There as I pass'd, with careless steps and slow,
The mingling notes came soften'd from below;
The swain responsive as the milk-maid sung,
The sober herd that low'd to meet their young,
The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool,
The playful children just let loose from school,
The watch-dog's voice that bay'd the whisp'ring
wind,
And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind;
These all in sweet confusion sought the shade,
And fill'd each pause the nightingale had made.
But now the sounds of population fail,
No cheerful murmurs fluctuate in the gale,
No busy steps the grass-grown footway tread,
But all the bloomy flush of life is fled:
All but yon widow'd, solitary thing,
That feebly bends beside the plashy spring;
She, wretched matron! forc'd in age, for bread,
To strip the brook with mantling cresses
spread,
To pick her wint'ry faggot from the thorn,
To seek her nightly shed, and weep till morn;
She only left, of all the harmless train,
The sad historian of the pensive plain..
Near yonder copse, where once the garden
smil'd,
[wild,
And still where many a garden flow'r grows
There, where a few torn shrubs the place
disclose,
The village preacher's modest mansion rose.
A man he was to all the country dear,
And passing rich with forty pounds a-year;
Remote from towns he ran his godly race,
Nor e'er had chang'd, nor wish'd to change, his
place;
Unskilful he to fawn, or seek for pow'r,
By doctrines fashion'd to the varying hour;
Far other aims his heart had learn'd to prize,
More bent to raise the wretched than to rise.
His house was known to all the vagrant train;
He chid their wand'rings, but reliev'd their
pain.
The long-remember'd beggar was his guest,
Whose beard descending swept his aged breast;
The ruin'd spendthrift, now no longer proud,
Claim'd kindred there, and had his claims
allow'd:
The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay,
Sat by his fire, and talk'd the night away;
Wept o'er his wounds, or, tales of sorrow done,
Shoulder'd his crutch, and show'd how fields
[glow,
Pleas'd with his guests, the good man learn'd to
And quite forgot their vices in their woe;
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 lean'd to Virtue's side;
But in his duty prompt at ev'ry call,
He watch'd and wept, he pray'd and felt for all.
And, as a bird each fond endearment tries,
To tempt her 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.
Beside the bed, where parting life was laid,
And sorrow, guilt, and pain, by turns dismay'd,
The rev'rend champion stood: At his control
Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul;
Comfort came down the trembling wretch to
raise,
And his last falt'ring accents whisper'd praise.
At church, with meek and unaffected grace,
His looks adorn'd the venerable place;
Truth from his lips prevail'd with double sway,
And fools, who came to scoff, remain'd to pray.
The service past, around the pious man,
With ready zeal each honest rustic ran;
E'en children follow'd with endearing wile,
And pluck'd his gown to share the good man's
smile;
His ready smile a parent's warmth express'd,
Their welfare pleas'd him, and their care
distress'd;
[given,
To them his heart, his love, his griefs were
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
Though round its breast the rolling clouds are
Eternal sunshine settles on its head. [spread,
Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the
With blossom'd furze unprofitably gay, [way,
There in his noisy mansion skill'd to rule,
The village master taught his little school.
A man severe he was, and stern to view:
I knew him well, and every truant knew.
Well had the boding tremblers learn'd to trace
The day's disasters in his morning (ace:
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 he was kind; or, if severe in aught,
The love he bore to learning was in fault;
The village all declar'd how much he knew;
'Twas certain he could write and cipher too;
Lands he could measure, terms and tides
presage,
And ev'n the story ran that he could gauge.
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,
Amaz'd the gazing rustics rang'd around;
And still they gaz'd, and still the wonder grew,
That one small head could carry all he knew.
But past is all his fame, the very spot
Where many a time he triumph'd is forgot.
Near yonder thorn that lifts its head on high,
Where once the sign-post caught the passing
Low lies that house where nut-brown draughts
inspir'd,
Where grey-beard mirth and smiling toil retir'd,
Where village statesmen talk'd with looks pro-
found,
[round.
And news much older than their ale went
Imagination fondly stoops to trace
The parlour splendors of that festive place;
The white-wash'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 draw'rs by day;
The pictures plac'd for ornament and use,
The twelve good rules, the royal game of goose;
The hearth, except when winter chill'd the day,
With aspen boughs, and flow'rs, and fennel gay.
While broken tea-cups, wisely kept for show,
Rang'd o'er the chimney, glisten'd in a row.
