OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 1728-1774.

Remote, unfriended, melancholy, slow.

The Traveller. Line 1.

Where'er I roam, whatever realms to see,
My heart untravell'd fondly turns to thee;
Still to my brother turns, with ceaseless pain,
And drags at each remove a lengthening chain.
Line 7.

And learn the luxury of doing good.1 Line 22.
Some fleeting good, that mocks me with the view.
Line 26.

These little things are great to little man.

Line 42.

Creation's heir, the world, the world is mine! Line 50.

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

Line 73.

Man seems the only growth that dwindles here.

Line 126.

By sports like these are all their cares beguil'd; The sports of children satisfy the child.

Line 153

But winter lingering chills the lap of May.

1 For all their luxury was doing good.

Line 172.

Garth, Claremont, Line 148.

He tried the luxury of doing good.

Crabbe, Tales of the Hall, Book iii.

So the loud torrent, and the whirlwind's roar, But bind him to his native mountains more. The Traveller. Line 217.

Alike all ages: dames of ancient days

Have led their children through the mirthful

maze;

And the gay grandsire, skill'd in gestic lore, Has frisk'd beneath the burden of threescore. Line 251.

Embosom'd in the deep where Holland lies.
Methinks her patient sons before me stand
Where the broad ocean leans against the land.
Line 282.

Pride in their port, defiance in their eye,
I see the lords of humankind pass by.1

Line 327.

The land of scholars, and the nurse of arms.

Line 356.

For just experience tells, in every soil,
That those that think must govern those that toil.
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Laws grind the poor, and rich men rule the law.
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Forc'd from their homes, a melancholy train.

Line 409.

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

Line 423.

1 Lord of humankind. — Dryden, The Spanish Friar. Act ii. Sc. 1.

Sweet Auburn! loveliest village of the plain. The Deserted Village. Line 1. The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade, For talking age and whispering lovers made.

Line 13.

The bashful virgin's sidelong looks of love.

Line 29.

Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey,
Where wealth accumulates, and men decay.
Princes and lords may flourish, or may fade,
A breath can make them as a breath has made ;1
But a bold peasantry, their country's pride,
When once destroy'd, can never be supplied.

Line 51.

His best companions, innocence and health
And his best riches, ignorance of wealth.

Line 61.

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

While resignation gently slopes away,

Line 99.

And, all his prospects brightening to the last, His heaven commences ere the world be past.

1 C'est un verre qui luit,

Line 110.

Qu'un souffle peut détruire, et qu'un souffle a produit.
De Caux (comparing the world to his hour-glass).
Who pants for glory, finds but short repose;
A breath revives him, or a breath o'erthrows.
Pope, Sat. and Ep. of Horace, Book ii. Ep. 1. Line 299.

The watch-dog's voice that bay'd the whispering

wind,

And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind.
The Deserted Village. Line 121.

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

Line 141.

Wept o'er his wounds, or, tales of sorrow done, Shoulder'd his crutch and show'd how fields were

And, as a bird each fond endearment tries
To tempt its new-fledg'd offspring to the skies,
He tried each art, reprov'd each dull delay,
Allur'd to brighter worlds, and led the way.

Line 167. Truth from his lips prevail'd with double sway, And fools, who came to scoff, remain'd to pray.

Line 179.

And pluck'd his gown, to share the good man's

smile.

Line 184.

As some tall cliff, that lifts its awful form,
Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the

storm,

Though round its breast the rolling clouds are

spread,

Eternal sunshine settles on its head. Line 189.

Well had the boding tremblers learn'd to trace
The day's disasters in his morning face;
Full well they laugh'd, with counterfeited glee,
At all his jokes, for many a joke had he;
Full well the busy whisper, circling round,
Convey'd the dismal tidings when he frown'd:
Yet was he kind, or, if severe in aught,
The love he bore to learning was in fault.

The Deserted Village. Line 199.

In arguing, too, the parson own'd his skill,
For e'en though vanquish'd, 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 wonder grew
That one small head could carry all he knew.
Line 211.

The whitewash'd wall, the nicely sanded floor,
The varnish'd clock that click'd behind the door,
The chest contriv'd a double debt to pay,
A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day.

Line 227.

To me more dear, congenial to my heart,
One native charm, than all the gloss of art.
Line 253.

And e'en while fashion's brightest arts decoy,
The heart, distrusting, asks if this be joy.

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Her modest looks the cottage might adorn, Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn. Line 329.