, Ma’am, I know the etiquette.

MISS CATLEY.
What if we leave it to the House ?

MRS. BULKLEY,
The House !—Agreed.

MISS CATLEY,OF GOLDSMITH.

MRS. BULKLEY.

And she, whose party’s largest, shall proceed.
And first, I hope you'll readily agree

(ve all the critics and the wits for me.

They, I am sure, will answer my commands,

Ye candid judging few, hold up your hands; _— 20
What! no return? I find too late, I fear,

That modern judges seldom enter here.

MISS CATLEY.

-V’m for a different set.—Old men, whose trade is
Still to gallant and dangle with the ladies.

RECITATIVE.

Who mump their passion, and who grimly smiling,
Still thus address the fair with voice beguiling.

AUER © OE ON:

Turn, my fairest, turn, if ever
Strephon caught thy ravished eye ;
Pity take on your swain so clever,
Who without your aid must die. 3¢
Yes, I shall die, hu, hu, hu, hu!
Yes, I must die, ho, ho, ho, ho!
[Da Capo.

MRS. BULKLEY.

Let all the old pay homage to your merit:
Give me the young, the gay, the men of spirit.
Ye travelled tribe, ye macaroni train

Of French friseurs, and nosegays, justly vain,
1

eae eee aaa114 THE POEMS

Who take a trip to Paris once a year

To dress, and look like awkward Frenchmen here ;
Lend me your hands.—0O fatal news to tell, 40
Their hands are only lent to the Heinelle.

MISS CATLEY.

Ay, take your travellers, travellers indeed !

Give me my bonny Scot, that travels from the
Tweed.

Where are the chiels? Ah! Ah, I well discern

The smiling looks of each bewitching bairn.

arrn—A bonny young lad is my jockey.

I'll sing to amuse you by night and by day,
And be unco merry when you are but gay;
When you with your bagpipes are ready to play,
My voice shall be ready to carol away
With Sandy, and Sawney, and Jockey, 50
With Sawney, and Jarvie, and Jockey.

MRS. BULKLEY.

Ye gamesters, who, so eager in pursuit,

Make but of all your fortune one va toute:

Ye jockey tribe, whose stovk of words are few,

“1 hold the odds.—Done, done, with you, with
you.”

Ye barristers, so fluent with grimace,

“My Lord,—your Lordship misconceives the case.”

Doctors, who cough and answer every misfortuner,

“‘T wish I’d been called in a little sooner,”

Assist my cause with hands and voices hearty, 60

Come end the contest here, and aid my party.OF GOLDSMITH.

MISS OATLEY.
AIR—Ballinamony.

Ye brave Irish lads, hark away to the crack,
Assist me, I pray, in this woful attack ;
For sure I don’t wrong you, you seldom are slack,
When the ladies are calling, to blush, and hang back.

For you're always polite and attentive,

Still to amuse us inventive,

And death is your only preventive :

Your hands and your voices for me.

MRS. BULKLEY.
Well, Madam, what if, after all this sparring, 70

We both agree, like friends, to end our jarring ?

MISS CATLEY.

And that our friendship may remain unbroken,
What if we leave the Epilogue unspoken ?

MRS. BULKLEY.

Agreede

MISS CATLEY.
Agreed.

MRS. BULKLEY.

And now with late repentance,

Un-epilogued the Poet waits his sentence.
Condemn the stubborn fool who can’t submit

To thrive by flattery, though he starves by wit.

[ Hxeunt.

ee -ss

  
    
  
   
 
   
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
   

a ee

we

se

PEER OAS aN meme oan ae =

 

 

  

116 THE POEMS

ANOTHER EPILOGUE INTENDED FOR
“SH SLOORS, TO CONQUER.”

TO BE SPOKEN BY MRS. BULKLEY.

hae

sry, LERE is a place, so Ariosto sings,
ie =| le y A treasury for lost and missing things .

 

 

Ise
NES =“ Lost human wits have places there as-
WL E SH signed them,

And ae who lose their senses, Hers may find them.
But where’s this place, this storehouse of the age?
The Moon, says he :—but J affirm the Stage:

At least in many things, I think, I see

His lunar and our mimic world agree.

Both shine at night, for but at Foote’s alone,

We scarce exhibit till the sun goes down. 10
Both prone to change, no settled limits fix,

And sure the folks of both are lunatics.

But in this parallel my best pretence is,

That mortals visit both to find their senses.

To this strange spot, rakes, macaronies, cits,
Come thronging to collect their scattered wits.
The gay coquette, who ogles all the day,

Comes here at night, and goes a prude away.
Hither the affected city dame advancing,

Who sighs for operas, and dotes on dancing, —20
Taught by our art her ridicule to pause on,

Quits the Ballet, and calls for Nancy Dawson.
The Gamester too, whose wit’s all high or low,
Oft risks his fortune on one desperate throw,OF GOLDSMITH. T7

Comes here to saunter, having made his bets,
Finds his lost senses out, and pays his debts.

The Mohawk too—with angry phrases stored,

As “Dam’me, Sir,” and “Sir, I wear a sword ;”
Here lessoned for a while, and hence retreating,
Goes out, affronts his man, and takes a beating. 30
Here come the sons of scandal and of news,

But find no sense—for they had none to lose.

Of all the tribe here wanting an adviser,

Our Author’s the least likely to grow wiser ;

Has he not seen how you your favour place

On sentimental queens and lords in lace?
Without a star, a coronet, or garter,

How can the piece expect or hope for quarter ?
No high life scenes, no sentiment :—the creature
Still stoops among the low to copy nature. 40
Yes, he’s far gone:—and yet some pity fix,

The English laws forbid to punish lunaties.1

' This Epilogue was given in MS. by Goldsmith to Dr.
Perey (afterwards Bishop of Dromore).

   
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

eee

aTHE POEMS

 

THRENODIA AUGUSTALIS.!

SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF HER LATE ROYAL HIGHNESS
THE PRINCESS DOWAGER OF WALES.”

SPOKEN AND SUNG IN THE GREAT ROOM IN SOHO SQUARE,
THURSDAY THE 20TH OF FEBRUARY, 1772.

ADVERTISEMENT.

Soh HE following may more properly be
\@, ®)/ termed a compilation than a poem.
eo -, It was prepared for the composer in
little more than two days; and may
therefore rather be considered as an industrious
effort of gratitude than of genius.
In justice to the composer it may likewise be
right to inform the public, that the music was
composed in a period of time equally short.

  
 
  

SPEAKERS.

Mr. Lee and Mrs. Bellamy.

' This poem was first printed by W. Woodfall in 1772,
small 4to.
® Mother of King George III.OF GOLDSMITH.

SINGERS.

Mr. Champness, Mr. Dine, and Miss Jameson.

The music prepared and adapted by Signor
Vento.

THRENODIA AUGUSTALIS.

OVERTURE

 

A SOLEMN DIRGH. AIR—TRIO.

<ey RISE, ye sons of worth, arise,

And waken every note of woe!

When truth and virtue reach the skies,
"Tis ours to weep the want below.

 

CHORUS.

When truth and virtue, de.

MAN SPEAKER.

The praise attending pomp and power,

The incense given to kings,

Are but the trappings of an hour,

Mere transitory things.

The base bestow them: but the good agree 16
To spurn the venal gifts as flattery.

But when to pomp and power are joined

An equal dignity of mind;

When titles are the smallest claim :

When wealth, and rank, and noble blood,

But aid the power of doing good,THE POEMS

 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
    
 
 
 
  
 
 

Ther: all their trophies last—and flattery turns to

fame.
Blest spirit thou, whose fame, just born to

bloom,

Shall spread and flourish from the tomb,

How hast thou left mankind for Heaven! 20

Even now reproach and faction mourn,

And, wondering how their rage was born,

Request to be forgiven !

Alas! they never had thy hate:

Unmbved in conscious rectitude,

Thy towering mind self-centred stood,

Nor wanted man’s opinion to be great.

In vain, to charm thy ravished sight,

A thousand gifts would fortune send ;

In vain, to drive thee from the right, 30

A thousand sorrows urged thy end:

Like some well-fashioned arch thy patience
stood,

And purchased strength from its increasing load.

Pain met thee like a friend to set thee free,

Affliction still is virtue’s opportunity !

SONG. BY A MAN,

Virtue, on herself relying,

Every passion hushed to rest,

Loses every pain of dying

In the hopes of being blest.

Every added pang she suffers a0
Some increasing good bestows,

And every shock that malice offers

Only rocks her to repose.OF GOLDSMITH.
VOMAN SPEAKER.

Yet ah! what terrors frowned upon her fate,
Death with its formidable band,

Fever, and pain, and pale consumptive care,
Determined took their stand.

Nor did the cruel ravagers design

To finish all their efforts at a blow:

But, mischievously slow, 50
They robbed the relic and defaced the shrine.
With unavailing grief,

Despairing of relief,

Her weeping children round,

Beheld each hour

Death’s growing power,

And trembled as he frowned.

As helpless friends who view from shore

The labouring ship, and hear the tempest roar,
While winds and waves their wishes cross: 60
They stood, while hope and comfort fail,

Not to assist, but to bewail

The inevitable loss.

Relentless tyrant, at thy call

How do the good, the virtuous fall !

Truth, beauty, worth, and all that most engage,
But wake thy vengeance and provoke thy rage.

SONG. BY A MAN.

When vice my dart and scythe supply,

How great a king of terrors L!

If folly, fraud, your hearts engage, 76
Tremble, ye mortals, at my rage!122 THE POEMS

Fall, round me fall, ye little things,
Ye statesmen, warriors, poets, kings !
If virtue fail her counsel sage,
Tremble, ye mortals, at my rage!

MAN SPEAKER.

Yet let that wisdom, urged by her example,

Teach us to estimate what all must suffer ;

Let us prize death as the best gift of nature,

As a safe inn, where weary travellers,

When they have journeyed througha world of cares,

May put off life and be at rest for ever. 81

Groans, weeping friends, indeed, and gloomy
sables,

May oft distract us with their sad solemnity.

The preparation is the executioner.

Death, when unmasked, shows me a friendly face,

And is a terror only at a distance:

For as the line of life conducts me on

T'o death’s great court, the prospect seems more
fair,

“Lis nature’s kind retreat, that’s always open

To take us in when we have drained the cup 90

Of life, or worn our days to wretchedness.

In that secure, serene retreat,

Where all the humble, all the great,

Promiscuously recline:

Where wildly huddled to the eye,

The beggar’s pouch and prince’s purple lie,

May every bliss be thine.

And ah! blest spirit, wheresoe’er thy flight,

Through rolling worlds, or fields of liquid light,

May cherubs welcome their expected guest, 100OF GOLDSMITH. 13

May saints with songs receive thee to their rest,

May peace that claimed while here thy warmest
love,

May blissful endless peace be thine above !

SONG. BY A WOMAN.

