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_ 
 
 OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S 
 
 TRAVELLER 
 
 AND 
 
 DESERTED VILLAGE 
 
 " jF/zs song fresh and beautiful as when first he charmed with it." 
 
 Thackeray. 
 
 EDITED BY 
 
 W^ARREN FENNO GREGORY, A.B., 
 
 Hartford Public High School. 
 
 
 I 
 
 "nOV 26 
 LEACH, SHEV^ELL, & SANBORN, 
 
 BOSTON. NEW YORK. CHICAGO. 
 
 JX.^;;;^ 
 

 Copyright, 1894, 
 By Leach, Shewell, & Sanborn. 
 
 EUEOTBOXYPED BY C. J. FETEBS & SON. 
 
 PBKS8 OF BEBWICK & SMITH. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 The purpose in presenting this little volume is to 
 lead our students to an intimate acquaintance with two 
 poems that for more than a century and a quarter have 
 stood with the purest, most graceful, and most pleasing 
 productions of English literature. There must be a 
 training of the heart as well as of the intellect ; and few 
 writings are so fitted to accomplish this as are these 
 masterpieces, beautiful alike in thought and expression. 
 
 No true grasp of literature can be gained without 
 a knowledge of its human side, or the author as a 
 man. ^^ Th^ Traveller " and " The Deserted Village " 
 especially demand this, as they continually reflect the 
 feelings and experience of the poet. Goldsmith also 
 represents a remarkable circle of men, and has an un- 
 asually pleasing and interesting personality. For these 
 reasons an attempt has been made to provide for a care- 
 ful study of his life. 
 
 So many have dealt with Goldsmith and his works, 
 bhat a writer of the present day can here be but little 
 
 in 
 
iv PREFACE. 
 
 more than "a gatherer and disposer of other men's 
 stuff." Hence, while aiming at originality in the scope 
 of this work, and endeavoring to secure it in treatment, 
 the author has freely drawn his material from the accu- 
 mulated mass. 
 
 WARREN FENNO GREGORY. 
 
 Hartford (Ct.) Public High School, 
 November, 1894. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Biographical Sketch 1 
 
 Literary Productions of Oliver Goldsmith ... 16 
 
 Introduction to The Traveller 20 
 
 Dedication . 22 
 
 The Traveller 25 
 
 Introduction to The Deserted Village ..... 41 
 
 Dedication 45 
 
 The Deserted Village . 4^ 
 
 Introduction to Notes 63 
 
 Notes on The Traveller 65 
 
 Notes on The Deserted Village ........ 72 
 
OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 (1728-1774.) 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 
 
 The life of " Poor Goldsmith," as lie has been fa- 
 miliarly and affectionately called, illustrates to a singular 
 degree the force of family traits. He inherited a com- 
 bination of goodness of heart, simplicity of mind, and 
 faculty for enjoying the present in a spirit of abandon ; 
 blended with much shrewdness of observation, a rol- 
 licking Irish sense of humor, and a proverbial gift for 
 blundering in conversation. This being the case, the 
 conditions were right for producing one of the most 
 helpless, thriftless, disappointing, and at the same time 
 brilliant and lovable of all our authors. 
 
 The place of his birth is usually given as Pallas, 
 County Longford, Ireland, the date being Nov. 10, 1728 ; 
 and he was the fifth of the eight children of Charles and 
 Ann Goldsmith. His father was at this time curate to 
 the rector of Kilkenny West, with an income of not 
 over £40 annually. In 1730 he succeeded his wife's 
 uncle as rector, and settled in the pretty village of Lis- 
 soy, having now £200 a year. Little Oliver was sent to 
 
 1 
 
2 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 a '' dame's school " at the age of three, and impressed 
 the mistress as being one of the dullest boys she had 
 ever met with. At six he was sent to the village school, 
 kept by Thomas Byrne, an old soldier who had more 
 fondness for fairy lore and tales of war than for the 
 usual branches. Such instruction would not make an ac- 
 curate scholar of a boy with his imaginative mind ; but it 
 cultivated a poetic taste, besides filling him with a burn- 
 ing desire for travel and adventure. A severe attack of 
 the small-pox broke off his attendance here, after which 
 he was sent to a better school. His father's means 
 were straitened by keeping an elder son, Henry, at a 
 classical school ; but relatives, especially his imcle, Rev. 
 Thomas Contarine, helped him to schools which prepared 
 him for the University. His school-life was varied ; on 
 the one hand, he was careless and dull in all studies re- 
 quiring steady thought, while his short, thick, ungainly 
 figure, his never handsome features, pitted with the 
 marks of disease, and his chronic blundering brought 
 him in among the boys for a full share of ridicule, to 
 which his natural sensitiveness and self-consciousness 
 rendered him all the more liable. On the other hand, 
 his fondness for the Latin poets secured kindly attention 
 from his teachers, while his generous heart and fondness 
 for sports brought the good-will of his mates, even if 
 they did at times make merry at his expense. 
 
 One of many anecdotes may be introduced here. On 
 his way home from his last fitting-school, supplied by 
 friends with a horse and a guinea, he determined to play 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 3 
 
 the man at an inn. He was sent as a joke to the house 
 of a prominent family. These people kindly allowed 
 the mistake to go on, so that G-oldsmith swaggered 
 through the whole performance, only to learn the true 
 state of things next morning, to his great mortification. 
 He afterwards used this occurrence upon which to base 
 his comedy, '' She Stoops to Conquer, or the Mistakes of 
 a Night." 
 
 College came next ; but his sister Catherine had pri- 
 vately married the son of a rich neighbor, and family 
 pride prompted his father to raise a dowry of £400. 
 This so reduced his resources that Oliver had to enter 
 Trinity College, Dublin, as a '^ sizar," or poor-student, 
 who worked in part payment of his expenses, and was 
 distinguished by his dress. He felt the humiliation, but 
 contrived to be merry in a happy-go-lucky way. He 
 was fond of the flute, and played by ear with consider- 
 able sweetness. His father died in 1747, but his uncle 
 Contariae helped him at times, and he struggled on; 
 sometimes writing street-ballads for sale, and again 
 pawning his books. His nature fitted him for getting 
 into trouble, and he was once admonished for aiding in a 
 riot in which a bailiff was ducked and some lives lost in 
 the attempted storming of a jail. At another time he 
 ran away to Cork after being caned by a tutor for giving 
 a dance in his room. He had no money to go farther ; 
 and his brother Henry arranged his return, after which 
 he succeeded in taking the degree of B. A. in 1749. 
 
 The next thing was the choice of a profession for the 
 
4 OLIVER GOLDSMITH, 
 
 idle fellow who was living on his friends, enjoying him- 
 self at rustic merry-makings, and learning French from 
 priests. He was first designed for the church, and after 
 two years of probation was rejected by the bishop. It 
 is said that this was for presenting himself for orders 
 while wearing scarlet breeches. After trying and giving 
 up a tutorship, his relatives raised £50 for him, and with 
 great satisfaction, no doubt, saw him mounted on a good 
 horse, and starting for Cork to embark for America, only 
 to have him return on a wretched beast and without a 
 penny, having lost all in his reckless adventures. Law 
 was the next in order, and good uncle Contarine raised 
 £50 more to start him as a lawyer in London. He came 
 back as usual, after losing his money gambling in Dub- 
 lin. The only profession left to try was that of medi- 
 cine ; and, supplied again with a moderate sum, he started 
 for the medical school at Edinburgh, this time never to 
 return. 
 
 After eighteen months of desultory work here, he 
 wished to study abroad, and with more money from his 
 faithful uncle he arrived in Holland after sundry mis- 
 fortunes. A fellow-countryman befriended him in Ley- 
 den, but afterwards advised him to leave, as gamblers, 
 who were taking all he had, were getting too strong a 
 hold on him. He then started for Paris with his flute, 
 a guinea, and an extra shirt. He wandered through 
 France and Switzerland, chiefly on foot, playing on his 
 flute many times to secure food and lodging from the 
 peasants. In Italy, the land of music, this would not 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 5 
 
 avail, and he is said to have taken part in disputes, 
 or debates, at universities and convents, where the con- 
 testant would be entitled to a supper and a bed. While 
 at Padua, where some claim that he took the degree of 
 Bachelor of Medicine, while others say that he had pre- 
 viously taken it at Louvain in France, his Uncle Con- 
 tarine died, and his irregular and scanty remittances of 
 money now ceased entirely, so that he retraced his wan- 
 derings. 
 
 He arrived at Dover in 1756 in complete destitution ; 
 and while his improvidence made all his life a hard one, 
 the next five years are peculiarly distressing, being 
 wholly devoid of the compensations which his subse- 
 quent fame brought. He appears to have sought in vain 
 for a place as chemist's assistant, and is said to have 
 tried the stage, in a humble way, for a brief period. 
 There is no definite account of his life at this time, but 
 it is evident that he drifted towards London in a state 
 of beggary. Here he is known to have been employed 
 in a school, and then in a chemist's laboratory. A good 
 Quaker physician who had been a fellow-student at 
 Edinburgh encouraged him to practise medicine, which 
 he did for a time in the suburbs, but unprofitably, as his 
 patients were mainly among the poor, and could not pay 
 him. His friend. Dr. Sleigh, helped him to a little writ- 
 ing for the booksellers ; and a patient who was a printer 
 for Samuel Richardson, a rich publisher and also author 
 of '^ Pamela " and other novels, secured for him an in- 
 troduction to his employer. Richardson gave him a 
 
6 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 little work and helped him to make some acquaintances, 
 among whom was Dr. Young, author of " Night 
 Thoughts.^' Another friend was Dr. Milner, also from 
 Edinburgh, whose father kept a classical school, of 
 which Goldsmith, now giving up medicine, was placed 
 in charge during the proprietor's illness. While with 
 the Milners he met Griffiths, a bookseller, who published 
 the Monthly Review. Goldsmith was given employment 
 on this in 1757 at a small salary, and was thus fairly 
 started as a literary drudge. He could not long endure 
 the exactions of the employer and his wife ; and now 
 having a little acquaintance with publishers, he shifted 
 for himself, doing any writing that came his way. The 
 Milners tried to befriend him again, and secured for him 
 the appointment as post-surgeon on the coast of Coro- 
 mandel. This was revoked, however ; a second attempt 
 to practise medicine proved unprofitable ; he failed to 
 pass an examination for a subordinate hospital position 
 at the College of Surgeons, and was still in most abject 
 poverty. Yet he was continually giving money if he 
 had it, or even the clothes from his back and the cover- 
 ings from his bed, to those who begged of him. His 
 writings were of whatever sort would bring him money, 
 and he had as yet produced nothing to bring him into 
 prominence. 
 