Vain transitory splendor! could not all
Reprieve the tott ring mansion from its fall?
Obscure it sinks, nor shall it more impart
An hour's importance to the poor man's heart;
Thither no more the peasant shall repair
To sweet oblivion of his daily care;
No more the farmer's news, the barber's tale,
No more the woodman's ballad shall prevail;
No more the smith his dusky brow shall clear,
Relax his pond'rous 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 prest,
Shall kiss the cup to pass it to the rest.
Yes! let the rich deride, the proud disdain,
These simple blessings of the lowly train :-
To me more dear, congenial to my heart,
One native charm, than all the gloss of art:
Spontaneous joys, where nature has its play,
The soul adopts, and owns their first-born sway;
Lightly they frolic o'er the vacant mind,
Unenvied, unmolested, unconfin'd:
But the long pomp, the midnight masquerade,
With all the freaks of wanton wealth array'd,
In these, ere triflers half their wish obtain,
The toiling pleasure sickens into pain :
And, e'en while fashion's brightest arts decoy,
The heart distrusting asks, if this be joy?
Ye friends to truth, ye statesmen who survey, The rich man's joys increase, the poor's decay, 'Tis yours to judge how wide the limits stand Between a splendid and a happy land.
Proud swells the tide with loads of freighted ore, And shouting folly hails them from her shore; Hoards, e'en 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 product still the same. Not so the loss: the man of wealth and pride Takes up a space that many poor supplied; Space for his lake, his park's extended bounds, Space for his horses, equipage, and hounds; The robe that wraps his limbs in silken sloth, Has robb'd the neighb'ring fields of half their growth;
His scat, where solitary sports are seen, Indignant spurns the cottage from the green; Around the world each needful product flies, For all the luxuries the world supplies: While thus the land adorn'd for pleasure all, In barren splendor feebly waits the fall.
As some fair female, unadorn'd and plain, Secure to please while youth confirms her reign, Slights ev'ry borrow'd charm that dress supplies, Nor shares with art the triumph of her eyes: 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 betray'd,
In nature's simplest charms at first array'd;
But, verging to decline, its splendors rise,
Its vistas strike, its palaces surprise,
While, scourg'd by famine from the smiling.
The mournful peasant leads his humble band;
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 stray'd, He drives his flock 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; To see ten thousand baneful arts combin'd To pamper luxury, and thin mankind; To see each joy the sons of pleasure know Extorted from his fellow-creature's woe. Here, while the courtier glitters in brocade, There the pale artist plies the sickly trade; Here, while the proud their long-drawn pomp display,
There the black gibbet glooms beside the way. The dome where pleasure holds her midnight reign,
Here, richly deck'd, admits the gorgeous train;
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
Where the poor houseless shiv'ring female lies.
She, once, perhaps, in village plenty blest,
Has wept at tales of innocence distrest;
Her modest looks the cottage might adorn,
Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn;
Now lost to all; her friends, her virtue fled,
Near her betrayer's door she lays her head;
And pinch'd with cold, and shrinking from the
show'r,
With heavy heart deplores that luckless hour,
When idly first, ambitious of the town,
She left her wheel, and robes of country brown.
Do thine, sweet Auburn, thine, the loveliest
Do thy fair tribes participate her pain? [train,
E'en now, perhaps, by cold and hunger led,
At proud men's doors they ask a little bread!
Äh, no! to distant climes, a dreary scene, Where half the convex world intrudes between, Through torrid tracts with fainting steps they Where wild Altama murmurs to their woe. [go, Far diff'rent there from all that charm'd before, The various terrors of that horrid shore;
Those blazing suns that dart a downward ray,
And fiercely shed intolerable day;
Those matted woods where birds forget to sing,
But silent bats in drowsy clusters cling:
Those pois'nous fields with rank luxuriance
crown'd,
Where the dark scorpion gathers death around;
Where at each step the stranger fears to wake
The rattling terrors of the vengeful snake;
Where crouching tigers wait their hapless prey,
And savage men, more murd'rous still than
they;
While oft in whirls the mad tornado flies,
Mingling the ravag'd landscape with the skies.
Far diffrent these from ev'ry former scene,
The cooling brook, the grassy-vested green,
The breezy covert of the warbling grove,
That only shelter'd thefts of harmless love.
Good Heaven! what sorrows gloom'd that
parting day,
That call'd them from their native walks away;
When the poor exiles, ev'ry pleasure past,
Hung round the bow'rs, and fondly look'd their
last,
And piety with wishes plac'd above,
And steady loyalty, and faithful love.