Lovely lasting Peace below,

Comforter of every woe,

Heavenly born and bred on high,

To crown the favourites of the sky ;

Lovely lasting Peace, appear,

This world itself, if thou art here,

Is once again with Eden blest, 110
And man contains it in his breast.

WOMAN SPEAKER,

Our vows are heard! Long, long to mortal eyes,
Her soul was fitting to its kindred skies:
Celestial-like her bounty fell,

Where modest want and patient sorrow dwell,
Want passed for merit at her door,

Unseen the modest were supplied,

Her constant pity fed the poor,

Then only poor, indeed, the day she died.

And oh! for this ! while sculpture decks thy shrine,
And art exhausts profusion round, 121
The tribute of a tear be mine,

A simple song, a sigh profound.

There Faith shall come, a pilgrim gray,}

To bless the tomb that wraps thy clay:

1 These four lines, with some alteration, taken frum Collins’
Ode in the year 1746,

eee124 THE POEMS

And calm Religion shall repair

To dwell a weeping hermit there.

Truth, Fortitude, and Friendship, shall agree
To blend their virtues while they think of thee.

AIR. CHORUS.

Let us, let all the world agree, 130
To profit by resembling thee.

PAR) MT:

OVERTURE.—PASTORALE.

MAN SPEAKER.

  

ZAN@ AST by that shore where Thames’ trans-

(| § lucent stream

‘| ye) Reflects new glories on his breast,

2S ISA Where, splendid as the youthful poet’s
dream,

He forms a scene beyond Elysium blest :

Where sculptured elegance and native grace

Unite to stamp the beauties of the place:

While, sweetly blending, still are seen

The wavy lawn, the sloping green:

While novelty, with cautious cunning,

Through every maze of fancy running, 10

From China borrows aid to deck the scene:

There sorrowing by the river’s glassy bed,OF GOLDSMITH.

Forlorn, a rural bard complained,

All whom Augusta’s bounty fed,

All whom her clemency sustained ;

The good old sire, unconscious of decay,

The modest matron, clad in homespun gray,

The military boy, the orphaned maid,

The shattered veteran, now first dismayed ;

These sadly join beside the murmuring deep, 20
And as they view the towers of Kew,

Call on their mistress, now no more, and weep.

CHORUS.

Ye shady walks, ye waving greens,

Ye nodding towers, ye fairy scenes,

Let all your echoes now deplore,

That she who formed your beauties is no more.

MAN SPEAKER.

First of the train the patient rustic came,
Whose callous hand had formed the scene,
Bending at once with sorrow and with age,
With many a tear, and many a sigh between, 30
‘‘ And where,” he cried, “ shall now my babes
have bread,
Or how shall age support its feeble fire?
No lord will take me now, my vigour fled,
Nor can my strength perform what they require :
Each grudging master keeps the labourer bare,
A sleek and idle race is all their care:
My noble mistress thought not so!
1 All that on Granta’s fruitful plain

Rich streams of regal bounty poured.
Gray’s Inst. Ode, st. iv.126 THE POEMS

Her bounty, like the morning dew,
Unseen, though constant, used to flow,
And as my strength decayed, her bounty grew.”

WOMAN SPEAKER.

In decent dress, and coarsely clean, 4]
The pious matron next was seen,

Clasped in her hand a godly book was borne,

By use and daily meditation worn ;

That decent dress, this holy guide,

Augusta’s care had well supplied.

‘And ah!” she cries, all woe-begone,

“What now remains for me ?

Oh! where shall weeping want repair,

To ask for charity ? 50
Too late in life for me to ask,

And shame prevents the deed,

And tardy, tardy are the times

To succour, should I need.

But all my wants, before I spoke,

Were to my Mistress known ;

She still relieved, nor sought my praise,
Contented with her own.

But every day her name Ill bless,

My morning prayer, my evening song, 60
Pll praise her while my life shall last,

A life that cannot last me long.”

SONG.) | Biya AU WiOIMEAUNT,

Hach day, each hour, her name I’ll bless,
My morning and my evening song,

And when in death my vows shall cease,
My children shall the note prolong.OF GOLDSMITH. 127

MAN SPEAKER.

The hardy veteran after struck the sight,

Searred, mangled, maimed in every part,

Lopped of his limbs in many a gallant fight,

In nought entire—except his heart : 70
Mute for a while, and sullenly distress’d,

At last the impetuous sorrow fired his breast.

« Wild is the whirlwind rolling

O’er Afric’s sandy plain,

And wild the tempest howling

Along the billowed main:

But every danger felt before,

The raging deep, the whirlwind’s roar,

Less dreadful struck me with dismay,

Than what I feel this fatal day. 86
Oh, let me fly a land that spurns the brave,
Oswego’s dreary shores shall be my grave ;

ll seek that less inhospitable coast,

And lay my body where my limbs were lost.”

SONG, © BY) A ARAN.

Old Edward’s sons, unknown to yield,

Shall crowd from Cressy’s laurelled field,

To do thy memory right :

For thine and Britain’s wrongs they feel,

Again they snatch the gleamy steel,

And wish the avenging fight." 90
1 These lines are slightly altered from Collins’ Ode to a

Lady on the Death of Colonel Ross.

‘Old Edward’s sons, unknown to yield,
Shall crowd from Cressy’s laurelled field,
And gaze with fixed delight ;

Cee eee arealTHE POEMS

 
  
 
 
 
  
 
    
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
   
   
 
   

WOMAN SPEAKER,

In innocence and youth complaining,

Next appeared a lovely maid,

Affliction o’er each feature reigning,

Kindly came in beauty’s aid ;

Every grace that grief dispenses,

Every glance that warms the soul,

In sweet succession charmed the senses,

While pity harmonized the whole.

“The garland of beauty” (’tis thus she would
say, )

“No more shall my crook or my temples adorn, 100

Pll not wear a garland, Augusta’s away,

ll not wear a garland until she return:

But alas! that return I never shall see:

The echoes of Thames shall my sorrows proclaim,

There promised a lover to come, but, oh me!

"Twas death,—’twas the death of my mistress that
came,

But ever, for ever, her image shall last.

Pll strip all the spring of its earliest bloom:

On her grave shall the cowslip and primrose be cast,

And the new-blossomed thorn shall whiten her
tomb.” 110

SONG. BY A WOMAN.—PASTORALE.

With garlands of beauty the queen of the May
No more will her crook or her temples adorn ;
Again for Britain’s wrongs they feel,

Again they snatch the gleamy steel,
And wish th’ avenging fight.”OF GOLDSMITH. 129

For who’d wear a garland when she is away,
When she is removed, and shall never return,

On the grave of Augusta these garlands be placed,
We'll rifle the spring of its earliest bloom,

And there shall the cowslip and primrose be cast,
And thenew-blossomed thorn shall whiten her tomb.

CHORUS

 

ALTRO MODO.

On the grave of Augusta this garland be placed,

We'll rifle the spring of its earliest bloom,1 120
And there shall the cowslip and primrose be cast,
And the tears of her country shall water her tomb.

LINES ATTRIBUTED TO DR. GOLDSMITH,

INSERTED IN THE MORNING CHRONICLE

OF APRIL 3, 1800,

"EN have you seen, bathed in the morn-
ing dew,
The budding rose its infant bloom
display :
When first its virgin tints unfold to view,
It shrinks, and scarcely trusts the blaze of day.

 

1 “Each opening sweet of earliest bloom,

And rifle all the breathing spring.”
Collins’ Dirge in Cymbeline.
K1350 THE POEMS OF GOLDSMITH.

So soft, so delicate, so sweet she came,
Youth’s damask glow just dawning on her cheek ;
I gazed, I sighed, I caught the tender flame,
Felt the fond pang, and drooped with passion
weak.POEMS INTERSPERSED AMONGST GOLD-

SMITH’S PROSE WRITINGS,
NOT GENERALLY INCLUDED IN HIS
POETICAL WORKS.

(See Citizen of the World,ii.87). It is the business of the stage
poet to watch the appearance of every new player at his
own house, and so come out next day with a flaunting copy
of newspaper verses. In these nature and the actor may be
set to run races, the player always coming off victorious: or
nature may mistake him for herself; or old Shakespeare may
put on his winding sheet, and pay him a visit, or the tuneful
Nine may strike up their harps in his praise; or should it
happen to be an actress, Venus, the beauteous Queen of
Love, and the naked Graces, are ever waiting. The lady
must be herself a goddess bred and born; she must but
you shall have a specimen of one of these poems, which may
convey a more precise idea.

 

ON SEEING MRS. * * PERFORM IN THE
CHARACTER, OF * = *

OR you, bright fair, the Nine address
their lays,
And tune my feeble voice to sing thy
praise.
The heartfelt power of every charm divine,
Who ean withstand their all commanding shine;

 

. ee ee eee ae §
Saenger genes rr132 THE POEMS

See how she moves along with every grace,
While soul-brought tears steal down each shining
face.
She speaks! ’tis rapture all, and nameless bliss,
Ye gods! what transport e’er compared to this.
As when in Paphian groves the Queen of Love
With fond complaint addressed the listening Jove ;
"T'was joy and endless blisses all around, iat
And rocks forgot their hardness at the sound.
Then first, at last even Jove was taken in,
And felt her charms, without disguise, within.

(See Citizen of the World, ii. p. 164). I amamazed that none
have yet found out the secret of flattering the worthless, and
yet of preserving asafe conscience. Ihave often wished for
some method by which a man might do himself and his
deceased patron justice, without being under the hateful re-
proach of self-conviction. After long lucubration, I have hit
upon such an expedient, and send you the specimen of a
poem upon the decease of a great man, in which the flattery
is perfectly fine, and yet the poet perfectly innocent.

OF THE DEATH OF THE RIGHT HON. * + *.

(EK muses, pour the pitying tear
For Pollio snatched away ;
Oh! had he lived another year!

He had not died to-day.

 

Oh! were he born to bless mankind
In virtuous times of yore,

Heroes themselves had fallen behind

Whene’er he went before.OF GOLDSMITH.

How sad the groves and plains appear,

And sympathetic sheep ; 10
Even pitying hills would drop a tear

If hills could learn to weep.

His bounty in exalted strain
Each bard might well display ;

Since none implored relief in vain
That went relieved away.

And hark! I hear the tuneful throng
His obsequies forbid,
He still shall live, shall live as long
As ever dead man did. 20

1 These verses seem to have been the first rough sketch,
afterwards altered and improved into the Elegy on Mrs. Mary
Blaise.134 THE POEMS

(See Citizen of the World, ii. 193). The weapon chiefly used
in the present contest is epigram, and certainly never was a
keener made use of. They have discovered surprising sharp-
ness on both sides. ‘The first that came out upon this occa-
sion was a kind of new composition in this way, and might
more properly be called an epigrammatic thesis, than an epi-
gram. It consists, first, of an argument in prose; next fol-
lows a motto from Roscommon. Then comes the epigram;
and lastly, notes serving to explain the epigram; but you
shall have it with all its decorations.