 In 1759 he published anonymously " An Enquiry into 
 the Present State of Polite Learning in Europe," which 
 he had long been meditating, and in 1760 his " Chinese 
 Letters" appeared. The money from these enabled 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. , 7 
 
 Goldsmith to change his wretched garret for better 
 quarters ; and, what was more, he now drew to himself 
 valuable friends, the chief among whom was the eccen- 
 tric intellectual giant, Samuel Johnson, afterwards Dr. 
 Johnson, who was an autocrat among his literary com- 
 panions, and had himself known the most grinding pov- 
 erty. Goldsmith's circumstances were indeed better, but 
 his habits still kept him in want ; and Dr. Johnson told 
 of receiving a message from him saying that he was in 
 great distress, and begging a visit as he could not come 
 to his friend. Dr. Johnson sent a guinea, and followed 
 as quickly as possible to find Goldsmith under arrest in 
 his room for arrears of rent. A fresh bottle of Madeira 
 wine on the table showed how a portion of the guinea 
 had already been used. Johnson promptly corked the 
 bottle and calmed his excited friend. Upon being in- 
 formed by Goldsmith that he had an unpublished manu- 
 script by him, he at once examined it and saw its merit. 
 He immediately sold this for £60, with which the rent 
 was discharged, the landlady receiving an indignant lec- 
 ture as well as her money. This manuscript was the copy 
 of the '^ Vicar of Wakefield," published two years after. 
 So much of our remembrance of Goldsmith is associ- 
 ated with the immortal " Club " that special mention 
 must be made of this. It was formed in 1764, and con- 
 sisted of nine members who were to sup together once a 
 week at the Turk's Head. Some of the leading ones 
 besides our poet were Johnson, already mentioned, 
 Joshua Eeynolds, the eminent painter, Burke, the future 
 
8 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 orator, and Beanclerc, a polished aristocrat, whose ap- 
 pearance contrasted oddly with that of some others, but 
 who had a fine literary taste and admired Johnson. To 
 these were afterwards added Garrick, the actor, and Bos- 
 well, the son of a Scotch laird, who worshipped the 
 great Johnson, sticking to him, as Goldsmith said, like a 
 " burr/^ to treasure up his sayings in his memory or his 
 note-book, and who has perpetuated the remembrance of 
 his eminent friend and made his own otherwise insignif- 
 icant name live by leaving the most complete biography 
 ever issued. We gain much knowledge of Goldsmith 
 from these pages, always making due allowance for the 
 narrow-mindedness and jealousy of Boswell, who could 
 not appreciate the poet as did the great man whom he 
 followed. 
 
 This year, 1764, was the most important one in all 
 Goldsmith's literary career. He had hitherto left all his 
 writings without signature, but he now brought out the 
 " Traveller " under his own name. The effect of this 
 great poem on the public was immediate, bringing its 
 author to the notice of those who had not known him, 
 and totally changing the estimation of him in the minds 
 of those who had. His club-mates were astounded. 
 They had recognized ability in the man, in spite of his 
 clumsiness in conversation, but now realized that he pos- 
 sessed genius, and that of the highest order. Within a 
 year Goldsmith was called the best poet of his age. Dr. 
 Johnson pronounced the " Traveller " the best f ff ort in 
 verse since the days of Pope ; while the finest compli- 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 9 
 
 ment of all came from Miss Reynolds, the sister of the 
 painter, who said, "AVell, I never more shall think Dr. 
 Goldsmith ngly ! " 
 
 With all this success and the attendant social advan- 
 tages that came with it. Goldsmith felt that he was 
 rising in the world, and revived some of his earlier 
 papers in a collection called ^'Essays by Mr. Gold- 
 smith." He also changed lodgings again and lived with 
 more pretension, but was still, as ever, often in want. 
 No income could have kept pace with the way in which 
 his generous and heedless nature would have led him to 
 use it. He always gambled more or less, as was the 
 fashion, and was rarely successful ; but the sweeping 
 charges of Macaulay and others on this point cannot be 
 sustained. His disregard of expense, and habit of giving 
 at every appeal of real or pretented distress, especially 
 to needy countrymen of his own who flocked to him, 
 were enough to account for the financial embarrassment 
 which followed him, even when he came to earn perhaps 
 £400 yearly, a large sum in. those days. 
 
 In 1765, when pressed for funds, he wrote, among 
 others, the famous nursery tale of " Goody Two Shoes," 
 which in its own field has enjoyed as much popularity 
 as any of his writings. 
 
 He never yet had regarded himself as permanently 
 given up to writing ; and now his increased acquaintance 
 tempted him to the practice of medicine once more, this 
 time in a grand way with all the gayly-colored finery of 
 the period, but this was given up in disgust upon find- 
 
10 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 ing that the apothecary knew more about prescribing for 
 a case than he did. As is so often the case, the world 
 had settled the question of an occupation, and he never 
 again attempted to be anything but an author. 
 
 The fame of the "Traveller" caused the "Vicar of 
 Wakefield" to be issued after lying in the publisher's 
 hands for two years. This added still more to his repu- 
 tation, and he was now a distinguished man. Enemies 
 had arisen, to be sure ; but his social opportunities were 
 of the best, although his natural awkwardness, never 
 wholly to be overcome except in his writings, and his 
 crude earlier life, placed him at a disadvantage. 
 
 He now turned his attention to another style of writ- 
 ing; and his comedy, "The Good-Natured Man," was 
 produced in 1768. Its reception was disappointing in 
 many ways. It was a sentimental age, and true comedy 
 was not appreciated ; but there was a compensation in 
 the fact that the total profit was £500, while the 
 " Traveller," with all its fame, brought but twenty. In 
 a characteristic way. Goldsmith at once used the most 
 of this money in fitting up luxurious apartments, and 
 was really worse off than ever, as the scale of living he 
 adopted, in the hope of continuing to earn at this rate, 
 kept him plunged in debt for the remainder of his 
 life. 
 
 He was now saddened by the death of his brother 
 Henry, a careful scholar and exemplary man, who, after 
 his university career, had abandoned thoughts of fame 
 to settle down at Lissoy as pastor, and teacher of the 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 11 
 
 village school, " passing rich, at forty pounds a year." 
 Oliver loved this brother with all the warmth of his 
 heart; and when there had been an opportunity for 
 patronage from the Duke of Northumberland, he had 
 thrown away his own chances, sturdily disclaiming all 
 need for himself, but mentioning his brother, and by 
 his natural bungling and diffidence securing nothing for 
 either. 
 
 We now come to an episode in Goldsmith's life which 
 affords the tenderest memories, and has especially ap- 
 pealed to Irving and Thackeray, who of all writers upon 
 this poet are from the gentleness of their own natures 
 the most truly appreciative. This is his acquaintance 
 with the " Jessamy Bride," a pet name applied to Miss 
 Mary Horneck, the younger of two beautiful daughters 
 of Mrs. Horneck of Devonshire. Goldsmith met this 
 fine family through his friend Reynolds, and formed 
 one of the pleasantest friendships of all his restless life. 
 He had at last met people of culture and position who 
 could understand him rightly. Goldsmith never openly 
 paid addresses to this lady ; but Irving suspects that the 
 heavy tailor's charges on record for gaudy costumes 
 arose from a realization of his own uncouthness, and a 
 desire to make himself attractive in the eyes of one 
 he adored. There is something very touching in the 
 thought of a hopeless devotion, such as may have existed 
 here ; and we well may think that had Goldsmith, with 
 his fine appreciation of home-life, always dear to him 
 and always denied, been able to win the love of such a 
 
12 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 woman, we miglit now write of a longer and very dif- 
 ferent life. It is pleasing to know that years after, the 
 " Jessamy Bride," an aged but still charming woman, 
 the widow of a distinguished general, paid a feeling 
 tribute to the memory of her friend. 
 
 In 1768 the Eoyal Academy of Arts was instituted 
 under the patronage of the king and the supervision of 
 forty leading artists. Reynolds was its president, and 
 received the honor of knighthood, to the great delight 
 of the Club ; and the next year Johnson received from 
 this Academy the honorary title of Professor of Ancient 
 Literature, and Goldsmith that of Professor of Ancient 
 History. No salary went with this, and the recipient 
 himself wrote to his brother Maurice that such honors 
 were to one in his situation ^^ something like ruffles to 
 one wanting a shirt ; " but it was a high mark of distinc- 
 tion, the greatest of his life. 
 
 In 1770 the ^^ Deserted Village" appeared, bringing 
 him one hundred guineas and additional reputation. 
 He had now become more at ease in polite society, 
 and we soon find him indulging in an excursion to 
 Paris with the Hornecks, a journey which must ha-ve 
 seemed very different from his first vagrant ramblings 
 in France. 
 
 In 1773 he scored a triumphal success'with his comedy, 
 " She Stoops to Conquer ; " and we should be glad to 
 think of him as thoroughly happy with all these laurels, 
 but we are forced to notice another side. After his re- 
 turn from France, he had sought retirement at a farm- 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 13 
 
 house to catch up with the work, now fast getting 
 beyond him, an all the more hopeless task because he 
 was now often paid in advance, and the money would 
 be spent as soon as he received it. His devotion to 
 work here impaired his health, his pecuniary embarrass- 
 ments increased, and there were never wanting envious 
 and ill-natured critics, and those who would mortify his 
 vanity by practical jokes at the expense of his personal 
 appearance. As a relief from all these annoyances, he 
 indulged in social excesses upon his return to town, with 
 the result of further enfeebling himself. The end was 
 coming. 
 
 He noAV wished to repair his fortunes by a more elab- 
 orate work than any he had yet attempted. His dream 
 was of a dictionary of arts and sciences, for which Dr. 
 Johnson would write on ethics, Burke on politics, Rey- 
 nolds on painting, Garrick on acting, and others of note 
 on other subjects, while Goldsmith would be editor. It 
 was a promising undertaking if carried out, but the 
 booksellers shrank from it. It would occupy several 
 volumes, and they distrusted both the profit, and the- 
 prospect of completion. Then, again, work for which 
 they had already paid would be laid aside for it. Disap- 
 pointed and no longer as capable as formerly. Goldsmith 
 settled down to forced work which was remorselessly 
 driving him, and which was more irksome than ever. 
 One more awakening of his former brilliancy remains in 
 his unfinished poem, "Retaliation," inspired by mock 
 epitaphs written for him by his companions, one of 
 
14 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 which by Garrick was especially apt, and therefore 
 stinging : — 
 
 "Here lies poet Goldsmith, for shortness called Noll, 
 Who wrote like an angel, but talked like poor Poll." 
 
