In humble, fimpleft habit clad,
No wealth or power had he;
• Wisdom and worth were all he had,.
But these were all to me..
The bloffom opening to the day,
The dews of Heaven refin'd,
Could nought of purity display
To emulate his mind.
The dew, the bloffoms of the tree,
With charms inconftant fhine:
• Their charms were his; but, woe to me,
Their conftancy was mine.
For ftill I try'd each fickle art,
Importunate and vain ;
And while his paffion touch'd my heart,
• I triumph'd in his pain:
Till quite dejected with my scorn,
He left me to my pride,
And fought a folitude forlorn,
In fecret, where he died.
But mine the forrow, mine the fault !
And well my life shall pay ;
I'll feek the folitude he fought,
And ftretch me where he lay!
And there forlorn, despairing hid,
I'll lay me down and die;
'Twas fo for me that Edwin did,
Aud fo for him will I !'
• Forbid it, Heaven!' the Hermit cry'd, And clafp'd her to his breaft:
The wond'ring fair-one turn'd to chide, 'Twas Edwin's felf that prefs'd.
Turn, Angelina, ever dear;
This Poem has been no lefs univerfally, than defervedly admir'd, for the natural pictures it holds out, of life and manners in the present day, and the ufeful leffons of inftruction it conveys.
REMOTE, unfriended, melancholy, flow,
Or by the lazy Scheld, or wand'ring Po;
Or onward, where the rude Carinthian boor
Against the houseless firanger fhuts the door;
Or where Campania's plain forfaken lies,
A weary wafte expanding to the fkies;
Where'er I roam, whatever realms to fee,
My heart, untravell'd, fondly turns to thee:
Still to my brother turns with ceaseless pain,
And drags, at each remove, a length'ning chain.
Eternal bleffings crown my earlieft friend,
And round his dwelling guardian faints attend*;
* Dr. Goldfmith, the author of this poem, affectionately dedicates it to his brother, for whom he had a great regard.
Blefs'd be that spot, where cheerful guests retire,
To pause from toil, and trim their evening fire;
Blefs'd that abode, where want and pain repair,
Aud ev'ry ftranger finds a ready chair:
Blefs'd be thofe feafts, with fimple plenty crown'd,
Where all the ruddy family around
Laugh at the jefts or pranks that never fail,
Or figh with pity at fome mournful tale :
Or prefs the bafhful ftranger to his food,
And learn the luxury of doing good!
But me, not deftin'd fuch delights to fhare,
My prime of life in wand'ring spent, and care;
Impell'd, with fteps unceafing, to purfue
Some fleeting good, that mocks me with the view
That, like the circle, bounding earth aud fkies,
Allures from far, yet, as I follow, flies*;
My fortune leads to traverse realms alone,
And find no fpot of all the world my own.
E'en now, where Alpine folitudes afcend,
I fit me down a penfive hour to spend :
And plac'd on high, above the ftorm's career
Look downward where an hundred realms appear;
Lakes, forefts, cities, plains, extending wide,
The pomp of kings, the fhepherd's humbler pride.
Happiness or fleeting good, as the poet here juftly calls it, is more in profpe&t than poffeffion; cagerly purfued, but feldom if ever overtaken.
When thus Creation's charms around combine,
Amidft the ftore, fhould thanklefs pride repine ?
Say, fhould the philofophic mind difdain
That good which makes each humbler bosom vain?
Let fchool-taught pride diffemble all it can,
Thefe little things are great to little man:
And wifer he, whofe fympathetic mind
Exults in all the good of all mankind.
Ye glitt'ring towns, with wealth and fplendor crown'd;
Ye fields, where fummer spreads profufion round;
Ye lakes, whofe veffels catch the bufy gale;
Ye bending fwains, that drefs the flow'ry vale;
For me your tributary flores combine :
Creation's heir! the world, the world is mine!
As fome lone mifer, vifiting his ftore,
Bends at his treafure, counts, recounts it o'er ;
Hoards after hoards his rifing raptures fill,
Yet fill he fighs, for hoards are wanting ftill:
Thus to my breaft alternate paffions rife,
Pleas'd with each good that Heav'n to man fupplies;
Yet oft a figh prevails, and forrows fall,
To fee the hoard of human blifs fo fmall;
And oft I wish, amidst the scene, to find
Some spot to real happiness confign'd*,
*Where is real happinefs to be found? not here below-wealth, honour, pleafure, and diffipation, each daily owns, 'tis not in me.
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