AN EPIGRAM

ADI RESSED TO THE GENTLEMEN REFLECTED ON IN

THE ROSCIAD, A POEM, BY THE AUTHOR.

Worried with debts, and past all hopes of bail,
His pen he prostitutes t’ avoid a gaol.
Roscom.

§ ET not the hungry Bavius’ angry stroke
Awake resentment, or your rage pro-
voke—
é /ée Butpitying his distress, let virtue!shine,
And giving each your bounty,? let him dine.
For thus retained, as learned counsel can,
Each case, however bad, he’ll new japan ;
And by a quick transition, plainly show
"Twas no defeat of yours, but pocket low,
That caused his putrid kennel to o’erflow.

 

'! Charity.
2 Settled at one shilling, the price of the poem.OF GOLDSMITH. 135

The last lines are certainly executed in a very masterly
manner; it is of that species of augmentation, called the per-
plexing. It effectually flings the antagonist into a mist;
there’s no answering it: the laugh is raised against him,
while he is endeavouring to find out the jest. At once he
shows that the author has a kennel, and that this kennel 1s
putrid, and that this putrid kennel overflows. But why does
it overflow? It overflows, because the author happens to
have low pockets.

There was also another new attempt in this way, a prosaic
epigram, which came out upon this occasion. This is so full of
matter, that a critic might split it into fifteen epigrams, each
properly fitted with its string. You shall see it.

TO G. (Cy ANDAR E-

<2 -=="W AS you, or I, or he, or all together,

Ye ’Twas one, both, three of them, they

yf
ES know not whether ;
fee Sy This, I believe, between us great or

small,
You,-I, he, wrote it not—twas Churchill’s all.

There, there is a perplex! I could have wished to have
made it quite perfect; the author, as in the case before, had
added notes. Almost every word admits a scholium, and a
long one too. I, YOU, HE. Suppose a stranger should
ask, and who are you? Here are three obscure persons
spoken of, that may in a short time be utterly forgotten.
Their names should consequently have been written in notes
at the bottom; but when the reader comes to the words
great and small, the maze is inextricable. Here the stranger
may dive for a mystery, without ever reaching the bottom.
Let him know then that small is a word poorly introduced
to make good rhyme, and great was a very proper word to
keep small company.

[This was denoted against the triumvirate of friends,
Churchill, Colman, and Lloyd. ]=a an ss =
ated Se RS Sear SS Ses

    
   
  
   
  
   
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
  

186 THE POEMS

TRANSLATION OF THE SOUTH
AMERICAN ODE.

(See Cit. of the World, ii. 208). Even in the sultry wilds of
Southern America the lover is not satisfied with possessing
his mistress’s person, without having her mind.

“4 N all my Emma’s beauties blest,
Amidst profusion still I pine;

For though she gives me up her breast,
Its panting tenant is not mine.

 

The following translations occur in Goldsmith’s Essays (ed.
1821). When he has adopted a translation, he has affixed
the name of the author; I conclude, therefore, that those
without a name are his own. ‘

“4 HE critic who, with nice discernment,

 
  

SL) knows
a, && ° ° °
pV What to his country and his friends he
2s OWES ;

How various nature warms the human breast,
To love the parent, brother, friend, or guest.
What the great functions of our judges are,
Of senators, and generals sent to war:

He can distinguish with unerring art

The strokes peculiar to each different part.
HOR,OF GOLDSMITH.

SUPPOSE a painter to a human head
Should join a horse’s neck, and wildly spread
The various plumage of the feathered kind
O’er limbs of different beasts, absurdly joined ;
Or if he gave to view a beauteous maid,
Above the waist with every charm arrayed,
Should a foul fish her lower parts unfold,
Would you not laugh such pictures to behold?
HOR.

THE tragic bard, a goat his humble prize,

Bade satyrs naked and uncouth arise ;

His muse severe, secure, and undismayed,

The rustic joke in solemn strain conveyed,

For novelty alone he knew could charm

A iawless crowd, with wine and feasting warm.
: HOR.

TuEsPIs, inventor of dramatic art,

Conveyed his vagrant actors in a eart,

High o’er the crowd the mimic tribe appeared,

And played and sung, with lees of wine besmeared.
HOR.

Turn Aischylus, a decent vizard used,
Built a low stage; the flowing robe diffused ;
In language more sublime two actors rage,
And in the graceful buskin tread the stage.
HOR.138 THE POEMS

THE comic poets, in its earliest age,

Who formed the manners of the Grecian stage—

Was there a villain who might justly claim

A better right of being damned to fame,

Rake, cut-throat, thief, whatever was his crime,

They boldly stigmatized the wretch in rhyme.
HOR,

WirH passions not my own who fires my heart,
Who with unreal terrors fills my breast,
As with a magic influence possessed. HOR.

Bur God and man, and lettered post denies
That poets ever are of middling size.

Ports would profit, or delight mankind,
And with the amusing show the instructive joined

Prorit and pleasure, mingled thus with art,
To soothe the fancy, and improve the heart.

At ease reclined beneath the verdant shade,

No more shall I behold my happy flock

Aloft, hang browzing on the tufted rock.
VIRG.

THEsE on the mountain billows hung: to those
The yawning waves the yellow sand disclose.
VIRG.OF GOLDSMITH. 139

Tuer woes of Troy once more she begged to hear,
Once more the mournful tale employed his tongue,
While in fond rapture on his lips she hung.

VIRG.

Ty shrill-toned murmurs sang the twanging bow.
HOM.

Wuare’er when Phebus blessed the Arcadian
plain,

EKurotas heard, and taught his boys the strain.

The senior sung VIRG.

 

Say, heavenly muse, their youthful frays rehearse,
Begin, ye daughters of immortal verse ;
Exulting rocks have owned the power of song,
And rivers listened as they flowed along.

VIDA.

Tue wave that bore him, backward shrank appalled.
RACINE.

Bur Turnus, chief amidst the warrior train,

In armour towers the tallest on the plain.

The Ganges thus, by seven rich streams supplied,

A mighty mass, devolves in silent pride.

Thus Nilus pours from his prolific urn,

When from the fields o’erflowed, his vagrant streams
return. VIRG:

So Philomela from the umbrageous wood
in strains melodious mourns her tender brood.

 

AS
ad

   
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   

areal

a140 THE POEMS

Snatched from the nest by some rude Phrygian’s
hand,

On some lone bough the warbler takes her stand ;

The livelong nights she mourns the cruel wrong,

And hill and dale resound the plaintive song.

For as a watchman, from some rock on high,
O’er the wide main extends his boundless eye,
Through such a space of air with thundering sound,
At every leap the immortal coursers bound.

HOM.

So joys the lion, if a branching deer,

Or mountain goat, his bulky prize appear.

In vain the youths oppose, the mastiffs bay,

The lordly savage rends the panting prey.

Thus fond of vengeance, with a furious bound,

In clanging arms he leaps upon the ground.'
HOM.

East, west, and south engage with furious sweep,
And from its lowest bed upturn the foaming deep.
VIRG.

Tue sail then Boreas rends with hideous ery,
And whirls the maddening billows to the sky.

VIRG.

! These lines altered from Pope.OF GOLDSMITH.

VERSES.1

=? HE window, patched with paper, lent a
11,8) ray,
ivwee% That feebly showed the state in which
CEE he lay.

The sanded floor that grits beneath the tread,
The humid wall with paltry pictures spread ;

The game of goose was there exposed to view,
And the twelve rules the royal martyr drew ;

The seasons framed with listing, found a place,
And Prussia’s monarch showed his lamp-black face.
The morn was cold, he views with keen desire

A rusty grate, unconscious of a fire :

An unpaid reckoning on the frieze was scored,
And five cracked teacups dressed the chimney board

 
  
 

° e e e °

Not with that face, so servile, and so gay,

That welcomes every stranger that can pay ;
With sulky eye he smoked the patient man,
Then pulled his breeches tight, and thus began:

“Of all the fish that graze beneath the flood,
He only ruminates his former food.”*

1 See Goldsmith’s Life, p. 64. ed. 1821.
2 See Goldsm. Anim. Nat. vol. iii. p. 6.

BnTHE POEMS

Addison, in some beautiful Latin lines inserted in the Spec-
tator, is entirely of opinion that birds observe a strict chastity
of manners, and never admit the caresses of a different tribe.
—(v. Spectator, No. 412.)

HASTE are their instincts, faithful 1s
their fire,
No foreign beauty tempts to false desire ;?
The snow-white vesture, and the glitter-
ing crown,
The simple plumage, or the glossy down
Prompt not their loves—the patriot bird pursues
His well acquainted tints, and kindred hues.
Hence through their tribes no mixed polluted flame,
No monster breed to mark the groves with shame ;
But the chaste blackbird, to its partner true,
Thinks black alone is beauty’s favourite hue.
The nightingale, with mutual passion blest,
Sings to its mate, and nightly charms the rest.
While the dark owl to court its partner flies,
And owns its offspring in their yellow eyes.

 

"See Goldsm. Anim. Nat. vol. v. p. 212.OF GOLDSMITH.

SONG.

BY TONY LUMPKIN, IN “‘ SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER,”

ACH Ll,

With grammar, and nonsense, and
learning,
s Good liquor, I stoutly maintain,
Gives genius a better discerning.
Let them brag of their heathenish gods,
Their Lethes, their Styxes, and Stygians ;
Their quis, and their ques, and their quods,
They’re all but a parcel of Pigeons.
Toroddle, toroddle, toroll.

  

When methodist preachers come down, 10
A-preaching that drinking 1s sinful,

V’ll wager the rascals a crown,
They always preach best with a skinful.

But when you come down with your pence,
For a slice of their scurvy religion,

I'll leave it to all men of sense,
But you, my good friend, are the Pigeon.

Toroddle, toroddle, toroll.

Then come, put the jorum about,
And let us be merry and clever, 20

Our hearts and our liquors are stout,

Here’s the Three Jolly Pigeons for ever.

~ asi aril aa  IT TS ow i144 THE POEMS

Let some ery up woodcock or hare,
Your bustards, your ducks, and your widgeona,
But of all the gay birds in the air,
Here’s a health to the Three Jolly Pigeons.
Toroddle, toroddle, toroll.

Norte] “ We drank tea with the ladies, and Goldsmith sang
Tony Lumpkin’s song in his comedy, and a very pretty one,
to an Irish tune (the Humours of Ballamagairy), which he
had designed for Miss Hardcastle; but as Mrs. Bulkley,
who played the part, could not sing, it was left out. He
afterwards wrote it down for me, by which means it was pre-
served, and now appears among his poems.” Boswell. This
is the song printed ante p. 93, “Ah me! when shall I marry
me 2”OSS YOKE

TEE 3C AB Tay aye.

AN ORATORIO IN THREE AGWS.= 7 —
el

— ae Ss | RES

x ee Ps a r : os

ree

an

 

 

   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
 
   
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
    
  

THE PERSONS.

First JEwISH PROPHET.

SECOND JEWISH PROPHET.
ISRAELITISH WOMAN.