 Garrick received one in return that fully repaid him, 
 while the poet's finest effort was saved for Reynolds, 
 for whom he had only kindness : — 
 
 " Here Eeynolds 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, 
 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 Kaphaels, Correggios, and stuff. 
 He shifted his trumpet, and only took snuff. 
 By flattery unspoiled " 
 
 Goldsmith's work ended. here, and worthily, with this 
 unfinished line. He sank in a fever, and died April 4, 
 1774. Burke burst into tears on hearing the news, 
 Reynolds could work no more that day, and the con- 
 temptuous amusement with which the poor fellow's 
 social efforts had often been regarded was lost sight of 
 in the general grief. His financial condition (he was 
 said to be £2,000 in debt) prevented his having a public 
 funeral, but the Club not long after placed a medallion 
 with his likeness in Westminster Abbey, beneath which 
 was inscribed a noble epitaph in Latin by Dr. Johnson. 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 15 
 
 As a scholar, Goldsmith was superficial and careless ; 
 as a nia,n, we have seen him noble-hearted, but weak and 
 erring ; but as a literary artist, he remains in the front 
 rank for his purity of thought, beauty of expression, 
 and power to charm. In discussing his varied life, we 
 must not make the mistake of supposing that Goldsmith 
 stands alone. The Bohemian existence that he led was 
 common among literary workers, and the fact that 
 Goldsmith is often singled out as a type of irregular 
 life among writers simply results from his being better 
 known to us than most others of his time. We can in 
 no wise hold his life up for imitation, while, on the 
 other hand, there is no call to offer apologies for his 
 errors. With his simplicity and native goodness, which 
 no accusations on the part of those who charge him 
 with envy can refute, his failings are more those of 
 the child, which we regard the more kindly for its evi- 
 dent inability to care for itself, than those of a culprit 
 whom we would censure. Let Goldsmith stand before 
 us as he was, with no more excuse than his own frank 
 nature would have sought. Irving is to be commended, 
 who would correct Dr. Johnson's counsel : " Let not his 
 faults be remembered, he was a very great man," by 
 saying with a truer grasp of human nature, " Let them 
 be remembered, since their tendency is to endear." 
 
LITERARY PRODUCTIONS 
 
 OF 
 
 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 "An Inquiry into the Pkesent State of Polite Learn- 
 ing IN Europe" (1759). His first work of importance, and 
 published anonymously. It was severely treated by critics, and 
 is generally considered to have little merit; but at the time it sold 
 profitably on account of the novelty of the undertaking, and its 
 wide range. 
 
 "The Bee" (1759). A weekly publication, of which only 
 eight numbers were issued. 
 
 "Sketches from London" (1760). Usually spoken of as 
 the " Chinese Letters," being a series of letters, more than a 
 hundred in number, appearing in the Public Ledger, and purport- 
 ing to be written by a Chinese visitor to London. A mysterious 
 "Man in Black," who gives information to the visitor'is some- 
 times identified with Goldsmith, and sometimes with his father, 
 but is probably not definitely intended for either. It was Gold- 
 smith's habit to draw characters from his own knowledge rather 
 than from imagination, and in this way family likenesses often 
 appear. These letters were collected next year under the title of 
 the "Citizen of the World." Their shrewd, yet pleasant, satire 
 upon the follies and evils of society commanded attention, and 
 subsequent years have proven the wisdom of many of his observa- 
 tions and protests, which were unappreciated at the time. 
 
 "History OF England" (1763). In the form of a series of 
 letters from a nobleman to his son. A compilation of existing 
 
 ■ 16 
 
LITERARY PRODUCTIONS. 17 
 
 histories, rewritten in a pleasing way. Superficial and often in- 
 correct, but so graceful that the letters were at first thought 
 to be those of Lord Chesterfield. It was even spoken of as "the 
 most finished and elegant summary of English history that had 
 ever been, or was likely to be, written." 
 
 "The Teaveller, or a Prospect of Society" (1764). 
 See introduction to this poem, p. 20. 
 
 " Essays by Mr. Goldsmith " (1765). A collection of earlier 
 anonymous papers made up from various periodicals. 
 
 "The Hermit, or Edwin and Angelina" (1765). A 
 shorter poem of great power and beauty published under the 
 patronage of the Countess of Northumberland, thus having an 
 introduction to the world which was of great advantage to Gold- 
 smith. It was afterwards printed in the "Vicar of Wakefield." 
 It has been called " the most finished of modern ballads." 
 
 "The Yicar of Wakefield" (1766). A tale of domestic 
 life in which the credulous simplicity of the good Yicar and his 
 family, together with a childish vanity and capacity for enjoying 
 the present, regardless of past or future, reflect many traits of 
 the Goldsmith family. It is a story of sustained sweetness 
 of character under misfortunes the most crushing that can come 
 upon a man ; all eventually followed by happiness. The plot 
 is strained and unnatural, and the incidents improbable; but it 
 is so beautifully expressed with its simple grace and bright 
 flashes of humor, especially in the earlier part before the clouds 
 thicken, that it has remained one of the gems of literature. As 
 a tale of submission in adversity with ultimate reward, it may be 
 said to be second only to the Book of Job. Its success was im- 
 mediate, and it has been greatly used and admired in France 
 and Germany as an English text-book. 
 
 "The Good-ISTatured Man" (1768). A comedy illustrating 
 many of Goldsmith's own traits. Produced at Covent Garden 
 with indifferent success in some respects, but a total profit of 
 £500. 
 
18 OLIVEK GOLDSMITH. 
 
 "History of the Earth and Animated Nature" (be- 
 gun in 1769). This was to be a work on natural history, pro- 
 duced for Griffin, the bookseller, in eight volumes of 400 pages 
 each. A hundred guineas were to be paid for the delivery of 
 each volume in manuscript. The series was never completed. 
 This work is interesting, but less valuable than his other writings. 
 Facts are confused with the impossible stories of travellers. Gold- 
 smith's credulity and lack of accurate knowledge, making him 
 an easy dupe. At the same time, it tells in a delightful way 
 many a pleasing thing of his own observation. 
 
 "History of Eome " (1769). Designed for students' use, 
 and not the result of original research, but drawn from ponder- 
 ous books whose contents were compiled, condensed, and re- 
 written in his own easy style, and thus made available for the 
 young. In this way great service was done. Though suffering 
 more or less from the author's carelessness and lack of thorough 
 information, the book had so many good points that, like his 
 " History of England," it long continued to be a standard. 
 
 "The Deserted Village" (1770). See introduction to 
 this poem, p. 41. 
 
 "History of England" (1771). Largely a reproduction of 
 his former one. It was well received, some critics declaring that 
 English history had never before been " so usefully, so elegantly, 
 and so agreeably epitomized." 
 
 "She Stoops to Conquer, or The Mistakes of a Night" 
 (1773). A comedy based on blunders of Goldsmith's own. Its 
 production at Covent Garden was, after a long delay, secured 
 by the aid of Dr. Johnson, to whom the author affectionately 
 dedicated the play when put to press. It proved very successful, 
 bringing £800, and has lived. 
 
 "History of Greece" (1774). Prepared in the same way 
 as his other histories. 
 
 " Retaliation" (1774). An unfinished poem, said to be his 
 last work. See Biographical Sketch. 
 
LITJEBARY PRODUCTIONS. 19 
 
 "A Survey of Expeeimental Philosophy" (1776). A 
 forced work under the pressure of debt, and needing no comment. 
 As Goldsmith published nothing after 1773, the authorship of 
 this is given on the authority of the publishers. 
 
 Besides these he left many lives of various persons, introduc- 
 tions to books, translations, poems, and miscellaneous articles, as 
 he was a very prolific writer. These were mostly "hack-work, ' 
 done to procure the means of living, or of satisfying his creditors, 
 and need no special reviewing here. 
 
 His poems were first brought out in London in two volumes, in 
 1780. His miscellaneous works were brought out in four volumes, 
 in 1801, edited by S. Eose, with a memoir by Bishop Percy. 
 
INTEODUCTIOK TO "THE TRAVELLEE." 
 
 This poem may have in a measure been suggested by 
 Addison's " Letters from Italy ; " and the writer may 
 have been influenced by a remark of the poet Thomson 
 in a letter to a friend that "a poetical landscape of 
 countries, mixed with moral observations on their char- 
 acters and people, would not be an ill-judged undertak- 
 ing.'' However this may be, the poem is peculiarly 
 Goldsmith's own — the expression of his most sincere 
 feelings and his personal observations; and its prepara- 
 tion is identified with the author's life. 
 
 The work was planned and partly composed during the 
 author's wandering tour on the Continent, 1754-1756 ; 
 and a portion of it was sent in a crude form from Swit- 
 zerland to his brother Henry. It was published in 1764, 
 and was the first work to which Goldsmith placed his 
 name. 
 
 The plan of the poem is grand : An English wanderer 
 seated among the peaks of the Alps looks down upon 
 the various countries spread out before him, recalls his 
 travels, and meditates upon the distinctive features of 
 the lands he has examined. No one offers the complete 
 happiness he seeks, and he comes to the conclusion that 
 
 20 
 
INTRODUCTION TO " THE TBAVELLEBy 21 
 
 each man's feelings depend mainly upon himself, and 
 that contentment, or its opposite, must find its causes 
 within us, and is beyond the reach of government. 
 While we may find it hard to accept the reasoning that 
 opportunities for happiness are everywhere the same, 
 we can all recognize that it is a man's privilege to be 
 master of his mind. 
 
 Few poems have been so carefully written. It is said 
 that the poet's spare moments during the two years pre- 
 vious to its publication were spent in patiently revising 
 and retouching these lines, until the whole stands as a 
 model of skill and taste. 
 
 It is a didactic poem in which the versifier accompa- 
 nies the moralist at every step without ever losing the 
 grace and beauty of his own especial province. 
 
TO THE 
 
 REV. HENRY GOLDSMITH. 
 
 Dear Sir, — 
 
 I am sensible that the friendsliip between us can 
 acquire no new force from the ceremonies of a dedica- 
 tion; 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 for- 
 merly written to you from Switzerland, the whole can 
 now with propriety be inscribed only 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 happi- 
 ness 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 laborers are but few ; 
 while you have left the field of ambition, where the 
 laborers are many and the harvest not worth carrying 
 away. But of all kinds of ambition — what from the 
 refinement of the times, from differing systems of criti- 
 cism, and from the divisions of party — that which 
 pursues poetical fame is the wildest. 
 
 22 
 
DEDICATION TO ''THE TRAVELLER:' 23 
 
 Poetry makes a principal amusement among unpol- 
 ished nations ; but in a country verging to the extremes 
 of refinement, painting and music come in for a share. 
 As these offer the feeble mind a less laborious entertain- 
 ment, they at first rival poetry, and at length supplant 
 her: they engross all that favor 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 power- 
 ful, 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 favor of blank verse and Pindaric 
 odes, choruses, anapests, and iambics, alliterative care 
 and happy negligence ! Everj^ 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 danger- 
 ous ; 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 con- 
 tributes 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 grati- 
 fied his appetite with calumny makes ever after the 
 most agreeable feast upon murdered reputation. Such 
 readers generally admire some half-witted thing who 
 wants to be thought a bold man, having lost the charac- 
 ter of a wise one. Him they dignify with the name of 
 
24 OLIVEB GOLDSMITH. 
 
 poet : his tawdry lampoons are called satires ; his tur- 
 bulence is said to be force, and his frenzy, 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 aims are right. With- 
 out espousing the cause of any part}', I have attempted 
 to moderate the rage of all. I have endeavoured to 
 show that there may be equal happiness in states that 
 are differently governed from our own ; that every 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. 
 