And thou, sweet Poetry, thou loveliest maid,
Still first to fly where sensual joys invade;
Unfit in these degen' rate times of shame
To catch the heart, or strike for honest fame;
Dear charming nymph, neglected and decried,
My shame in crowds, my solitary pride!
Thou source of all my bliss and all my woe,
That found'st me poor at first, and keep'st me so;
Thou guide, by which the nobler arts excel;
Thou source of ev'ry virtue, fare thee well!
Farewell! and, oh! where'er thy voice be tried,
On Torno's cliffs, or Pambamarca's side;
Whether where equinoctial fervors glow,
Or winter wraps the polar world in snow;
Still let thy voice, prevailing over time,
Redress the rigors of th' inclement clime;
Aid slighted truth with thy persuasive strain,
Teach erring man to spurn the rage of gain;
Teach him that states, of native strength
possest,
Though very poor, may still be very blest;
That trade's proud empire hastes to swift decay,
As ocean sweeps the labor'd mole away;
While self-dependent pow'r can time defy,
As rocks resist the billows and the sky.
And took a long farewell, and wish'd in vain
For seats like these beyond the western main;
And shudd'ring still to face the distant deep,
Return'd and wept, and still return'd to weep!
The good old sire the first prepar'd to go
To new-found worlds, and wept for others' woe;
But for himself, in conscious virtue brave,
He only wish'd for worlds beyond the grave.
His lovely daughter, lovelier in her tears,
The fond companion of his hapless years,
Silent went next, neglectful of her charms,
And left a lover's for her father's arms.
With louder plaints the mother spoke her woes,"
And bless'd the cot where every pleasure rose;
And kiss'd her thoughtless babes with many a
tear,
And clasp'd 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,
How ill exchang'd 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 vigor not their own.
At ev'ry draught more large and large they grow,
A bloated mass of rank unwieldy woe;
Till sapp'd their strength, and ev'ry part un-
sound,
Down, down they sink, and spread a ruin
Even now the devastation is begun, [round.
And half the bus'ness of destruction done;
Ee'n now, methinks, as pond'ring here I stand,
I see the rural virtues leave the land.
Down where yon anch'ring vessel spreads the
That idly waiting flaps with every gale, [sail.
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;
§3. Edwin and Angelina. A Ballad. Goldsmith.
"TURN, gentle Hermit of the dale,
"And guide my lonely
way
"To where yon taper cheers the vale
"With hospitable ray,
For here forlorn and lost I tread,
"With fainting steps and slow;
"Where wilds, immeasurably spread,
"Seem length'ning as I go.'
Forbear, my son," the Hermit cries,
"To tempt the dang'rous gloom;
"For yonder phantom only flies
"To lure thee to thy doom.
"Here to the houseless child of want
My door is open still;
"And, though my portion is but scant,
"I give it with good-will.
"Then turn to-night, and freely share
"Whate'er my cell bestows;
My rushy couch and frugal fare,
"My blessing and repose.
No flocks that range the valley free
"To slaughter I condemn;
"Taught by that power that pities me,
"I learn to pity them:
"But from the mountain's grassy side
"A guiltless feast I bring;
A scrip with herbs and fruit supplied,
"And water from the spring.
"Then, pilgrim, turn, thy cares forego;
"All earth-born cares are wrong:
"Man wants but little here below,
"Nor wants that little long."
Soft as the dew from heaven descends,
His gentle accents fell:
The modest stranger lowly bends,
And follows to the cell.
Far in a wilderness obscure
The lonely mansion lay;
A refuge to the neighb'ring poor,
And strangers led astray.
No stoves beneath its humble thatch
Requir'd a master's care;
The wicket, op'ning with a latch,
Receiv'd the harmless pair.
And now, when busy crowds retire
To take their ev'ning rest,
The Hermit trimm'd his little fire,
And cheer'd his pensive guest;
And spread his vegetable store,
And gaily press'd and smil'd;
And skill'd in legendary lore,
The ling'ring hours beguil'd.
Around in sympathetic mirth
Its tricks the kitten tries;
The cricket chirrups in the hearth,
The crackling faggot flies.
But nothing could a charm impart
To soothe the stranger's woe;
For grief was heavy at his heart,
And tears began to flow.
His rising cares the Hermit spied,
With answ'ring care oppress'd:
"And whence, unhappy youth," he cried,
"The sorrows of thy breast?