FiRsT CHALDEAN PRIEST.

SECOND CHALDEAN PRIEST.
CHALDEAN WOMAN.

CHORUS OF YOUTHS AND VIRGINS.

ScENE—The Banks of the River Euphrates,
near Babylon.

This Oratorio was never published by the author; it was
written in 1761, four years before the publication of the
“ Traveller,” which was in 1765. Two of the Songs appeared
in some editions of Goldsmith’s Poems, but with considerable
alterations; they will be found at pages 100, 101, of this
edition. The original MS., from which this version of the
Oratorio is printed, was in the possession of the late Mr.
Pickering, The first thoughts, or scription, which were after-
wards altered or improved by the author in the MS. have
been preserved as a curiosity, and are given as variations at
the foot of the page.

Another version in Goldsmith’s handwriting, stated by
Mr. Peter Cunningham to have been written in 1764, is now
in the possession of Mr. Murray, of Albemarle Street, who
also has Goldsmith’s receipt to Dodsley, the publisher, for ten
guineas, as payment for it.—Dated October 31, 1764. Mr.
Murray’s MS. varies materially from the edition here printed.THE CAPTIVITY.
Ce

HERS 2h OR ash
RECITATIVE.

(E captive tribes, that hourly work and

, weep

» Where flows Euphrates murmuring to
the deep,

Suspend your woes awhile, the task suspend,

And turn to God, your Father and your Friend.

Insulted, chained, and all the world our foe,

Our God alone is all we boast below.

ATR.

WEST 7 O RHEE.

Our God is all we boast below,
To Him we turn our eyes ;
And every added weight of woe
Shall make our homage rise.

SECOND PROPHET.

And though no temple richly drest,
Nor sacrifice are here ;THE .POEMS

We'll make His temple in our breast,
And offer up a tear.
_Lhe first stanza repeated by the chorus,

ISRAELITISH WOMAN.
2ECLTATIVE.
That strain once more; it bids remembrance rise,
And brings my long-lost country to mine eyes.
Ye fields of Sharon, drest in flowery pride,
Ye plains where Kidron rolls its glassy tide,
Ye hills of Lebanon, with cedars crowned,
Ye Gilead groves, that fling perfumes around, 20
How sweet those groves, that plain how wondrous
fair,
How doubly sweet when Heaven was with us there !

AIR.
O memory, thou fond deceiver,
Still importunate and vain ;
To former joys recurring ever,
And turning all the past to pain.

Hence intruder most distressing,
Seek * the happy and the free:

‘The wretch who wants each other blessing,
Kver wants a friend in thee.! 30

SECOND PROPHET,
RECITATIVE.
Yet why complain? What though by bonds con-
fined,
' Another version of this song is given at p. 101

VARIATION.
4 Ely to.OF GOLDSMITH. 149

Should bonds repress the vigour of the mind ?
Have we not cause for triumph when we see
Ourselves alone from idol worship free ?

Are not this very morn those feasts begun
Where prostrate error hails the rising sun ?

Do not our tyrant lords this day ordain

For superstitious rites and mirth profane?

And should we mourn? should coward virtue fly,
When vaunting folly lifts her head on high? 40
No; rather let us triumph still the more,

And as our fortune sinks, our spirit soar.

ATR.

The triumphs that on vice attend
Shall ever in confusion end ;

The good man suffers but to gain,
And every virtue springs from pain :

As aromatic plants bestow

No spicy fragrance while they grow ;

But crushed, or trodden to the ground,
Diffuse their balmy sweets around. 50

FIRST PROPHET,
RECITATIVE.

But hush, my sons, our tyrant lords are near,
The sounds of barbarous pleasure strike mine ear ;
Triumphant music floats along the vale,

Near, nearer still, it gathers on the gale;

The growing sound their swift approach declares !
Desist, my-sons, nor mix the strain with theirs.

BP

een aneiee emee anty

aha So
Sonmaaienmnanantanean:telemmal 7

 

   
  
  
  
  
  
  
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
    

150 THE POEMS

FEinter Chaldean Priests attended.

FIRST PRIEST,

ATR.

Come on, my companions, the triumph display,
Let rapture the minutes employ ;

The sun calls us out on this festival day,
And our monarch partakes in the joy. 6

SECOND PRIEST.

Like the sun, our great monarch all rapture sup-
plies,
Both similar blessings bestow ;
The sun with his splendour illumines the skies,
And our monarch enlivens below.

AIR.

CHALDEAN WOMAN.

Haste, ye sprightly sons of pleasure,
Love presents the fairest treasure,
Leave all other joys for me.

A CHALDEAN ATTENDANT,

Or rather, love’s delights despising,
Haste to raptures ever rising,
Wine shall bless the brave and free,OF GOLDSMITH.

FIRST PRIEST.

Wine and beauty thus inviting,
Each to different joys exciting,
Whither shall my choice incline?

SECOND PRIEST.

I’ll waste no longer thought in choosing,
But, neither this nor that refusing,
[ll make them both together mine.

FIRST PRIEST.
° RECILATIVE.

But whence, when joys should brighten o’er the
land,

This sullen gloom in Judah’s captive band ?

Ye sons of Judah, why the lute unstrung ?

Or why those harps on yonder willows hung? 8c

Come, take the lyre, and pour the strain along,

The day demands it ; sing us Sion’s song.

Dismiss your griefs, and join our warbling choir,

For who like you can wake the sleeping lyre?

AIR.

Every moment as it flows,
Some peculiar pleasure owes.
Come then, providently wise,
Seize the debtor ere it flies,ig

a a eT

ee eae aie

 

   
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
   
  
  
  
   
  
 
  
  
 
   

  

THE POEMS

SECOND PRIEST.

Think not to-morrow can repay
The debt of pleasure lost to-day.°
Alas! to-morrow’s richest store
Can but pay its proper score.

SECOND PROPHET
RECITATIVE,

Chained as we are,° the scorn of all mankind,

To want, to toil, and every i] consigned,

Is this a time to bid us raise the str ain,

Or mix in rites that Heaven regards with pain ?
No, never. May this hand forget each art

That wakes to finest joys the en heart,

Ere I forget the land that gave me birth,

Or join to sounds profane its sacred mirth! 100

SECOND PROPHET.

Rebellious slaves! if soft persuasion fail,

More formidable terrors shall prevail.

FIRST PROPHET

Why, let them come, one good remains to cheer—
We fear the Lord, and scorn all other fear.

| Kaxeunt Chaldeans.

VARIATIONS.

b The pleasures we have lost to- day.
‘he debt that we have lost to- day.
© Bowed down with chains,OF GOLDSMITH.

CHORUS OF ISRAELITES.

Can chains or tortures bend the mind

On God’s supporting breast reclined ?

Stand fast, and let our tyrants see

That fortitude is victory.® [ Eceunt.

ACT. IF,

Israelites and Chaldeans, as before.

FIRST PROPHET.

AIR.

LOCA

IN

, Thou soft companion of the breast!

MIZE Dispense thy balmy store !
Eeieten Wing all our thoughts to reach the
skies,
Till earth, receding from our eyes,
Shall vanish as we soar.

iN PEACE of mind, angelic guest !

 

FIRST PROPHET.

RECITATIVE.

No more! ‘Too long has justice been delayed,
The king’s commands must fully be obeyed ;

VARIATION.

i Can chains or tortures bend the mind
That leans on Heaven for all felicity ?

Stand fast, and let our tyrants find

Our sufferiugs are victory.

er

T_T

-~

SN ae eee Spr er m

ears

as aT ce ED

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4

  
  
   
  
  
   
   

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154 THE POEMS

Compliance with his will your peace secures,
Praise but our gods, and every good is yours. 10
But if, rebellious to his high command,

You spurn the favours offered from his hand,
Think, timely think, what terrors are behind ;
Reflect, nor tempt to rage the royal mind.

AIR.

Fierce is the tempest howling
Along the furrowed main,

And fierce the whirlwind rolling
O’er Afric’s sandy plain.

But storms that fly,

To rend the sky, 20
Kvery ill presaging,

Less dreadful show

To worlds below,
Than angry monarch’s raging.

ISRAELITISH WOMAN.

RECITATIVE.

Ah me! what angry terrors round us grow,

How shrinks my soul to meet the threatened
blow!

Ye prophets, skilled in Heaven’s eternal truth,

Forgive my sex’s fears, forgive my youth!

Ah! let us one, one little hour obey ;

To-morrow’s tears may wash the stain away. 30OF GOLDSMITH. 155

BOGE:

Fatigued with life,° yet loth to part,
On hope the wretch relies ;

And every blow that sinks the heart
Bids the deludert rise.

Hope, like the taper’s gleamy light,
Adorns the wretch’s® way ;

And still, as darker grows the night,
Emits a brighter ray."

SECOND PRIEST.

RECITATIVE.

Why this delay? at length for joy prepare.

I read your looks, and see compliance there. 40
Come on, and bid the warbling rapture rise,

Our monarch’s fame the noblest theme supplies.
Begin, ye captive bands, and strike the lyre,

The time, the theme, the place, and all conspire.

1 A different version of this song will be found at p. 100.

VARIATIONS.

€ To the last moment of his breath,
f expectation
& gloomy

™
eee mand.
‘ ss ( a

a a eet ee Sait” FH SE EGO se eo ae
a  - . S spn eae oe ee ee = So iIn eee

a en a an rT hs j 4

 

 

 

 

  

THE POEMS

 
 
  
  
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
   
  
    
  
   
   
  
 
 

CHALDEAN WOMAN,

ATR.

See the ruddy morning smiling,

Hear the grove to bliss beguiling ;
Zephyrs through the woodland playing,
Streams along the valley straying.

FIRST PRIEST.

While these a constant revel keep,
Shall reason only teach to weep?
Hence, intruder! we'll pursue
Nature, a better guide than you.

an
Ger

SECOND PRIEST.
RECITATIVE.

But hold! see, foremost of the captive choir,

The master-prophet grasps his full-toned lyre.
Mark where he sits with executing art,

Feels for each tone, and speeds it to the heart ;
See how prophetic rapture fills his form,

Awful as clouds that nurse the growing storm.
And now his voice, accordant to the string,
Prepares our monarch’s victories to sing. 60

FIRST PROPHET.
AIOE

From north, from south, from east, from west,
Conspiring nations come;

Tremble, thou vice-polluted breast ;

Blasphemers, all be dumb.OF GOLDSMITH.

The tempest gathers all around,
On Babylon it lies ;

Down with her! down, down to the ground ;
She sinks, she groans, she dies.

SECOND PROPHET.

Down with her, Lord, to lick the dust,

Before yon setting sun ; 70
Serve her as she hath served the just !

"Tis fixed—lIt shall be done.

FIRST PRIEST.

RECITATIVE.

No more! when slaves thus insolent presume,

The king himself shall judge, and fix their doom.

Unthinking wretches! have not you, and all,

Beheld our power in Zedekiah’s fall ?