 I am, DEAR SIR, 
 
 Your most affectionate brother, 
 
 OLIYEK GOLDSMITH. 
 
THE TRAVELLER; 
 
 OB, 
 
 A PROSPECT OF SOCIETY. 
 
 Eemote, unfriended, melancholy, slow, 
 
 Or by the lazy Scheldt, or wandering Po ; 
 
 Or onward, where the rude Carinthian boor 
 
 Against the houseless stranger shuts the door ; 
 
 Or where Campania's plain forsaken lies, 5 
 
 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 ! 
 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, 15 
 
 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 ; 
 
 25 
 
 20 
 
26 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 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 25 
 
 Some fleeting good, that mocks me with the view, 
 That, like the circle 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. 30 
 
 E'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 an hundred realms appear — 
 Lakes, forests, cities, plains extending wide, 35 
 
 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 ? 40 
 Let school-taught pride dissemble all it can. 
 These little things are great to little man ; 
 And wiser he whose sympathetic mind 
 Exults in all the good of all mankind. 44 
 
 Ye glittering crowns 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 ; 
 Eor me your tributary stores combine : 
 
THE TBAVELLEE. 27 
 
 Creation's lieir, 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, 55 
 
 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 65 
 
 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. 
 
 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, 75 
 
 And estimate the blessings which they share. 
 Though patriots flatter, still shall wisdom find 
 An equal portion dealt to all mankind ; 
 
28 OLIVEB GOLDSMITH. 
 
 As different good, by art or nature given, 
 
 To different nations makes their blessings even. 80 
 
 Natnre, a mother kind alike to all. 
 Still grants her bliss at labour's earnest call ; 
 With food as well the peasant is supplied 
 On Idra's cliff as Arno's shelvy side ; 
 And though the rocky-crested summits frown, 85 
 
 These rocks, by custom, turn to beds of down. 
 From art more various are the blessings sent — 
 Wealth, commerce, honour, liberty, content. 
 Yet these each other's power so strong 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. 
 Each to the favourite happiness attends 5 95 
 
 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 : l^ 
 
 Here, for a while my proper cares resigned. 
 Here let me sit in sorrow for mankind ; 
 Like yon neglected shrub, at random cast. 
 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, 
 
THE TBAVELLEB. 29 
 
 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 are found, 
 That proudly rise, or humbly court the ground j 
 Whatever blooms in torrid tracts appear, 115 
 
 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, 125 
 
 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 ; 
 For wealth was theirs, not far removed the date. 
 When commerce proudly flourished through the state ; 
 At her command the palace learned to rise, 135 
 
 Again the long-fallen column sought the skies. 
 
30 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 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 ; 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 145 
 
 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 : l^^ 
 
 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 ; 
 Each 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 Caesars once bore sway. 
 Defaced by time and tottering in decay, 160 
 
 There in the ruin heedless of the dead, 
 The shelter-seeking peasant builds his shed ; 
 And, wondering man could want the larger pile, 
 Exalts, and owns his cottage with a smile. 
 
 My soul, turn from them, turn we to survey i^^ 
 
THE TRAVELLER. 31 
 
 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 
 
 ISTo vernal blooms their torpid rocks array, 
 
 But winter lingermg chills the lap of May ; 
 
 ISIo zephyr fondly sues the mountain's breast. 
 
 But meteors glare, and stormy glooms invest. 
 
 Yet still, even here, content can spread a charm, 175 
 Kedress the clime, and all its rage disarm. 
 Though poor the peasant's hut, his feast though small, 
 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, 185 
 
 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 ; 
 Smiles by his cheerful fire, and round surveys 
 His children's looks, that brighten at the blaze ; 
 
32 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 While his loved partner, boastful of her hoard, 1S5 
 
 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 ; 
 And as a child, when scaring sounds molest, 205 
 
 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, 215 
 That first excites desires, 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. 220 
 Their level life is but a smouldering fire, 
 Unquenched by want, unfanned by strong desire; 
 Unfit for raptures, or, if raptures cheer 
 
THE TRAVELLER. 33 
 
 On some high festival of once a year, 
 
 In wild excess the vulgar breast takes fire, 225 
 
 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 235 
 
 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 dis|)lays 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, 245 
 
 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 
 
 Alike all ages. Dames of ancient days 
 Have led their children through the mirthful maze. 
 
34 OLIVER GOLUSMITH. 
 
 And the gay grandsire, skilled in gestic lore, 
 
 Has frisked beneath the burthen of threescore. 
 
 So blest a life these thoughtless realms display ; 265 
 
 Thus idly busy rolls their world away. 
 
 Theirs are those arts that mind to mind endear, 
 
 Eor 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, 265 
 
 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 ; 
 Here vanity assumes her pert grimace, 275 
 
 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, 
 
THE TRAVELLER. 35 
 
 Embosomed in the deep where Holland lies. 
 
 Methinks her patient sons before me stand, 
 
 Where the broad ocean leans against the land ; 
 
 And, sedulous to stop the coming tide, 286 
 
 Lift the tall rampire's artificial pride. 
 
 Onward, methinks, and diligently 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 — 295 
 
 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, 
 Are here displayed. Their much-loved wealth imparts 
 Convenience, plenty, elegance, and arts ; 
 But view them closer, craft and fraud appear, 305 
 
 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 
 
36 oliveh goldsmith. 
 
 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 ; 315 
 
 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, 
 And brighter streams than famed Hydaspes glide. 320 
 There, all around, the gentlest breezes stray ; 
 There gentlest music melts on ev'ry spray ; 
 Creation's mildest charms are there combined : 
 Extremes are only in the master's mind. 
 Stern o'er each bosom Eeason holds her state, 325 
 
 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. 
 By forms unfashioned, fresh from nature's hand, 330 
 
 Fierce in their native hardiness of soul. 
 True to imagined rights, 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, 335 
 Thine are those charms that dazzle and endear; ^ 
 Too blest, indeed, were such without alloy. 
 But fostered e'en by freedom, ills annoy ; 
 That independence Britons prize too high, 
 
THE TBAVELLER. 37 
 
 Keeps man from man, and breaks the social tie : 340 
 
 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, 345 
 
 Eepressed ambition struggles round her shore, 
 
 Till, overwrought, the general system feels 
 
 Its motions stopped, 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, stripped of all her charms^ 355 
 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. 360 
 
 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 365 
 
 The rabble's rage, and tyrant's angry steel ; 
 Thou transitory flower, alike undone 
 By proud contempt or favour's fostering sun, 
 
38 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 Still may thy blooms the changeful clime endure ! 
 
 I only would repress them to secure ; 370 
 
 For just experience tells, in ev'ry 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, 375 
 
 Its double weight must ruin all below. 
 
 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 ; 
 Each wanton judge new penal statutes draw, 385 
 
 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. 
 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, 395 
 
 Gave wealth to sway the mind Avith double force. 
 Have we not seen, round Britain's peopled shore. 
 
THE TRAVELLEB. 39 
 
 Her useful sons exchanged for useless ore ? 
 
 Seen all lier 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, 405 
 
 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 dang'rous ways. 
 Where beasts with man divided empire claim, 415 
 
 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, 
 To stop too fearful, and too faint to go, 420 
 
 Casts a long look where England's glories shine, 
 And bids his bosom sympathize with mine. 
 
 Yain, very vain my weary search to find 
 That bliss which only centres in the mind. 
 Why have I strayed from pleasure and repose, 425 
 
 To seek a good each government bestows ? 
 
40 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 In every government, tliongli 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 ! 430 
 
 Still to ourselves in every place consigned, 
 
 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, 435 
 
 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. 
 
INTRODUCTION TO "THE DESERTED 
 VILLAGE." 
 
 This poem, publislied in 1770, is the natural com- 
 panion-piece of " The Traveller," which, it resembles in 
 drawing a political conclusion from a poetical descrip- 
 tion. It lacks the grandly conceived plan of the earlier 
 poem, but is a greater general favorite, because it comes 
 nearer the heart. 
 
 The story is of the desolate remains of a country 
 village, which was the early home of the poet, and 
 to which he had hoped to return, contrasted with 
 memories of its former happy condition. Reasons 
 are assigned for the change, and there follow general 
 moralizings upon it, all closing in a graceful and digni- 
 fied manner with " Si noble address to the Genius of 
 Poetry, in which is compressed the essence of the 
 whole." 
 
 The " Sweet Auburn " of the poet is generally identi- 
 fied with Lissoy, to which Goldsmith's father removed 
 during the infancy of his gifted son, and where Henry 
 Goldsmith settled. It has been charged with great 
 warmth, especially by Macaulay, that there never was 
 
 41 
 
42 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 such a village in Ireland, and that the poet has confused 
 two countries ; but the explanation is easy. Goldsmith 
 composed this poem at a pleasant place in the suburbs of 
 London where, after reaching prominence, he was accus- 
 tomed to go in order to find relief from the confinement 
 of the city. As he worked, the neatly kept hedge-rows 
 of the soft English landscape would insensibly blend with 
 the memories of his old home, whose harsher outlines Avere 
 relieved by the glamour of early recollections, and the 
 gathering " mist of years." It may be added that Gold- 
 smith, while freely drawing from his own life, and the 
 scenes of his native land, alwaj^s wrote as an Englishman. 
 So little doubt was there, that a Captain Hogan in a great 
 measure restored Lissoy, to preserve local features made 
 famous by the poet ; and writers like Walter Scott and 
 William Black are agreed that no other place could be 
 meant. 
 
 Goldsmith had become possessed of the idea that the 
 / increase of wealth had a tendency to depopulate and 
 lay waste the smaller villages, and affirmed that this 
 was established by his own observation. In line with 
 this is the allusion made near the close of " The Travel- 
 ler/' which leads up to this poem : — 
 
 " 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?" 
 
INTBODUCTION TO " THE DESERTED VILLAGE/' 43 
 
 His reasoning has been sharply attacked as contrary 
 to the principles of political economy, and he no doubt 
 wrongly accounted for the changes wrought by emigra- 
 tion. Again, he perhaps allowed special instances that 
 he may have known, such as Black mentions of a vil- 
 lage removed at the whim of an English landlord, to 
 stand for a general truth. It is also said by some that 
 Lord Kobert Napier partially depopulated Lissoy by 
 evicting three good families with all their tenants in 
 order to fit up his estate as he wished. The report of 
 this might be enough to account for the views taken 
 in the poem. But it is not worth while to be critical ; 
 a poet has the right to form his own conceptions and 
 adapt his material. Moreover, it is an emphatically 
 sound idea that happy homes are a nation's strength, 
 while a contented and prosperous producing class is the 
 true basis of society. 
 