"From better habitations spurn'd,
"Reluctant dost thou rove?
"Or grieve for friendship unreturn'd,
"Or unregarded love?
"Alas! the joys that fortune brings
"Are trifling, and decay;
"And those who prize the paltry things
"More trifling still than they.
"And what is friendship but a name,
“A charm that lulls to sleep;
"A shade that follows wealth or fame,
"And leaves the wretch to weep?
"And love is still an emptier sound,
The modern fair one's jest ;
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"On earth unseen, or only found
"To warm the turtle's nest.
"For shame! fond youth, thy sorrows hush,
"And spurn the sex!" he said:
But, while he spoke, a rising blush
His love-lorn guest betray'd.
Surpris'd he sees new beauties rise,
Swift mantling to the view,
Like colors o'er the morning skies,
As bright, as transient too.
The bashful look, the rising breast,
Alternate spread alarms;
The lovely stranger stands confest
A maid in all her charms.
And, "Ah! forgive a stranger rude,
"A wretch forlorn," she cried,
"Whose feet unhallow'd thus intrude
"Where Heaven and you reside!
"But let a maid thy pity share,
"Whom love has taught to stray;
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"Who seeks for rest, but finds despair Companion of her way.
My father liv'd beside the Tyne,
A wealthy lord was he;
"And all his wealth was mark'd as mine, "He had but only me.
"To win me from his tender arms
"Unnumber'd suitors came;
"Who prais'd me for imputed charms,
"And felt, or feign'd a flame.
“Each hour a mercenary crowd
"With richest proffers strove;
"Among the rest young Edwin bow'd,
"But never talk'd of love.
"In humble, simplest habit clad,
"No wealth or power had he;
"Wisdom and worth were all he had,
"But these were all to me.
"The blossom op'ning to the day,
"The dews of heaven refin'd,
"Could nought of purity display
"To emulate his mind.
"The dew, the blossoms of the tree, "With charms inconstant shine; "Their charms were his, but, woe to me! "Their constancy was mine.
"For still I tried each fickle art, "Importunate and vain:
"And while his passion touch'd my heart, "I triumph'd in his pain :
"Till, quite dejected with my scorn, "He left me to my pride;
"And sought a solitude forlorn
"In secret, where he died.
"But mine the sorrow, mine the fault!
"And well my life shall pay;
"I'll seek the solitude he sought,
"And stretch me where he lay!
"And there forlorn, despairing, hid,
'I'll lay me down and die;
""Twas so for me that Edwin did,
"And so for him will I!"
"Forbid it, Heaven!" the Hermit cried, And clasp'd her to his breast:
The wond ring fair-one turn'd to chide"Twas Edwin's self that press'd.
"Turn, Angelina, ever dear, "My charmer, turn to see
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FIRST in these fields I try the sylvan strains, Nor blush to sport on Windsor's blissful plains: Fair Thames, flow gently from thy sacred spring,
While on thy banks Sicilian Muses sing; Let vernal airs through trembling osiers play, And Albion's cliffs resound the rural lay.
You that, too wise for pride, too good for Enjoy the glory to be great no more, [pow'r, And, carrying with you all the world can boast, To all the world illustriously are lost! O let my Muse her slender reed inspire, Till in your native shades you tune the lyre : So when the nightingale to rest removes, The thrush may chant to the forsaken groves; But, charm'd to silence, listens while she sings, And all th' aërial audience clap their wings.
Soon as the flocks shook off the nightly dews, Two Swains, whom love kept wakeful, and the Muse,
Pour'd o'er the whitening vale their fleecy care,
Fresh as the morn, and as the season fair:
The dawn now blushing on the mountain's side,
Thus Daphnis spoke, and Strephon thus replied
Hear how the birds, on every bloomy spray, With joyous music wake the dawning day! Why sit we mute, when early linnets sing, When warbling Philomel salutes the spring? Why sit we sad when Phosphor shines so clear, And lavish Nature paints the purple year?
Sing then, and Damon shall attend the strain, While yon slow oxen turn the furrow'd plain. Here the bright crocus and blue violet glow; Here western winds on breathing roses blow. I'll stake yon lamb that near the fountain plays, And from the brink his dancing shade surveys.
And I this bowl, where wanton ivy twines, And swelling clusters bend the curling vines: Four figures rising from the work appear, The various seasons of the rolling year; And what is that, which binds the radiant sky, Where twelve fair signs in beauteous order lie?
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