To yonder gloomy dungeon turn your eyes ;

See where dethroned your captive monarch hes,

Deprived of sight, and rankling in his chain ;

See where he mourns his friends and children
slain. ed

Yet know, ye slaves, that still remain behind

More ponderous chains, and dungeons more con-
fined.

CHORUS OF ALL.

Arise, all potent ruler, rise,
And vindicate thy people’s cause ;
Till every tongue in every land
Shall offer up unfeigned applause.
[ Heunt.158 THE POEMS

ACT Tih.
Scene as before.
FIRST PRIEST.
RECITATIVE.
ZA) ES, my companions, Heaven's decrees

are past,

) And our fixed empire shall for ever
last :

In yain the maddening prophet threatens woe,

In vain rebellion aims her secret blow ;

Still shall our name and growing power be spread,
And still our justice crush the traitor’s head.

 

PAUIeLYs

Coeval with man

Our empire began,

And never shall fall

Till ruin shakes all.

When ruin shakes all, 10
Then shall Babylon fall.

SECOND PROPHET.
RECITATIVE,

‘Tis thus the proud triumphant rear the head,
A little while, and all their power is fled.

But ha! what means yon sadly plaintive train,
That onward slowly bends along the plain ?
And now, behold, to yonder bank they bear

A palled corse, and rest the body there,OF GOLDSMITH.

Alas! too well mine eyes indignant trace

The last remains of Judah’s royal race. 20
Fall’n is our king, and all our fears are o’er,
Unhappy Zedekiah is no more.

ATR.

Ye wretches who by fortune’s hate
In want and sorrow groan,
Come ponder his severer fate
And learn to bless your own.

FIRST PROPHET.

You vain, whom youth and pleasure guide,
Awhile the bliss suspend ;

Like yours, his life began in pride,
Like his, your lives shall end. 30

FIRST PROPHET.

RECITATIVE.

Behold his wretched corse with sorrow worn,

His squalid limbs by ponderous fetters torn ;

Those eyeless orbs that shock with ghastly glare,
_ Those unbecoming rags, that matted hair !

And shall not Heaven for this avenge the foe,

Grasp the red bolt, and lay the guilty low!

How long, how long, Almighty God of all,

Shall wrath vindictive threaten ere it fall !

ISRAELITISH WOMAN.

AIR,

As panting flies the hunted hind,
Where brooks refreshing stray ; 40pL, — a
ea a aR a

 

 

 

    
   
 
 
 
  
  
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
  
  
    
    

THE POEMS

And rivers through the valley wind,
That stop the hunter’s way ;

Thus we, O Lord, alike distressed,
For streams of mercy long;

Streams which cheer the sore oppressed,
And overwhelm the strong.

FIRST PROPHET,
RECITATIVE.

But whence that shout? Good heavens! amaze.
ment all!

See yonder tower just nodding to the fall:

Behold, an army covers all the ground,

‘Tis Cyrus here that pours destruction round ;— 5v

And now behold the battlements recline—

Oh God of hosts, the victory is Thine !

CHORUS OF CAPTIVES.

Down with them, Lord, to lick the dust ;
Thy vengeance be begun ;

Serve them as they have served the just,
And lett Thy Will be done.

VARIATIONS.
» Deprest,

' They pass the wails and pour destruction round.
k O LordOF GOLDSMITH. 161

FIRST PRIEST.

RECITATIVE.

All, all is lost. The Syrian army fails,'

Cyrus, the conqueror of the world, prevails,

The ruin smokes, the torrent pours along,—

How low the proud, how feeble are the strong! 60
Save us, O Lord! to Thee, though late, we pray ;
And give repentance but an hour’s delay.

FIRST AND SECOND PRIEST.

ATR.

O happy, who in happy hour
To God their praise bestow,
And own His all-consuming power
Before they feel the blow!

SECOND PROPHET

RECITATIVE.

Now, now’s our time! ye wretches bold and
blind,™

Brave but to God, and cowards to mankind,

Ye seek in vain the Lord unsought before,

Your wealth, your lives, your kingdom, are no

more. 70

VARIATIONS.

! © whither shall we fly,
m ye haughty sons of earth,

MTHE POEMS

 
   
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
   
 
 
 
  
  
   
   
  

ATR.

O Lucifer, thou son of morn,

Of Heaven alike and man the foe ;®
Heaven, men, and all,
Now press thy fall,

And sink thee lowest of the low.

FIRST PROPHET.

O Babylon, how art thou fallen !
Thy fall more dreadful from delay !
Thy streets forlorn
To wilds shall turn,
Where toads shall pant,° and vultures prey. 80

SECOND PROPHET.
RECITATIVE.

Such be her fate. But hark! how from afar
The clarion’s note proclaims the finished war !
Our great restorer, Cyrus, is at hand,

And this way leads his formidable band.

Give, give your songs of Sion to the wind,
And hail the benefactor of mankind:

He comes pursuant to divine decree,

lo chain the strong, and set the captive free.

CHORUS OF YOUTHS.

Rise to transports past expressing,
Sweeter by remembered woes ; 90

VARIATIONS.

" Heaven’s bold usurper, mankind’s foe;
° foxes haunt,ae
.

    
  
   
 
 
  
   
 
 
  
   
  
  

OF GOLDSMITH.

Cyrus comes our wrongs redressing,
Comes to give the world repose.

CHORUS OF VIRGINS.

Cyrus comes, the world redressing,
Love and pleasure in his train ;

Comes to heighten every blessing,
Comes to soften every pain.

SEMI-CHORUS,

Hail to him with mercy reigning,
Skilled in every peaceful art ;
Who from bonds our limbs unchaining,
Only binds the willing heart 100

@
a
3} ae
THE LAST CHORUS. i)

But chief to Thee, our God, Defender, Friend,
Let praise be given to all eternity ;
O Thou, without beginning, without end,
et us, and all begin, and end, in Thee!

Se” ees

Reo eet. Se

IE ae ET SRE RS RS eT ae SR et
]
‘\ na Ct

NORV AL!
PhS Wy we; Wi \

on oe

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\ he \/ vA
‘eas? \

ge ees
aRaa n Ie tae
eer %
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164 THE POEMS

LETTER, IN PROSE AND VERSE, TO
MRS. BUNBURY.

[A reply to a rhyming letter from Mr. and Mrs. Bunbury
[1772], asking the Poet to pay them a visit at Barton,
their country seat in Suffolk. ]

Mapa ;
yf READ your letter with all that allow-
ance which critical candour could
require, but after all find so much tc
object to, and so much to raise my
indignation, that I cannot help giving it a serious
answer. Iam not so ignorant, Madam, as not to
see there are many sarcasms contained in it, and
solecisms also, (solecism is a word that comes from
the town of Soleis, in Attica, among the Greeks,
built by Solon, and applied as we use the word
Kidderminster for curtains from a town also of
that name; but this is learning you have no taste
for.)—I say, Madam, there are sarcasms in it, and
solecisms also. But, not to seem an ill-natured
critic, I'll take leave to quote your own words, and
give you my remarks upon them as they occur.
You begin as follows :—

 

“ T hope, my good Doctor, you soon will be here,

And your spring velvet coat very smart will appear,

To open our ball the first day in the year.”

Pray, Madam, where did you ever find the epithet
‘“‘ s00d”’ applied to the title of Doctor? Had you
called me learned Doctor, or grave Doctor, or nobleOF GOLDSMITH. 165

- Doctor, it might be allowable, because they belong
to the profession. But, not to cavil at trifles, you
talk of my spring velvet coat, and advise me to
wear it the first day in the year, that is in the
middle of winter;—a spring velvet in the middle
of winter!!! That would be a solecism indeed ;
and yet, to increase the inconsistence, in another
part of your letter you call me a beau; now on one
side or other, you must be wrong. If I am a beau
I can never think of wearing a spring velvet in
winter; and if Iam not a beau—why—then—that
explains itself. But let me go on to your two next
strange lines :—

‘And bring with you a wig that is modish and gay,

To dance with the girls that are making of hay.”

The absurdity of making hay at Christmas, you
yourself seem sensible of; you say your sister will
laugh, and so indeed she well may. The Latins
have an expression for a contemptuous sort of
laughter, Naso contemnere adunco ; that is to laugh
with a crooked nose; she may laugh at you in the
manner of the ancients, if she thinks fit—But now
I am come to the most extraordinary of all extra-
ordinary propositions, which is, to take your and
your sister’s advice in playing at loo. The pre-
sumption of the offer raises my indignation beyond
the bounds of prose; it inspires me at once with
verse and resentment. I take advice! And from
whom? You shall hear.

First let me suppose, what may shortly be true,
The company set, and the word to be—Ioo ;
All smirking and pleasant and big with adventure,2 et ee

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
   
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 

166 THE POEMS

And ogling the stake which is fixed in the centre.

Round and round go the cards, while I inwardly
damn,

At never once finding a visit from pam,

I lay down my stake apparently cool,

While the harpies about me all pocket the pool ;

I fret in my gizzard, get cautious and sly,

I wish all my friends may be bolder than I;

Yet still they sit snug; not a creature will aim,

By losing their money, to venture at fame.

"Tis in vain that at niggardly caution I scold,

Tis in vain that I flatter the brave and the bold;

All play their own way, and they think me an ass;

What does Mrs. Bunbury? I, Sir? I pass.

Pray what does Miss Horneck? Take courage,
come, do!

Who, I? Let me see, Sir; why I must pass too.

Mrs. Bunbury frets, and I fret like the devil,

To see them so cowardly, lucky, and civil ;

Yet still I sit snug, and continue to sigh on,

Till made by my losses as bold as a lion,

I venture at all; while my avarice regards

The whole pool as my own. Come, give me five
cards.

Well done! ery the ladies; ah! Doctor, that’s good,

The pool’s very rich. Ah! the Doctor is loo’d.

Thus foil’d in my courage, on all sides perplext,

I ask for advice from the lady that’s next.

Pray, Ma‘am, be so good as to give your advice ;

Don’t you think the best way is to venture for’t
twice ?

I advise, cries the lady, to try it, I own,

Ah! the Doctor is loo’d. Come, Doctor, put down.OF GOLDSMITH.

Thus playing and playing, I still grow more eager,
And so bold, and so bold, I’m at last a bold beggar.
Now ladies, I ask, if law matters you're skilled in,
Whether crimes such as yours should not come
before Fielding ;
For giving advice that is not worth a straw,
May well be called picking of pockets in law;
And picking of pockets with which I now charge ye,
Is by Quinto Elizabeth, death without clergy.
What justice, when both to the Old Bailey brought!
By the gods I'll enjoy it, though tis but in thought!
Both are placed at the bar with all proper decorum,
With bunches of fennel and nosegays before ’em ;
Both cover their faces with mobs and all that,
But the judge bids them angrily take off their hat.
When uncover’d, a buzz of enquiry goes round,
Pray what are their crimes? They’ve been pilfering
found.
But, pray whom have they pilfer’d? A Doctor, I
hear ;
What yon solemn-faced odd-looking man that stands
near ?
Thesame. Whata pity! How does it surprise one!
Two handsomer culprits I never set eyes on!
Then their friends all come round me with cringing
and leering,
To melt me to pity and soften my swearing.
First Sir Charles advances with phrases well strung,
Consider, dear Doctor, the girls are but young.
The younger the worse, I return him again,
It shows that their habits are all dyed in grain ;
But then they’re so handsome, one’s bosom it
grieves ;be
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168 THE POEMS OF GOLDSMITH.