 As this poem is the one by which most readers will 
 form their estimate of Goldsmith as a writer of verse, 
 a few general remarks upon his poetry will be in order. 
 The first thing to be noticed is the i nconspicuousnes s of 
 his style. The mattp.r is of m_ore_im.pQrtance to him 
 than^the manner ; and at the same time his ear for music, 
 and familiar acquaintance with good models have en- 
 abled him to go on without jarring the reader's ear with 
 crude or false lines. Figures of speech are introduced 
 in sufficient variety, but always from well-understood 
 sources, and never expressed in such a way as to cause 
 any effort in following them or their application. We 
 
44 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 are not challenged to stop and admire new and glittering 
 constructions, nor ingeniously improvised words. Com- 
 mon speech affords the most of his material ; and thus 
 his lines pass again into common speech, and enrich the- 
 thought of thousands who are unaffected by the more 
 ambitious masters of verse. He is strikingly free from 
 foreign airs, uses no metrical variations caught from the 
 Continent, and yet, by skilfully varying his pauses, 
 avoids monotony throughout. He has a poet's mastery 
 of epithet. Without startling us by unusual coinage, 
 he arouses pathos by " the rattling terrors of the venge- 
 ful snake," the ^' matted woods,'' and the " intolerable 
 day." He understands contrasts, and, what is more, 
 knows how to harmonize their effect. We are led from 
 the " ravaged landscape " to the '^ grassy-vested green," 
 but never lose the continuity of thought. Goldsmith 
 requires no elaborate course of learning to understand 
 his allusions, nor trained perception to comprehend his 
 thought. He charms all ages by his simple and tasteful 
 use of nature; and, as Dr. Aikin says, "if this be not 
 the highest department of poetry, it has the advantage 
 of being the most universally agreeable." 
 
 " The Deserted Village " deserves our careful attention 
 from the deep feeling in its thought, the music in its 
 lines, and its entire freedom from affectation. It stands 
 for itself, a graceful example of true English literature. 
 
TO 
 
 SIE JOSHUA REYNOLDS 
 
 Dear Sir, — 
 
 I can have no expectations, in an address of this kind, 
 either to add to your reputation or to establish my own. 
 You can gain nothing from my admiration, as I am ig- 
 norant 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 attention, I 
 must be indulged at present in following my affections. 
 The only dedication I ever made was to my brother, be- 
 cause 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 versification 
 and mere mechanical parts of this attempt, I do not pre- 
 tend to inquire; but I know you will object — and in- 
 deed several of our best and wisest friends concur in the 
 opinion — that the depopulation it deplores is nowhere 
 to be seen, and the disorders it laments are only to be 
 found in the poet's own imagination. To this I scarce 
 make any other answer than that I sincerely believe 
 what I have written; that I have taken all possible 
 
 45 
 
46 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 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 inquiries have led me to believe those 
 miseries real which I here attempt to display. But this 
 is not the place to enter into an inquiry 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 in- 
 veigh against the increase of our luxuries ; and here, also, 
 I expect the shout of modern politicians against me. 
 For twenty or thirty years past it has been th-e fashion 
 to consider luxury as one of the greatest national advan- 
 tages ; and all the wisdom of antiquity, in that particu- 
 lar, as erroneous. Still, however, I must remain a 
 professed ancient on that head, and continue to think 
 those luxuries prejudicial to states, by which so many 
 vices are introduced, and so many kingdoms 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, 
 
 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 
 
 Sweet Auburn ! loveliest village of the plain, 
 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, 5 
 
 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 hill, 
 The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade. 
 For. talking age and whispering lovers made ! 
 How often have I blest the coming day, 15 
 
 W^hen 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 : 
 
 47 
 
48 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 And still; as each repeated pleasure tired, 
 
 Succeeding sports tlie mirthful band inspired ; 
 
 The dancing pair that simply sought renown 25 
 
 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 reprove. 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, 35 
 
 Thy sports are fled, and all thy charms withdrawn ; 
 Amidst thy bowers the tyrant's hand is 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, 45 
 
 And tires their echoes with unvaried cries. 
 Sunk are thy bowers in shapeless ruin all. 
 And the long grass o'ertops the mouldering wall ; 
 And, trembling, shrinking from the spoiler's hand, 
 Far, far away, thy children leave the land. 50 
 
 111 fares the land, to hastening ills a prey, 
 
THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 49 
 
 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, 55 
 
 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 : 60 
 
 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, 65 
 
 Unwieldy wealth and cumbrous pomp repose ; 
 And every want to luxury 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, 70 
 
 Those healthful sports that graced the peaceful scene. 
 Lived in each look, and brightened all the green 
 These, far departing, seek a kinder shore, 
 And rural mirth and manners are no more. 
 
 Sweet Auburn ! parent of the blissful hour, 75 
 
 Thy glades forlorn confess the tyrant's power. 
 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, 80 
 
50 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 Eemembrance wakes with all her busy train, 
 Swells at my breast, and turns the past to pain. 
 ^ In all my wand'rings round this world of care. 
 In all my griefs — and God has given my share — 
 I still had hopes, my latest hours to crown, 85 
 
 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. 
 I still had hopes, for pride attends us still. 
 Amidst the swains to show my book-learned skill, 90 
 
 Around my fire an evening group to draw, 
 And tell of all I felt, and all I saw ; 
 And, as an hare, whom hounds and horns pursue. 
 Pants to the place from whence at first he flew, 
 I still had hopes, my long vexations past, 95 
 
 Here to return — and die at home at last. 
 
 blest retirement, friend to life's decline, 
 Eetreats from care, that never must be mine. 
 How blest is he who crowns, in shades like these, 
 A youth of labour with an age of ease ; i^ 
 
 Who quits a world where strong temptations try. 
 And, since 'tis hard to combat, learns to fly ! 
 For him no wretches, born to work and weep, 
 Explore the mine, or tempt the dangerous deep ; 
 Nor surly porter stands, in guilty state, l^^ 
 
 To turn imploring famine from the gate ; 
 But on he moves to meet his latter end, 
 Angels around befriending virtue's friend ; 
 Sinks to the grave with unperceived decay. 
 
THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 51 
 
 While resignation gently slopes the way ; HO 
 
 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 passed with careless steps and slow, H^ 
 
 The mingling notes came softened from below ; 
 The swain responsive as the milk-maid 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 ; 120 
 
 The watch-dog's voice that bayed the whispering wind. 
 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, 125 
 
 No cheerful murmurs fluctuate in the gale, 
 No busy steps the grass-grown footway tread. 
 For all the blooming 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, 135 
 
 The sad historian of the pensive plain ! 
 Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled. 
 And still where many a garden flower grows wild ; 
 
52 * OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, 
 
 The village preacher's modest mansion rose. 140 
 
 A man he was to all the country dear, 
 
 And passing rich with forty pounds a year ; 
 
 Remote from towns he ran his godly race, 
 
 Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change his place ; 
 
 Unpractised he to fawn, or seek for power, 145 
 
 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 ; iso 
 
 The long-remembered beggar was his guest, 
 
 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, 155 
 
 Sat by his fire, and talked the night away. 
 
 Wept o'er his wounds, or, tales of sorrow done, 
 
 Shouldered his crutch 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 e'en his failings leaned to virtue's side ; 
 But in his duty, prompt at every call, 165 
 
 He watched and wept, he prayed and felt for all ; 
 And, as a bird each fond endearment tries 
 
THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 53 
 
 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, 175 
 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 ready zeal, each honest rustic ran ; 
 E'en children followed, with endearing wile, 
 And plucked his gown, to share the good man's smile : 
 His ready smile a parent's warmth expressed, 185 
 
 Their welfare pleased him, and their cares distressed ; 
 To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given. 
 But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven. 
 As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form, 
 Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm, 190 
 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, 195 
 
 The village master taught his little school ; 
 
54 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 A man severe lie was, and stern to view, 
 
 I knew Mm 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, 205 
 
 The love he bore to learning was in fault. 
 
 The village all declared how much he knew ; 
 
 'Twas certain he could write, and cipher 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 e'en though vanquished, he could argue still ; 
 
 While words of learned length and thund'ring sound 
 
 Amazed the gazing rustics ranged around. 
 
 And still they gazed, and still the v/onder grew . 215 
 
 That one small head should carry all he knew. 
 
 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, 
 Where once the sign-post caught the passing eye, ^ 220 
 Low lies that house where nut-brown draughts inspired. 
 Where gray-beard mirth and smiling toil retired, 
 Where village statesmen talked with looks profound, 
 And news much older than their ale went round. 
 Imagination fondly stoops to trace 225 
 
THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 55 
 
 The parlour splendours of that festive place 5 
 
 The white-washed wall, the nicely sanded floor, 
 
 The varnished clock that clicked behind the door ; 
 
 The chest contrived a double debt to pay, 
 
 A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day ; 230 
 
 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, 235 
 
 Ranged o'er the chimney, glistened in a row. 
 
 Yain transitory splendours ! 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 ; 240 
 
 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, 245 
 
 Relax his ponderous strength and lean to hear ; 
 The host himself no longer shall be found 
 Careful to see the mantling bliss go round ; 
 Nor the coy maid, half-willing to be pressed, 
 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 na,tive charm, than all the gloss of art ; 
 
56 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 Spontaneous joys, where nature has its play, 255 
 
 The soul adopts, and owns their first-born sway : 
 
 Lightly they frolic o'er the vacant mind, 
 
 Unenvied, 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 265 
 
 The rich man's power 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. 
 ISTot so the loss. The man of wealth and pride 275 
 
 Takes up a place 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 ; 
 His seat where solitary spots are seen, 281 
 
 Indignant spurns the cottage from the green ; 
 Around the world each needful product flies, 
 
THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 57 
 
 For all the luxuries the world supplies : 
 
 While thus the laud, adorned for pleasure, all 285 
 
 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 those charms 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 : 295 
 
 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 ; 300 
 
 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 305 
 
 He drives his flocks to pick the scanty blade. 
 Those fenceless fields the sons of wealth divide, 
 And e'en 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 ; 
 
58 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 To see each joy the sons of pleasure know, 
 Extorted from his fellow-creature's woe ; 
 Here, while the courtier glitters in brocade, 315 
 
 There, the pale artist plies the sickly trade; 
 Here, while the proud their long-drawn pomps display, 
 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 326 
 
 Where the poor houseless shivering female lies. 
 She once, perhaps, in village plenty blessed. 
 Has wept at tales of innocence distressed ; 
 Her modest looks the cottage might adorn. 
 Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn ; 330 
 
 Now lost to all ; her friends, her virtue fled, - 
 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, 335 
 
 She left her wheel and robes of country brown. 
 
 Do thine, sweet Auburn ! thine the loveliest train. 
 Do thy fair tribes participate her pain ? 
 E'en now, perhaps, by cold and hunger led. 
 At proud men's doors they ask a little bread. 340 
 
THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 59 
 
 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, 345 
 
 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, 355 
 
 And savage men more murderous still than they ; 
 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 that parting 
 
 day, 
 That called them from their native walks away ; 
 When the poor exiles, every pleasure past, 365 
 
 Hung round the bowers, and fondly looked their 
 
 last — 
 And took a long farewell, and wished in vain 
 
60 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 For seats like these beyond the western main — 
 
 And, shuddering still to face the distant deep, 
 
 E-etnrned 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, ^75 
 
 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 blessed the cot where every pleasure rose, 380 
 
 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. 
 