What signifies handsome when people are thieves!
But where is your justice? Their cases are hard;
What signifies justice? I want the reward.

There’s the parish of Edmonton offers forty
pounds. There’s the parish of St. Leonard’s, Shore-
ditch, offers forty pounds. There’s the parish of
Tyburn, from the Hog in the Pound to St. Giles’s
Watchhouse, offers forty pounds. I shall have all
that if I convict them.

But consider their case, it may yet be your own,

And see how they kneel; is your heart made of
stone ?

This moves ; so at last I agree to relent,

For ten pounds in hand and ten pounds to be spent.

I challenge you all to answer this. I tell you, you
cannot. It cuts deep; but now for the rest of the
letter; and next—but I want room. So I believe
I shall battle the rest out at Barton some day next
week. I don’t value you all.VIDA’S GAME OF CHESS,

AS IT HAS BEEN FOUND TRANSCRIBED IN THE

HANDWRITING OF

OLIVER GOLDSMITH.

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The original of the following poem in Goldsmith’s hand-
writing is in the possession of Mr. Bolton Corney, it was first
published in Mr. Cunningham’s edition of Goldsmith, and is
included in this edition by Mr. Bolton Corney’s kind per-
mission.

The MS. is described by Mr. Forster in his Life of Gold-
smith in the following words:—“ It is a small quarto
manuscript of thirty-four pages, containing 679 lines, to
which a fly-leaf is appended, in which Goldsmith notes the
differences of nomenclature between Vida’s chessmen and our
own. It has occasional interlineations and corrections, but
rather such as would occur in transcription, than ina first or
original copy. Sometimes, indeed, choice appears to have been
made (as at page 29) between two words equally suitable to
the sense and verse, as ‘ to’ for ‘toward ;’ but the insertions
and erasures refer almost wholly to words or lines acci-
dentally omitted and replaced. The triplet is always care-
fully marked; and though it is seldom found in any other of
Goldsmith’s poems, I am disposed to regard its frequent
recurrence here, as even helping in some degree to explain
the motive which had led him to the trial of an experiment
in rhyme comparatively new to him. If we suppose him,
half consciously it may be, taking up the manner of the
great master of translation, Dryden, who was at all times so
much a favourite with him, he would at least be less apt to
fall short in so marked a peculiarity, than to err perhaps a
little on the side of excess. Though I am far from thinking
such to be the result in the present instance. The effect of
the whole translation is very pleasing to me, and the mock
heroic effect I think not a little assisted by the reiterated
use of the triplet and Alexandrine. As to any evidences of
authorship derivable from the appearance of the manuscript,
I will only add another word. The lines in the translation
have been carefully counted, and the number is marked in
Goldsmith’s hand at the close of his transcription. Such a
fact is, of course, only to be taken in aid of other proof; but
a man is not generally at the pains of counting,—still less, I
should say, in such a case as Goldsmith’s, of elaborately
transcribing, lines which are not his own.”—Forster’s Golde
smith, ii. 265.VIDA’S GAME OF CHESS.
TRANSLATED.

YRMIES of box that sportively engage
) And mimic real battles in their rage,
’ Pleased I recount; how, smit with

S, glory’s charms,
Two mighty Monarchs met in adverse arms,
Sable and white; assist me to explore,
Ye Serian Nymphs, what ne’er was sung before.
No path appears: yet resolute I stray
Where youth undaunted bids me force my way.
O’er rocks and cliffs while I the task pursue,
Guide me, ye Nymphs, with your unerring clue. 10
For you the rise of this diversion know,
You first were pleased in Italy to show
This studious sport; from Scacchis was its name,
The pleasing record of your Sister’s fame.

When Jove through Ethiopia’s parch’d extent
To grace the nuptials of old Ocean went,
Each god was there; and mirth and joy around
To shores remote diffused their happy sound.
Then when their hunger and their thirst no more
Claim’d their attention,.and the feast was o’er; 20
Ocean, with pastime to divert the thought,
Commands a painted table to be brought.172 THE POEMS

Sixty-four spaces fill the chequer’d square ;

Hight in each rank eight equal limits share.

Alike their form, but different are their dyes,

They fade alternate, and alternate rise,

White after black; such various stains as those

The shelving backs of tortoises disclose.

Then to the Gods that mute and wondering sate,

You see (says he) the field prepared for fate. 30

Here will the little armies please your sight,

With adverse colours hurrying to the fight:

On which so oft, with silent sweet surprise,

The Nymphs and Nereids used to feast their eyes,

And all the neighbours of the hoary deep,

When calm the sea, and winds were lull’d asleep.

But see, the mimic heroes tread the board ;

He said, and straightway from an urn he pour’d

The sculptured box, that neatly seem’d to ape

The graceful figure of a human shape :— 40

Kqual the strength and number of each foe,

Sixteen appear’d like jet, sixteen like snow.

As their shape varies various is the name,

Different their posts, nor is their strength the same,

There might you see two Kings with equal pride

Gird on their arms, their Consorts by their side ;

Here the Foot-warriors glowing after fame,

There prancing Knights and dexterous Archers

came

And Elephants, that on their backs sustain

Vast towers of war, and fill and shake the plain. 50
And now both hosts, preparing for the storm

Of adverse battle, their encampments form.

In the fourth space, and on the farthest line,

Directly opposite the Monarchs shine ;OF GOLDSMITH. 173

The swarthy on white ground, on sable stands

The silver King ; and thence they send commands.

Nearest to these the Queens exert their might ;

One the left side, and t’other guards the right:

Where each, by her respective armour known,

Chooses the colour that is like her own. 60

Then the young Archers, two that snowy-white

Bend the tough yew, and two as black as night ;

(Greece call’d them Mars’s favourites heretofore,

From their delight in war, and thirst of gore).

These on each side the Monarch and his Queen

Surround obedient; next to these are seen

The crested Knights in golden armour gay ;

Their steeds by turns curvet, or snort or neigh.

In cither army on each distant wing

Two mighty Elephants their castles bring, 70

Bulwarks immense ! and then at last combine

Eight of the Foot to form the second line,

The vanguard to the King and Queen ; from far

Prepared to open all the fate of war.

So moved the boxen hosts, each double-lined,

Their different colours floating in the wind :

As if an army of the Gauls should go,

With their white standards, o’er the Alpine snow

To meet in rigid fight on scorching sands 79

Thesun-burnt Moors and Memnon’s swarthy bands.
Then Father Ocean thus ; you see them here,

Celestial Powers, what troops, what camps appear.

Learn now the sev’ral orders of the fray,

For ev’n these arms their stated laws obey.

To lead the fight, the Kings from all their bands

Choose whom they please to bear their great com-

mands.

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174 THE POEMS

Should a black hero first to battle go, |
Instant a white one guards against the blow;
But only one at once can charge or shun the au)
Their gen’ral purpose on one scheme is bent, _ 90
So to besiege the King within the tent,
That there remains no place by subtle flight
From danger free; and that decides the fight,
Meanwhile, howe’er, the sooner to destroy
Th’ imperial Prince, remorseless they employ
Their swords in blood; and whosoever dare
Oppose their vengeance, in the ruin share.
Fate thins their camp; the parti-coloured field
Widens apace, as they o’ercome or yield,
But the proud victor takes the captive’s post; 100
There fronts the fury of th’ avenging host
One single shock: and (should he ward the blow),
May then retire at pleasure from the foe.
The Foot alone (so their harsh laws ordain)
When they proceed can ne’er return again.

But neither all rush on alike to prove
The terror of their arms: the Foot must move
Directly on, and but a single square ;
Yet may these heroes, when they first prepare
To mix in combat on the bloody mead, 110
Double their sally, and two steps proceed ;
But when they wound, their swords they subtly

euide

With aim oblique, and slanting pierce his side.
But the great Indian beasts, whose backs sustain
Vast turrets arm’d, when on the redd’ning plain
They join in all the terror of the fight,
Forward or backward, to the left or right,
Run furious, and impatient of confineOF GOLDSMITH. t7o

Scour through the field, and threat the farthest
line. 119

Yet must they ne’er obliquely aim their blows ;

That only manner is allow’d to those

Whom Mars has favour’d most, who bend the
stubborn bows.

These glancing sidewards in a straight career,

Yet each confined to their respective sphere,

Or white or black, can send th’ unerring dart

Wing’d with swift death to pierce through ev’ry
part.

The fiery steed, regardless of the reins,

Comes prancing on; but sullenly disdains 128

The path direct, and boldly wheeling round, |

Leaps o’er a double space at evry bound:

And shifts from white or black to diffrent
colour’d ground.

But the fierce Queen, whom dangers ne’er dismay,

The strength and terror of the bloody day,

In a straight line spreads her destruction wide,

To left or right, before, behind, aside.

Yet may she never with a circling course

Sweep to the battle like the fretful Horse ;

But unconfined may at her pleasure stray,

If neither friend nor foe block up the way ;

For to o’erleap a warrior, ‘tis decreed 140

Those only dare who curb the snorting steed.

With greater caution and majestic state

The warlike Monarchs in the scene of fate

Direct their motions, since for these appear

Zealous each hope, and anxious evry fear.

While the King’s safe, with resolution stern

They clasp their arms; but should a sudden turn

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176 THE POEMS

Make him a captive, instantly they yield,
Resolved to share his fortune in the field.

He moves on slow; with reverence profound 150
His faithful troops encompass him around,

And oft, to break some instant fatal scheme,
Rush to their fates, their sovreign to redeem ;
While he, unanxious where to wound the foe,
Need only shift and guard against a blow.

But none, however, can presume t’ appear

Within his reach, but must his vengeance fear ;
For he on evry side his terror throws ;

But when he changes from his first repose,

Moves but one step, most awfully sedate, 160
Or idly roving, or intent on fate.

These are the sevral and establish’d laws:

Now see how each maintains his bloody cause.

Here paused the God, but (since whene’er they
wage

War here on earth the Gods themselves engage
In mutual battle as they hate or love,

And the most stubborn war is oft above),
Almighty Jove commands the circling train

Of Gods from fay’ring either to abstain,

And let the fight be silently survey’d ; 170
And added solemn threats if disobey’d.
Then call’d he Phoebus from among the Powers
And subtle Hermes, whom in softer hours
Fair Maia bore: youth wanton’d in their face;
Both in life’s bloom, both shone with equal grace.
Hermes as yet had never wing’d his feet ;
As yet Apollo in his radiant seat
Had never driv’n his chariot through the air,
Known by his bow alone and golden hair.OF GOLDSMITH.

These Jove commission’d to attempt the fray, 180
And rule the sportive military day ;

Bid them agree which party each maintains,

And promised a reward that’s worth their pains.
The greater took their seats; on either hand
Respectful the less Gods in order stand,
- But careful not to interrupt their play,

By hinting when t’ advance or run away.

Then they examine, who shall first proceed

To try their courage, and their army lead.
Chance gave it for the White, that he should go 190
First with a brave defiance to the foe.

Awhile he ponder’d which of all his train

Should bear his first commission o’er the plain ;
And then determined to begin the scere

With him that stood before to guard the Queen.
He took a double step: with instant care

Does the black Monarch in his turn prepare

The adverse champion, and with stern command
Bid him repel the charge with equal hand.

There front to front, the midst of all the fieia, 2.0
With furious threats their shining arms they

wield ; .

Yet vain the conflict, neither can prevail

While in one path each other they assail.

On evry side to their assistance fly

Their fellow soldiers, and with strong supply
Crowd to the battle, but no bloody stain
Tinctures their armour ; sportive in the plain
Mars plays awhile, and in excursion slight
Harmless they sally forth, or wait the fight.

But now the swarthy Foot, that first appear’d 210

To front the foe, his pond’rous jav’lin rear’d
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178 THE POEMS

Leftward aslant, and a pale warrior slays,
Spurns him aside, and boldly takes his ptace.
Unhappy youth, his danger not to spy !
Instant he fell, and triumph’d but to die.
At this the sable King with prudent care
Removed his station from the middle square,
And slow retiring to the farthest ground,
There safely lurk’d, with troops entrench’d around.
Then from each quarter to the war advance 220
The furious Knights, and poise the trembling
lance:

By turns they rush, by turns the victors yie.d,
Heaps of dead Foot choke up the erimson’d fieia:
They fall unable to retreat; around
The clang of arms and iron hoofs resound.

But while young Pheebus pleased himself to view
His furious Knight destroy the vuigar crew,
Sly Hermes long’d t’ attempt with secret aim
Some noble act of more exalted fame.

For this, he inoffensive pass’d along 230
Through ranks of Foot, and me the tremblin
throng

Sent his left Horse, that free without confine
Roved o’er the plain, upon some great design
Against the King himself. At length he stood,
And having fix’d his station as he would,
Threaten’d at once with instant fate the King
And th’ Indian beast that guarded the right wing.
Apollo sigh’d, and hast’ning to relieve

The straiten’d Monarch, grieved that he must leave
His martial Elephant exposed to fate, 240
And view’d with pitying eyes his dang’rous state.
First in his thoughts however was his rareOF GOLDSMITH.

To save his’ King, whom to the neighbouring
square

On the right hand, he snatch’d with trembling
flight :

At this with fury springs the sable Knight,

Drew his keen sword, and rising to the blow,

Sent the great Indian brute to shades below.

O fatal loss! for none except the Queen

Spreads such a terror through the bloody scene.

Yet shall you ne’er unpunish’d boast your prize,

The Delian God with stern resentment cries ; {

And wedged him round with foot, and pour’d in [
fresh supplies. J

Thus close besieged trembling he cast his eye 253

Around the plain, but saw no shelter nigh,

No way for flight ; for here the Queen opposed,

The Foot in phalanx there the passage closed :

At length he fell; yet not unpleased with fate,

Since victim to a Queen’s vindictive hate.

With grief and fury burns the whiten’d host,

One of their Tow’rs thus immaturely lost. 26U

As when a bull has in contention stern

Lost his right horn, with double vengeance burn

His thoughts for war, with blood he’s cover’d o’er,

And the woods echo to his dismal roar,

So look’d the flaxen host, when angry fate

O’erturn’d the Indian bulwark of their state.

Fired at this great success, with double rage

Apollo hurries on his troops t’ engage,

For blood and havoe wild; and, while he leads

His troops thus careless, loses both his steeds: 270

For if some adverse warriors were o’erthrown,

He little thought what dangers threat his own.

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180 THE POEMS

But slyer Hermes with observant eyes

March’d slowly cautious, and at distance spies |

What moves must next succeed, what dangers [
next arise. J

Often would he, the stately Queen to snare,

The slender Foot to front her arms prepare,

And to conceal his scheme he sighs and feigns

Such a wrong step would frustrate all his pains.

Just then an Archer, from the right-hand view, 280

At the pale Queen his arrow boldly drew,

Unseen by Phcebus, who, with studious thought,

From the left side a vulgar hero brought.

But tender Venus, with a pitying eye,

Viewing the sad destruction that was nigh,

Wink’d upon Pheebus (for the Goddess sat

By chance directly opposite); at that

Roused in an instant, young Apollo threw

His eyes around the field his troops to view: 289

Perceived the danger, and with sudden fright

Withdrew the Foot that he had sent to fight, |

And saved his trembling Queen by seasonable |
flight. J

But Maia’s son with shouts fill’d all the coast:

The Queen, he cried, the important Queen is lost.

Phoebus, howe’er, resolving to maintain

What he had done, bespoke the heavenly train.

What mighty harm, in sportive mimic fight,

Ts it to set a little blunder right,

When no preliminary rule debarr’d ?

If you henceforward, Mercury, would guard _ 300

Against such practice, let us make the law:

And whosoe’er shall first to battle draw,

Or white, or black, remorseless let him goOF GOLDSMITH.

At all events, and dare the angry foe.

He said, and this opinion pleased around :
Jove turn’d aside, and on his daughter frown’d,
Unmark’d by Hermes, who, with strange surprise,
Fretted and foam’d, and roll’d his ferret eyes,
And but with great reluctance could refrain
From dashing at a blow all off the plain. 310
Then he resolved to interweave deceits,—

To carry on the war by tricks and cheats.

Instant he call’d an Archer from the throng,

And bid him lke the courser wheel along:

Bounding he springs, and threats the pallid Queen,

The fraud, however, was by Phoebus seen ;

He smiled, and, turning to the Gods, he said:

Though, Hermes, you are perfect in your trade,

And you can trick and cheat to great surprise,

These little sleights no more shall blind my eyes ;

Correct them if you please, the more you thus
disguise.

The circle laugh’d aloud; and Maia’s son 322

(As if it had but by mistake been done)

Reeall’d his Archer, and with motion due,

Bid him advance, the combat to renew.

But Phoebus watch’d him with a jealous eye,

Fearing some trick was ever lurking nigh,

For he would oft, with sudden sly design,

Send forth at once two combatants to join

His warring troops, against the law of arms, — 330

Unless the wary foe was ever in alarms.

Now the white Archer with his utmost foree
Bent the tough bow against the sable Horse,

And drove him from the Queen, where he had stood
Hoping to glut his vengeance with her blood.

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182 THE POEMS

Then the right Elephant with martial pride

Roved here and there, and spread his terrors wide:

Glittering in arms from far a courser came,

Threaten’d at once the King and Royal Dame ;

Thought himself safe when he the post had seized,

And with the future spoils his fancy pleased. 341

Fired at the danger a young Archer came,

Rush'd on the foe, and levell’d sure his aim ;

(And though a Pawn his sword in vengeance
draws,

Gladly he’d lose his life in glory’s cause).

The whistling arrow. to his bowels flew,

And the sharp steel his blood profusely drew ;

He drops the reins, he totters to the ground,

And his life issued murm’ring through the wound.

Pierced by the Foot, this Archer bit the plain ; |

The Foot himself was by another slain ;

And with inflamed revenge, the battle burns again. i

Towers, Archers, Knights, meet on the crimson
ground, 353

And the field echoes to the martial sound.

Their thoughts are heated, and their courage fired,

Thick they rush on with double zeal inspired ;

Generals and Foot, with different colour’d mien,

Confusedly warring in the camps are seen,—

Valour and Fortune meetin onepromiscuousscene.

Now these victorious, lord it o’er the field ; 360

Now the foe rallies, the triumphant yield:

Just as the tide of battle ebbs or flows.

As when the conflict more tempestuous grows

Between the winds, with strong and boisterous
sweep

They plough th’ Ionian or Atlantic deep !OF GOLDSMITH. 183

By turns prevails the mutual blustering roar,
And the big waves alternate lash the shore.
But in the midst of all the battle raged

The snowy Queen, with troops at once engaged;

She fell’d an Archer as she sought the plain,— 370

As she retired an Elephant was slain:

To right and left her fatal spears she sent,

Burst through the ranks, and triumph’d as she
went ;

Through arms and blood she seeks a glorious
fate,

Pierces the farthest lines, and nobly great

Leads on her army with a gallant show,

Breaks the battalions, and cuts through the foe..

At length the sable King his fears betray’d,

And begg’d his military consort’s aid:

With cheerful speed she flew to his relief, 389

And met in equal arms the female chief.

Who first, great Queen, and who at last did

bleed ?

How many Whites lay gasping on the mead?

Half dead, and floating in a bloody tide,

Foot, Knights, and Archer lie on every side.

Who can recount the slaughter of the day ?

How many leaders threw their lives away ?

The chequer’d plain is fill’d with dying box,

Havoe ensues, and with tumultuous shocks

The different colour’d ranks in blood engage, 396

And Foot and Horse promiscuously rage.

With nobler courage and superior might

The dreadful Amazons sustain the fight,

Resolved alike to mix in glorious strife,

Till to imperious fate they yield their life.my
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184 THE POEMS

Meanwhile each Monarch, in a neighbouring cell,
Confined the warriors that in battle fell,
There watch’d the captives with a jealous eye,
Lest, slipping out again, to arms they fly.
But Thracian Mars, in stedfast friendship join’d 400
To Hermes, as near Phoebus he reclined,
Observed each chance, how all their motions bend,
Resolved if possible to serve his friend,
He a Foot-soldier and a Knight purloin’d
Out from the prison that the dead confined ;
And slyly push’d ’em forward on the plain ;
Th’ enliven’d combatants their arms regain,
Mix in the bloody scene, and boldly war again.
So the foul hag, in screaming wild alarms
O’er a dead carcase muttering her charms, 410
(And with her frequent and tremendous yell
Forcing great Hecate from out of hell)
Shoots in the corpse a new fictitious soul ;
With instant glare the supple eyeballs roll,
Again it moves and speaks, and life informs the
whole.
Vulcan alone discern’d the subtle cheat ;
Aud wisely scorning such a base deceit,
Call’d out to Phoebus. Grief and rage assail
Phoebus by turns ; detected Mars turns pale.
Then awful Jove with sullen eye reproved 420
Mars, and the captives order’d to be moved
To their dark caves; bid each fictitious spear
Be straight reeall’d, and all be as they were.
And now both Monarchs with redoubled rage
Led on their Queens, the mutual war to wage.
Over all the field their thirsty spears they send,
Then front to front their Monarchs they defend.OF GOLDSMITH. 185

But lo! the female White rush’d in unseen,
And slew with fatal haste the swarthy Queen ;
Yet soon, alas! resign’d her royal spoils, 430
Snatch’d by a shaft from her successful toils.
Struck at the sight, both hosts in wild surprise
Pour’d forth their tears, and fill’d the air with cries ;
They wept and sigh’d, as pass’d the fun’ral train,
As if both armies had at once been slain.
And now each troop surrounds its mourning
chief,
To guard his person, or assuage his grief,
One is their common fear; one stormy blast
Has equally made havoe as it pass’d.
Not all, however, of their youth are slain ; 440
Some champions yet the vig’rous war maintain.
Three Foot, an Archer, and a stately Tower,
For Phoebus still exert their utmost power.
Just the same number Mercury can boast,
Except the Tower, who lately in his post
Unarm’d inglorious fell, in peace profound,
Pierced by an Archer with a distant wound ;
But his right Horse retain’d its mettled pride,—
The rest were swept away by war’s strong tide.
But fretful Hermes, with despairing moan, 450
Grieved that so many champions were o’erthrown,
Yet reassumes the fight ; and summons round
The little straggling army that he found,—
All that had ’scaped from fierce Apollo’s rage,—
Resolved with greater caution to engage
In. future strife, by subtle wiles (if fate
Should give him leave) to save his sinking state.
The sable troops advance with prudence slow.
Bent on all hazards to distress the foe.