 O luxury ! thou curst by Heaven's decree, 385 
 
 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 : 390 
 
 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, 395 
 
 And half the business of destruction done ; 
 
THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 61 
 
 Even now, methinks, as pondering liere 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, 405 
 
 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. 
 
 Thou found' st me poor at first, and keep'st me so ; 
 
 Thou guide, by which the noble arts excel, 415 
 
 Thou nurse of every virtue, fare thee well ! 
 
 Farewell ; and oh ! where'er thy voice be tried, 
 
 On Torno's cliffs, or Pambamarca's side. 
 
 Whether where equinoctial fervours glow. 
 
 Or winter wraps the polar world in snow, 420 
 
 Still let thy voice, prevailing over time, 
 
 Eedress 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 possessed, 425 
 
62 OZIVEB GOLDSMITH. 
 
 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 
 
INTRODUCTION TO NOTES. 
 
 The thought in the Spanish proverb, that the view 
 of a forest may be obscured by calling attention to the 
 trees, has been borne in mind in preparing these notes. 
 They are arranged with the design of securing an appre- 
 ciation of these poems, rather than making an exhaus- 
 tive study of word-derivation and grammatical points, 
 though such matters are not neglected when deemed ne- 
 cessary to bring out the meaning. It is not considered 
 advisable to enable the student to dispense with his 
 dictionary, nor to dwell upon points that should have 
 been instilled at an earlier period. When the time is 
 reached at which this book is expected to be used in 
 schools, the literary spirit should not be surrendered too 
 much to the pedagogic. 
 
 In class-work, it is suggested that the accompanying 
 outlines be followed. They can be elaborated with 
 minor points according to the amount of time to be 
 given to each poem. Then if each student takes a por- 
 tion of the syllabus to speak upon, the result will be 
 a satisfaction to all, as the writer can testify from his 
 own work. The memorizing of choice portions is of 
 the greatest value, and should be much employed here, 
 
 63 
 
64 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 as these poems are so well fitted for it. Finally, each 
 one should read them carefully, with no other thought 
 than that of enjoyment ; and if this be not fully se- 
 cured, there is something wrong. The essence of litera- 
 ture is that it must entertain ; poetry is its highest 
 form, and these are among the best specimens of poetry. 
 If these poems are read with the author's own feeling 
 in mind, that "innocently to amuse the imagination in 
 this dream of life is wisdom," they will achieve their 
 true and kindly purpose, and linger delightfully in the 
 memory. 
 
NOTES ON THE TRAVELLER. 
 
 Structure of the Poem. — Both these poems are written in 
 iambic pentameter, often called heroic verse ; a metrical form which 
 is to the English, German, and Italian Languages what the hex- 
 ameter is to Greek and Latin. Ruskin says: " The tetrameter and 
 pentameter, which require the full breath, but do not exhaust it, con- 
 stitute the entire body of the chief poetry of energetic nations ; the 
 hexameter, which fully exhausts the breath, is only used by nations 
 whose pleasure was in repose." Iambic pentameter is scanned 
 thus ; — 
 
 a 
 
 fA 
 
 ? t f t _t 
 
 " Where'er 1 1 roam, || whatev- | er lands | to see, 
 My heart || untrav- | elled fond- | ly turns | to thee." 
 
 Tlie Traveller. 
 
 ♦* The haw- | thorn bush, || with seats | beneath | the shade. 
 For talk- | ing age || and whis- | pering \6y- | ers made." 
 
 The Deserted Village. 
 
 The caesura, or natural pause, indicated thus 1|, which is needed 
 in most lines longer than the tetrameter verse, may in this form come 
 anywhere in the line, but is found most frequently after the fourth 
 or sixth syllable. 
 
 The lines are arranged in rhymed couplets, a system fully de- 
 veloped in the polished verse of Pope. The rules governing this 
 were that there should be a pause, a comma at least, at the end of 
 erery couplet, and no sentence should close except with tlie end of a 
 line. An extra syllable was guarded against. Such couplets lend 
 themselves readily to quotation, and hence live in our language; but 
 the artificial nature of the whole arrangement caused poets, later on, 
 to turn to more varying and less mechanical forms. 
 
 65 
 
(j6 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 Outline of the Poem. 
 
 LiNBS 1-22. A tender address to the poet's brother Henry, in 
 his quiet and useful life. 
 
 23-30. The Poet's own restless and wandering condition is placed 
 in contrast. 
 
 31-50. The panorama of a "hundred realms," seen from the 
 Alpine summits, invites consideration. 
 
 51-62. A wish for a spot of real happiness. 
 
 63-72. The claim by the dweller in each region that his own 
 home is best. 
 
 73-98. The patriot's boast is called in question. 
 
 99-104. A proposition is made to try the truth by observation of 
 different countries. 
 
 105-164. Italy is surveyed and discussed. 
 
 165-238. Switzerland and her people receive attention. 
 
 239-280. France, with her people, passes in review. 
 
 281-316. Holland is examined in the same manner, and also 
 fails to satisfy. 
 
 317-334. Britain is taken under consideration. 
 
 335-422. A discussion of freedom, suggested by the proud inde- 
 pendence of the British character, and the abuses thlat arise even 
 from this. 
 
 423-438. The conclusion is reached that happiness centres in 
 the mind, independent of location or government, and is not to be 
 gained by travelling in search of it. 
 
 Page 25, Line 1. Remote,etc. Cf. Ovid's •'Metam.,"xiv. 217: — 
 " Solus, inops, exspes : leto poenisque relictis." 
 Hopeless, unaided, alone; the pains of death now await him. 
 
 P. 25, 1. 1. Slow. It is said that a fellow-member of the Club 
 asked: " Mr. Goldsmith, what do you mean by the last word in the 
 first line of your * Traveller ' ? Do you mean tardiness of locomo- 
 tion?" Goldsmith, who habitually spoke unthinkingly, answered, 
 " Yes." Dr. Johnson, the autocrat of the company, who was sitting 
 near, at once broke out with, " No, sir; 5'ou did not mean tardiness of 
 locomotion ; you mean that sluggishness of mind that conies upon a 
 man in solitude." — " Ah ! " said Goldsmith, abashed, " that was what 
 
NOTES ON THE TRAVELLER. 67 
 
 I meant." Instances like this gave rise to the charge that Johnson 
 hirgely aided in the preparation of the poem, when, in fact, he con- 
 tributed but nine lines, of inferior quality compared with Goldsmith's 
 own. 
 
 P. 25, 1. 2. Scheldt, Po. The Scheldt flows from France through 
 Belgium and Holland to the North Sea. The Po is the largest river 
 of Italy, flowing from west to east across the upper part to the Adri- 
 atic Sea. Thus these two rivers represent the extreme points of the 
 travels described. 
 
 P. 25, 1. 3. Carinthian. The inhabitants of Carinthia, a moun- 
 tainous province of south-western Austria, were called rough and 
 inhospitable. 
 
 P. 25, 1. 5. Campania. The Campagna di Roma, a low plain 
 surrounding the city of Rome. 
 
 P. 25, 1. 9. My brother. Henry Goldsmith, to whom the poem 
 was dedicated. 
 
 P. 25, 1. 10. A lengthening chain. Cf. Gibber's '* Com. Lover," 
 p. 249 : — 
 
 •' ' When I am with Florimel, it [my heart] is still your prisoner, it only 
 draws a longer chain after it.' " 
 
 P. 26, 1. 23. Me. The object of the transitive verb leads in line 29. 
 
 P. 26, 1. 32. I sit me down. This reflexive use of the personal 
 pronoun is common in earlier English. 
 
 P. 26, 1. 33. Above the storm's career. The poet is repre- 
 sented as sitting on a crag of the Alps, at an elevation above that of 
 ordinary rain-clouds. 
 
 P. 26, 1. 34. An hundred realms. Poetical use of the numeral. 
 Notice, also, the use of "an" before the sounded h. This was 
 always done by Goldsmith. 
 
 P. 28, 1. 84. Idra's cliff. Probably Idria, a mining-town of Aus- 
 tro-Hungary. 
 
 P. 28, 1. 84. Arno's shelvy side. The Arno, a river of Tuscany, 
 flows through the most fertile land in Italy. Hence the thought is 
 that there are means of livelihood for those living in the most sterile 
 places, as well as for those in the most productive. ** Shelvy " is 
 shelving or sloping. 
 
 P. 28, 1. 101. Proper cares. Those strictly belonging to himself. 
 Latin Proprius, -a, -um, one's own. 
 
68 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 P. 28, 1. 105. Apennine. The Apennines ; mountains running 
 from the Alps through the Italian peninsula. 
 
 P. 29, 1. 111. Could. Verb with if understood. The conclusion 
 of the condition is the subjunctive loere, line 112. The form is that 
 of a Latin condition contrary to fact in present time. 
 
 P. 29, 1. 123. Small the bliss, etc. Pleasure given by the ani- 
 mal senses is by the poet viewed as far below the enjoyment obtained 
 by the intellect. 
 
 P. 29, 1. 134. When Commerce flourished. Venice and Genoa 
 controlled a large part of European commerce during the Middle 
 Ages. As Italy weakened, other nations secured this. 
 
 P. 29, 1. 135. At her command, etc. Referring to the Italian 
 renaissance, or revival of art in the fifteenth century. 
 
 P. 30, 1. 144. Plethoric ill. *'In short, the state resembles one 
 of those bodies bloated with disease, whose bulk is only a symptom of 
 its wretchedness: their former opulence only rendered them more 
 impotent." — Citizen of the World, i. 98. 
 
 P. 30, 1. 150. The pasteboard triumph. Instead of the " tri- 
 umph " of Roman times, when a commander entered the city in state, 
 after a decisive victory, the mummery of the Carnival is seen. 
 
 P. 31. 1. 170. Man and steel. In earlier times the Swiss were 
 in great demand as hired soldiers, and often secured money for their 
 families in this way. 
 
 P. 31, 1. 186. Breasts. Often incorrectly given as " breathes," 
 with a sad loss of poetic vigor. 
 
 P. 31, 1. 190. Savage. A savage beast. 
 '•Drive the reluctant savage into the toils." — Citizen of the World, i. 112. 
 
 P. 32, 1. 205. As a child, etc. No feature of Goldsmith's poems 
 impresses the mind more than his fine similes, of which this is a 
 beautiful example. 
 
 P. 32, 1. 213. For every vrant, etc. In a pessimistic way we 
 may say that civilization is but an increase of wants. The brighter 
 side of this view is here brought out. Cf, ''Animated Nature," ii. 
 
 123. 
 
 " Every want becomes a means of pleasure in the redressing." 
 
 P. 32, 1. 217. Unknovrn to them, etc. Poetical contraction of 
 statement. In prose: ** When sensual pleasures cloy, how to fill the 
 languid pause with finer joy is unknown to them." 
 