 

 

we Rn ae aa SeeeteeiaeT186 THE POEMS

More cheerful Phoebus, with unequal pace, 460

Rallies his arms to lessen his disgrace.

But what strange havoc everywhere has been!

A straggling champion here and there is seen :

And many are the tents, yet few are left within.
Th’ afflicted Kings bewail their consorts dead,

And loathe the thoughts of a deserted bed ;

And though each monarch studies to improve

The tender mem’ry of his former love,

Their state requires a second nuptial tie.

Hence the pale ruler with a love-sick eye 470

Surveys th’ attendants of his former wife,

And offers one of them a royal life.

These, when their martial mistress had been slain,

Weak and despairing tried their arms in vain ;

Willing, howe’er, amidst the Black to go,

They thirst for speedy vengeance on the foe.

Then he resolves to see who merits best,

By strength and courage, the imperial vest;

Points out the foe, bids each with bold design

. Pierce through the ranks, and reach the deepest

line: 480
For none must hope with monarchs to repose
But who can first, through thick surrounding foes,
Through arms and wiles, with hazardous essay,
Safe to the farthest quarters force their way.
Fired at the thought, with sudden, joyful pace
They hurry on; but first of all the race
Runs the third right-hand warrior for the prize, —
The glitt’ring crown already charms her eyes.
Her dear associates *cheerfully give o’er
The nuptial chase; and swift she flies before,
And Glory lent her wings, and the reward in
store.OF GOLDSMITH. 187

Nor would the sable King her hopes prevent, 492

For he himself was on a Queen intent,

Alternate, therefore, through the field they go.

Hermes led on, but by a step too slow,

His fourth left Pawn: and now th’ advent’rous
White

Had march’d through all, and gain’d the wish’d
for site.

Then the pleased King gives orders to prepare

The crown, the sceptre, and the royal chair,

And owns her for his Queen: around exult —_500

The snowy troops, and o’er the Black insult.

Hermes burst into tears,—with fretful roar

Fill’d the wide air, and his gay vesture tore.

The swarthy Foot had only to advance

One single step; but oh! malignant chance!

A tower’d Elephant, with fatal aim,

Stood ready to destroy her when she came:

He keeps a watchful eye upon the whole,

Threatens her entrance, and protects the goal.

Meanwhile the royal new-created bride, 510

Pleased with her pomp, spread death and terror wide;

Like lightning through the sable troops she flies,

Clashes her arms, and seems to threat the skies.

The sable troops are sunk in wild affright,

And wish th’ earth op’ning snatch’d ’em from her
sight.

In burst the Queen, with vast impetuous swing:

The trembling foes comeswarming round the Kintoal

Where in the midst he stood, and form a valiant |
ring.

So the poor cows, straggling o’er pasture land,

When they perceive the prowling wolf at hand, 520

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4188 THE POEMS

Crowd close together in a circle full,
And beg the succour of the lordly bull ;
They clash their horns, they low with dreadful sound
And the remotest groves re-echo round.
But the bold Queen, victorious, from behind

Pierces the foe; yet chiefly she design’d

Against the King himself some fatal aim,

And full of war to his pavilion came.

Now here she rush’d, now there; and had she been
But duly prudent, she had slipp’d between, 530
With course oblique, into the fourth white square,
And the long toil of war had ended there,

The King had fallen, and all his sable state ;

And vanquish’d Hermes cursed his partial fate,
For thence with ease the championess might go,
Murder the King, and none could ward the blow.

With silence, Hermes, and with panting heart,

Perceived the danger, but with subtle art,

(Lest he should see the place) spurs on the foe, 539
Confounds his thoughts, and blames his being slow.
For shame! move on; would you for ever stay ?
What sloth is this, what strange perverse delay ?—
How could you e’er my little pausing blame ?—
What! you would wait tillnight shall end the game ?
Pheebus, thus nettled, with imprudence slew
A vulgar Pawn, but lost his nobler view.
Young Hermes leap’d, with sudden joy elate ;
And then, to save the monarch from his fate,

Led on his martial Knight, who stepp'd between,
Pleased that his charge was to oppose the Queen—
Then, pondering how the Indian beast to slay, 551
That stopp’d the Foot from making farther way,—
From being made a Queen ; with slanting aim

)OF GOLDSMITH. 189

An archer struck him; down the monster came,
And dying shook the earth: while Pheebus tries
Without success the monarch to surprise.

The Foot, then uncontroll’d with instant pride,
Seized the last spot, and moved a royal bride.
And now with equal strength both war again,
And bring their second wives upon the plain; 560
Then, though with equal views each hoped and fear’d,
Yet, as if every doubt had disappear’d,

As if he had the palm, young Hermes flies

Into excess of joy ; with deep disguise,

Kxtols his own Black troops, with frequent spite
And with invective taunts disdains the White.
Whom Pheebus thus reproved with quick return—
As yet we cannot the decision learn

Of this dispute, and do you triumph now ?

Then your big words and vauntings I’ll allow, 570
When you the battle shall completely gain ;

At present I shall make your boasting vain.

He said, and forward led the daring Queen ;
Instant the fury of the bloody scene

Rises tumultuous, swift the warriors fly

From either side to conquer or to die.

They front the storm of war: around ’em Fear,
Terror, and Death, perpetually appear.

All meet in arms, and man to man oppose,

Each from their camp attempts to drive their foes ;
Each tries by turns to force the hostile lines; 580
Chance and impatience blast their best designs.
The sable Queen spread terror as she went
Through the mid ranks: with more reserved intent
The adverse dame declined the open fray,

And to the King in private stole away:eg ~ Sa é

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190 THE POEMS

Then took the royal guard, and bursting <a,

With fatal menace close besieged the King.

Alarm’d at this, the swarthy Queen, in haste,

From all her havoe and destructive waste 589

Broke off, and her contempt of death to show,

Leap’d in between the monarch and the foe, |

To save the King and state from this impending [

blow. J

But Phebus met a worse misfortune here:

For Hermes now led forward, void of fear,

His furious Horse into the open plain,

That onward chafed,and pranced,and pawed amain.

Nor ceased from his attempts until he stood

On the long-wished-for spot, from whence he could

Slay King or Queen. O’erwhelm’d with sudden fears,

Apollo saw, and could not keep from tears. 600

Now all seem’d ready to be overthrown ;

His strength was wither’d, ev’ry hope was flown.

Hermes, exulting at this great surprise,

Shouted for joy, and fill’d the air with cries;

Instant he sent the Queen to shades below,

And of her spoils made a triumphant show.

But in return, and in his mid eareer,

Fell his brave Knight, beneath the Monarch’s spear.
Phoebus, however, did not yet despair,

But still fought on with courage and with care. 610

He had but two poor common men to show,

And Mars’s favourite with his iv’ry bow.

The thoughts of ruin made ’em dare their best

To save their King, so fatally distress’d.

But the sad hour required not such an aid ;

And Hermes breathed revenge where’er he stray’4

Fierce comes the sable Queen with fatal threat,

Surrounds the monarch in his royal seat ;OF GOLDSMITH. 191

Rush’d here and there, nor rested till she slew

The last remainder of the whiten’d crew. 620

Sole stood the King, the midst of all the plain,

Weak and defenceless, his companions slain.

As when the ruddy morn ascending high

Has chased the twinkling stars from all the sky,

Your star, fair Venus, still retains its light,

And, loveliest, goes the latest out of sight.

No safety’s left, no gleams of hope remain ;

Yet did he not as vanquish’d quit the plain, _ 628

But tried to shut himself between the foe,— |

Unhurt through swords and spears he hoped to go,

Until no room was left to shun the fatal blow. J

For if none threaten’d his immediate fate,

And his next move must ruin all his state,

All their past toil and labour is in vain,

Vain all the bloody carnage of the plain,— I

Neither would triumph then, the laurel neither _
gain.

Therefore through each void space and desert tent,

By different moves his various course he bent:

The Black King watch’d him with observant eye,

Follow’d him close, but left him room to fly. 640

Then when he saw him take the farthest line,

He sent the Queen his motions to confine,

And guard the second rank, that he could go

No farther now than to that distant row.

The sable monarch then with cheerful mien

Approach’d, but always with one space between.

But as the King stood o’er against him there,

Helpless, forlorn, and sunk in his despair, 648

The martial Queen her lucky moment knew,

Seized on the farthest seat with fatal view,

Nor left th’ unhappy King a place to flee unto.

es

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At length in vengeance her keen sword she draws,

Slew him, and ended thus the bloody cause :

And all the gods around approved it with
applause.

The victor could not from his insults keep,
But laugh’d and sneer’d to see Apollo weep.
Jove call’d him near, and gave him in his hand
The powerful, happy, and mysterious wand
By which the Shades are eall’d to purer day,
When penal fire has purged their sins away; 660
By which the guilty are condemn’d to dwell
In the dark mansions of the deepest hell ;

By which he gives us sleep, or sleep denies,

And closes at the last the dying eyes.

Soon after this, the heavenly victor brought

The game on earth, and first th’ Italians taught,

For (as they say) fair Scacchis he espied

Feeding her cygnets in the silver tide,

(Seacchis, the loveliest Seriad of the place)

And as she stray’d, took her to his embrace. 670
Then, to reward her for her virtue lost,

Gave her the men and chequer’d board, emboss’d
With gold and silver curiously inlay’d ;

And taught her how the game was to be play’d.
Kv’n now ’tis honour’d with her happy name;
And Rome and all the world admire the game.
All which the Seriads told me heretofore,

When my boy-notes amused the Serian shore.

THE END.

 

CHISWICK PRESS :—C. WHITTINGHAM, TOOKS COURT,
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