 P. 33, 1. 243. Choir. The choral dance. 
 
NOTES OJSr THE TRAVELLER. 69 
 
 P. 33, 1. 249. Yet would the village praise, etc. The adven- 
 tures of George Primrose in " The Vicar of Wakefield " are regarded 
 as being those of Goldsmith himself, allowing for the flourishes inci- 
 dent to story-telling. He says : " I passed among the harmless peas- 
 ants of Flanders, and among such of the French as were poor enough 
 to be very merry ; for I ever found them sprightly in proportion to 
 their wants. Whenever I approached a peasant's house towards 
 nightfall, I played one of my most merry tunes, and that procured 
 me not only lodging but subsistence for the next day." 
 
 P. 34, 1. 262. From courts to camps, to cottages. Instances 
 of " apt alliteration's artful aid " are frequent in these poems. 
 
 P. 34, 1. 280. Self-applause. Legitimate self-satisfaction, and 
 not vanity or conceit. 
 
 P. 35, 1. 284. The broad ocean, etc. Cf . : 
 
 " And view the ocean leaning on the sky." — Dryden. 
 
 P. 35, 1. 290. Scoops out. A striking instance of the power of 
 a filjy-chosen simple word to call up an entire image. 
 P. 35, 1. 296. A new creation, etc. 
 
 " Holland seems to be a conquest upon the sea, and in a manner rescued 
 from its bosom." — Goldsmith. 
 
 / P. 35, 1. 306. Even liberty, etc. Slavery was permitted in Hol- 
 land, and children could be sold by their parents for a certain number 
 of years. 
 
 P. 36, 1. 313, Their Belgic sires. The time-honored expression 
 of Caesar's "Commentaries," " The bravest of all these are the Bel- 
 gians," must have been in Goldsmith's mind. 
 
 P. 36, 1. 319. "Where lawns, etc. Goldsmith's residence in Eng- 
 land had so far been one of squalor and wretchedness, but it is 
 the England of beauty of which he writes. Cf. his " Citizen of the 
 World, " ii. 196: — 
 
 " Yet from the vernal softness of the air, the verdure of the fields, the 
 transparency of the streams, and the beauty of the women; here love might 
 sport among the painted lawns and warbling groves, and carol upon gales 
 wafting at once both fragrance and harmony." 
 
 P. 36, 1. 319. Arcadian. Arcadia, an exceedingly fertile state in 
 the south of ancient Greece, is the traditional type of rural simplicity 
 and happiness. 
 
70 OLIVEB GOLDSMITH, 
 
 P. 36, 1. 320. Hydaspes. A river of India, now called Jhylora or 
 Jelum. On its banks Alexander the Great defeated Porns. It is 
 celebrated by Lucan, the elder Pliny, Arrian, and other Latin wri- 
 ters of whose works Goldsmith was fond. 
 P. 37, 1. 345. Ferments arise, etc. 
 
 **It is extremely difficult to induce a number of free beings to co-operate 
 for their mutual benefit : every possible advantage will necessarily be sought, 
 and every attempt to procure it must be attended with a new fermentation." 
 
 Citizen of the World, ii. 228. 
 
 Our own country is well illustrating in its social and political life 
 the sageness of Goldsmith's views on this .point. 
 
 P. 37, 1. 348. Frenzy fire the wheels. An infinitive phrase, 
 the object of the verb " feels," line 347. 
 
 P. 37, 1. 357. Stems. Offspring. 
 
 " A rod out of the stem of Jesse." — Jsa. xi. 1. 
 
 P. 37, 1. 361. Yet think not, etc. 
 
 •' In the things I have hitherto written, I have neither allured the vanity 
 of the great by flattery, nor satisfied the malignity of the vulgar by scandal : 
 but have endeavored to get an honest reputation by liberal pursuits." 
 
 Preface to History of England. 
 
 P. 38, 1. 382. Contracting regal power, etc. 
 
 "It is in the interest of the great to diminish kingly power as much as 
 possible." — Vicar of Wakefield, p. 101. 
 
 P. 38, 1. 392. Petty tyrants. Cf. Pope's " Epistle to Mrs. 
 Blount:" — 
 
 " Marriage may all these petty tyrants chase.'* 
 
 P. 39, 1. 405. Have we not seen, etc. These lines are evidently 
 the starting-point of " The Deserted Village." 
 
 P. 39, 11. 411, 412. Osw^ego . . . Niagara. Goldsmith was the 
 first to introduce sonorous Indian names into English poetry. It is 
 true that the metrical accent here calls for Niagara, but other good 
 poets have made worse slips on names belonging even to their own 
 land. 
 
 P. 39, 1. 412. With thundering sound. Burke had applied this 
 epithet to the falls. 
 
 P. 39, 1. 420. This philosophical line was contributed by Dr. 
 Johnson. 
 
NOTES ON THE TRAVELLER. 71 
 
 P. 40, 11. 429-438. These lines are also Dr. Johnson's, with the 
 exception of lines 435, 436. Their weighty nature shows a marked 
 contrast to the easy flow of the rest of the poem, and the two simple 
 lines of Goldsmith's own are worth more than all his friend's well- 
 meant contribution. 
 
 P. 40, 1. 435. The agonizing wheel. In France and Germany, 
 those deemed worthy of especial punishment were sometimes bound 
 upon wheels, which were made to revolve while the executioner broke 
 each limb with a bar of iron as it came up. 
 
 P. 40, 1. 436. Luke's iron crown. George and Luke Zeck, 
 brothers, headed an insurrection in Hungary in 1514. George, who 
 attempted to seize the sovereignty, was punished by having a red-hot 
 iron crown placed upon his head. The name of his brother Luke is 
 taken here, evidently for metrical reasons. 
 
 P. 40, 1. 436. Damien's bed of steel. Robert Fran9ois Damiens, 
 for attempting to assassinate Louis XV. of France, in 1757, was kept 
 for two months upon a heated bed of steel, in order to wring from him 
 the names of supposed confederates. As there appeared to be none, 
 he was finally torn limb from limb by horses. Goldsmith had, when 
 abroad, been much moved by the tyrannical and luxurious lives of the 
 French kings, and had shrewdly predicted : " If they have but three 
 weak monarchs more successively on the throne, the mask will be 
 laid aside, and the country will certainly once more be free." 
 
NOTES ON THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 
 
 N. B. — Read the "Introduction to Notes," p. 63, and the note 
 on poetical structure, p. 65, as these apply equally to both poems. 
 
 OUTLINE OF THE POEM. 
 
 Lines 1-34. Sketch of Auburn, a happy country village. 
 
 35-50. Contrasting sketch of th6 same reduced to desolation by 
 the usurpation of a rich landlord. 
 
 51-56. The moral of the change. 
 
 57-62. England in simpler, happier times. 
 
 63-74. The contrast shown by England's existing condition, 
 being an extended application of the comparison drawn from the two 
 pictures of the village. 
 
 75-82. Auburn as the parent of memories. 
 
 83-96. The expression of a cherished wish on the part of the 
 poet to return home for his declining years. 
 
 97-113. Tribute to the privilege of closing one's life in peace and 
 retirement. 
 
 113-136. The bright memories of the past, with their contrast 
 again in the disappointing desolation of the present. 
 
 137-192. Passing to the " interior life of the village," the first of 
 a series of local word-pictures is given in that of the village preacher. 
 
 193-218. The village master. 
 
 219-236. The village inn. 
 
 237-250. Regret for the village life that is gone. 
 
 251-264. A preference expressed for rural pleasures over those of 
 fashionable society. 
 
 265-286. An appeal to statesmen against the appropriation of 
 homes to make pleasure-grounds for the wealthy. 
 
 72 
 
NOTES ON THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 73 
 
 303-336. The hopeless efforts of outcast poverty to find a place 
 for itself. 
 
 337-362. The fortunes of Auburn's exiled inhabitants. 
 
 363-384. The sadness of expulsion from home. 
 
 385-394. A reproach against luxury. 
 
 395-430. The displacement by luxury of the rural virtues, and 
 with them the Genius of Poetry. To her the poet appeals that she 
 teach erring men the truth through all time. 
 
 Page 47, Line 2. Swain. A favorite word among eighteenth- 
 century poets. Originally meaning a servant, it came to be used for 
 a young man in the country, — a husbandman, as here, — a shepherd ; 
 and, from the pastoral sentiment of the times, a lover. 
 
 P. 47, 1. 4. Parting. Departing. Cf. line 1 of Gray's ''Elegy: "— 
 
 *' The curfew tolls the knell of parting day." 
 P. 47, 1. 5. Bowers. Poetically used for dwellings. 
 P. 47, 1. 13. The haw^thorn bush. A large hawthorn (hedge- 
 thorn) bush in Lissoy was carried away piecemeal by relic-hunters. 
 P. 47, 1. 14. Talking age. 
 
 " And narrative old age." — ' Pope. 
 P. 47, 1. 15. The coming day. Some saint's day, which would 
 be a festal occasion, celebrated on the village green. 
 
 P. 47, 1. 17. Train. Often used by Goldsmith, and occurring 
 sorae ten times in this poem ; coming from the Latin traho, to draw, 
 it means here a long-drawn line. 
 
 P. 47, 1. 21. Gambol. A general joining in play. 
 P. 48, 1. 35. Lawn. Equivalent to '* plain " in line 1. 
 P. 48, 1. 39. Only. Perhaps the hardest word in our language to 
 use properly. Here, as an adjective, it is given an especial force by 
 its position. Cf. : — 
 
 " Now is it Rome indeed, and room enough, 
 When there is in it but one only man." 
 
 Julius Ccesar, Act I. Scene ii. 
 
 P. 48, 1. 42. Works its weedy w^ay. A noticeable instance of 
 the alliteration often used by Goldsmith and other poets of his time. 
 Cf. lines 53, 74, 82, 93, 102, 123, 214, and 281 as examples. As a strik- 
 ing illustration which this line suggests, notice the following from 
 Boker's " Ivory Carver : " — 
 
74 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 " Silently sat the artist alone, 
 Carving a Christ from the ivory bone. 
 Little by little, v\rith toil and pain. 
 He won his way through the sightless grain, 
 That held and yet hid the thing he sought, 
 Till the work stood up, a growing thought." 
 
 P. 48, 1. M. The hollow-sounding bittern, etc. A species of 
 heron, locally known in this country as "stake-driver," from the 
 sound of its cry. Goldsmith, in his "Animated Nature," observes 
 that there is "no note so dismally hollow as the booming of the 
 bittern." The name is used in the Scriptures with melancholy sug- 
 gestiveness : — 
 
 " I will also make it a possession for the bittern, and pools of water." 
 
 Isa. xiv. 23. 
 
 " But the cormorant and the bittern shall possess it; the owl also and the 
 raven shall dwell in it." — Ibid, xxxiv. 11. 
 
 P. 48, 1. 51. Ill fares the land, etc. Almost the only line of 
 Goldsmith's that has been criticised as inartistic ; exception being 
 taken to the repetition of sound in *' ill " and " ills." 
 
 P. 48, 1. 52. Decay. Lessen in number. 
 
 P.49, 1. 55. A breath, etc. Cf.: — 
 
 " Princes and lords are but the breath ofkings." — Burns. 
 
 P. 49, 1. 66. Wealth . . . pomp. Goldsmith is much addicted 
 to this form of personij&cation, often using a quality, condition, or 
 occupation for those whom it represents. 
 
 P. 49, 1. 70. Manners. Customs. An evident choice of words 
 for the sake of alliteration. 
 
 P. 49, 1. 75. Sweet Auburn, etc. An example of apostrophe. 
 
 P. 50, 11. 87, 88. These lines form an excellent metaphor. 
 
 P. 50, 1. 93. As an hare, etc. Goldsmith, with good taste, re- 
 frains from overloading his lines with figures of speech, and when 
 introduced they are exceedingly effective, like ,the simile here. For 
 the use of " an " before the aspirated h, Cf. " The Traveller," line 34. 
 
 P. 50, 1. 107. His latter end. Extreme old age. Cf. the biblical 
 use: — 
 
 "Hear counsel, and receive instruction, that thou mayest be wise in thy 
 latter end." — Prov. xix. 20. 
 
NOTES ON THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 75 
 
 P. 51, 1. 110. While resignation, etc. Sir Joshua Keynolds, to 
 whom this poem was dedicated, appreciated the fine tribute, and soon 
 painted his picture of " Resignation," inscribed, ** This attempt to ex- 
 press a character in ' The Deserted Village ' (lines 109-112) is dedicated 
 to Dr. Goldsmith by his sincere friend and admirer, Joshua Rey- 
 nolds." 
 
 P. 51, 1. 121. Bayed. Barked at. 
 
 " I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon, 
 Than such a Roman." — Julius Ccesar, Act IV., Scene iii. 
 
 P. 51, 1. 121. The whispering -wind. Wind is regularly to be 
 pronounced wind in poetry. 
 
 P. 51, 1. 122. The loud laugh, etc. Mr. Swinton makes a good 
 point here by observing that this does not mean that every loud laugh 
 betokens an empty mind. 
 
 P. 51, 1. 124. The nightingale. Those whose delight it is to pick 
 flaws in greatness say here that the nightingale is not found in Ire- 
 land. This is true ; but, as said before, it was perfectly natural for 
 the poet to mingle his surroundings, while writing the poem, with his 
 recollections of childhood. 
 
 P. 51, 1. 129. Yon widowed, solitary thing. The general ab- 
 sence of life in the village is made far more impressive by a special 
 instance of its presence in a forlorn condition, as a feeble sound 
 emphasizes a profound silence. 
 
 Pp. 51-53, 11. 137-192. The sketch of the village preacher seems 
 to be drawn from the poet's father, and his brother, Henry Goldsmith, 
 combined. The literary idea may come from the parish priest of 
 Dryden, who, in turn, improved the "Character from Chaucer. 
 
 P. 51, 1. 137. Copse. A field of brushwood which is cut for fuel. 
 French couper, to cut. 
 
 P. 51, 1. 138. Still. Adverbial modifier of '* grows." Placed 
 where it is on account of the metre. 
 
 P. 52, 1. 142. Passing. Surpassingly. Exceedingly. 
 
 P. 52, 1. 155. Broken. Broken down. 
 
 P. 52, 1. 159. Glow^. Become animated, with face flushed with 
 interest. 
 
 P. 52, 1. 167. And as a bird, etc. This beautiful simile is be- 
 lieved to be strictly original, having thus an advantage over the 
 loftier one in lines 189-192. The thought may come from Deut. xxxii. 
 11, 12 ; but there is no parallel to it in poetic literature. 
 
76 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 P. 53, 1, 173. Champion. One who combats singly for himself or 
 another. Here, the defender of the departing soul against the powers 
 of evil. From the Latin campus, a field, hence a place for contests. 
 
 P. 53, 1. 181. The service past — "When the service was finished. 
 Nominative absolute. 
 
 P. 53, 1. 189. As some tall cliff, etc. No sublimer simile is to be 
 found, and this should never leave the mind of the reader. It is 
 probably adapted from the following passage from Young's " Night 
 Thoughts," but gains greatly upon it: — 
 
 " As some tall tower, or lofty mountain's brow, 
 Detains the sun, illustrious from its height. 
 White rising vapors and descending shades, 
 With damps and darkness drown the spacious vale. 
 Philander thus augustly rears his head." 
 
 Pp. 53, 54, 11. 193-216. The character of the village school- 
 master recalls Goldsmith's old teacher, Thomas, commonly called 
 " Paddy " Byrne, a veteran whose tales seem to have suggested the 
 ** broken soldier " of the previous description. 
 
 P. 53, 1. 194. Furze. An evergreen shrub, often called gorse. 
 
 P. 53, 1. 195. Skilled to rule. A trace of Latin infinitive con- 
 struction. Cf. line 145. 
 
 P. 54, 1. 209. Terms and tides presage. Foretell seasons, and 
 times of high and low water. 
 
 P. 54, 1. 210. Gauge. Estimate the capacity of casks from their 
 dimensions. 
 
 P. 54, 1. 219. Thorn. Thorn-tree. 
 
 P. 54, 1. 221. That house. The village inn. 
 
 P. 55, 1. 232. The twelve good rules. These were attributed to 
 Charles I., and were commonly hung in public-houses. They were: 
 
 1. Urge no healths [the drinking of "healths" to each other]. 
 
 2. Profane no divine ordinances. 3. Touch no state matters. 4. Reveal 
 no secrets. 5. Pick no quarrels. 6. Make no comparisons. 7. Main- 
 tain no ill opinions. 8. Keep no bad company. 9. Encourage no vice. 
 10. Make no long meals. 11. Repeat no grievances. 12. Lay no 
 wagers. 
 
 P. 55, 1. 232. The royal game of goose. A f ox-and-geese board. 
 P. 55, 1. 234. Fennel. An aromatic garden plant. 
 P. 55, 1. 244. The Woodman's ballad. Some song of Robin 
 Hood, the hero of forestry. 
 
NOTES ON THE BESEBTEB VILLAGE. 7T 
 
 P. 56, 1. 248. The mantling bliss. Happiness that included or 
 infolded all . Used by metonymy for the ale which was the cause. 
 P. 55, 1. 250. Shall kiss the cup, etc. Cf. the song: — 
 
 " Drink to me only with thine eyes, 
 And I will pledge with mine ; 
 Or leave a kiss but in the cup, 
 And I'll not look for wine." 
 
 To Celia. — Ben Jonson. 
 
 P. 56, 1. 258. Unenvied, unmolested, unconflned. The prefix 
 un- has elsewhere been effectively used in poetry. Cf. : — 
 
 "Unwept, unhonored, and unsung." — Scott. 
 
 " Unknelled, uncoffined, and unknown." — Byron. . 
 
 P. 56, 1. 264. The heart distrusting asks if this be joy. One 
 
 of the most powerful lines in the poem, or in our language. 
 
 P. 56, 1. 278. Equipage. Carriages and attendants. Fr. ^quiper, 
 to attire. 
 
 P. 57, 1. 284. For. In exchange for. 
 
 P. 57, 1. 287. Plain. Not meaning devoid of beauty, which 
 would be a contradiction, but simple and modest. 
 
 P. 57, 1. 293. Solicitous to bless. By giving her hand in mar- 
 riage. 
 
 P. 57, 1. 298. Vistas. Extended prospects. Especially applied to 
 views through avenues of trees. 
 
 P. 58, 1. 316. Artist. In the sense of artisan, or workman. 
 
 P. 58, 1. 317. Pomps. Here meaning processions. From the 
 Greek pempo, to send. 
 
 P. 58, 1. 319. Dome. Here used by synecdoche for the entire 
 palace. 
 
 P. 58, 1. 322. The torches glare. Before the lighting of streets, 
 people of fashion were attended in the streets at night by torch-bear- 
 ers or link-boys. 
 
 P. 58, 1. 330. Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn. 
 So good a judge as William Black declares that the sentiment which 
 a poetic imagination can infuse into surrounding objects never re- 
 ceived happier expression than in this line. It truly represents that 
 mysterious something in a combination of words which we call 
 poetry. 
 
78 OLIVEB GOLDSMITH. 
 
 P. 59, 1. 344. The -wild Altama. The Altamaha; one of the 
 boundaries of Georgia. This colony was settled in 1732 by General 
 Oglethorpe, whom Goldsmith knew. 
 
 P. 59, 1. 355. Crouching tigers. Goldsmith's ideas of American 
 natural history were somewhat mixed. By "tiger," he is here sup- 
 posed to mean the jaguar, which does not make it much better, as this 
 is a South American animal. It is possible that he may have heard 
 of the panther. 
 
 Pp. 59, 60, 11. 363-384. The pathos of emigration has, perhaps, 
 never been so effectively set forth as in these lines. 
 
 P. 60, 1. 368. Seats. Sites, abodes. 
 
 P. 60, 1. 392. A bloated mass, etc. Cf . his discussion of Italy, 
 " The Traveller," line 144. 
 
 P. 61, 1. 400. Flaps. One of the class of onomatopoetic, or sound- 
 imitative words. From their nature they are often effective in poetry, 
 since they call up an image to the mind, as here. Other examples of 
 such words in this poem are "gabbled," "plashy," ''clock," " mur- 
 mur," etc. 
 
 P. 61, 1. 411. Dear charming nymph. Still referring to poetry 
 personified. The nymphs were female divinities of lesser rank than 
 the commonly-known goddesses. 
 
 P. 61, 1. 413. Thou source, etc. Wither's lines to his muse, in 
 his poem of " The Shepherd's Hunting," are often quoted in com- 
 parison with this : — 
 
 " And though for her sake I'm crest, 
 Though my best hopes I have lost, 
 And knew she would make me trouble, 
 Ten times more than ten times double, 
 I should love and keep her too 
 Spite of all the world could do. . . . 
 She doth tell me where to borrow 
 Comfort in the midst of sorrow, 
 Makes the desolatest place 
 To her presence be a grace." 
 
 P. 61, 1. 418. Torno's Cliff's, or Pamhamarca's side. The 
 
 river Tornea flows through a mountainous region in Sweden, and 
 Pambamarca is a peak of the Andes in Ecuador. Thus the wish is 
 expressed that the influence of poetry may be world-wide. 
 P. 61, 1. 419. Equinoctial. Equatorial. 
 
NOTES ON THE DESEBTED VILLAGE. 79 
 
 Pp. 61, 62, 11. 427-130. These lines were added by Dr. Johnson, 
 who was nothing if not profound, and who thought the poem ended 
 too tamely. His heavy lines do not well accord with the graceful 
 flow of Goldsmith's verse, and we can but wish, as in " The Traveller," 
 that he had saved his ponderous assistance until it was more needed. 
 The final thought, as the author would have left it, was the natural 
 conclusion of a poem whose surpassing sweetness has rendered its 
 popularity independent of all changes in literary style. 
 
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