The putrid steams that overswarm the sky; That fans the ever undulating sky; A kindly sky! whose fost'ring pow'r regales Behold the laborer of the glebe, who toils 65 Grow firm, and gain a more compacted tone; 70 Imbibe the recent gale. The cheerful morn Beams o'er the hills; go, mount th' exulting steed. 85 Already, see, the deep-mouth'd beagles catch But if the breathless chase o'er hill and dale 90 bounds 95 7 A small river in Roxburgshire. Armstrong was born at Castleton in that shire. Through meads more flowery, or more romantic groves, Rolls toward the western main. Hail, sacred flood! 105 May still thy hospitable swains be blest The eager trout, and with the slender line 112 115 The struggling, panting prey: while vernal clouds And tepid gales' obscur'd the ruffled pool, THE SCHOOLMISTRESS (From The Schoolmistress, 1742) Ah me! full sorely is my heart forlorn, To think how modest worth neglected lies! While partial fame doth with her blast adorn Such deeds alone, as pride and pomp disguise; Deeds of ill sort, and mischievous emprize! 5 Lend me thy clarion, goddess! let me try To sound the praise of merit, ere it dies; Such as I oft have chanced to espy, Lost in the dreary shades of dull obscurity. The school of Pythagoras, who prescribed abstinence from animal food, as did many of the Hindus and Buddhists. WRITTEN AT AN INN AT HENLEY To thee, fair Freedom! I retire From flatt'ry, cards, and dice, and din; Nor art thou found in mansions higher Than the low cot, or humble inn. 'Tis here with boundless pow'r I reign; And ev'ry health which I begin, Converts dull port to bright champaigne; Such freedom crowns it, at an inn. I fly from pomp, I fly from plate! I fly from falsehood's specious grin! Freedom I love, and form I hate, And choose my lodgings at an inn. Here, waiter, take my sordid ore, Which lacqueys else might hope to win; Whoe'er has travell'd life's dull round, Oliver Goldsmith 1728-1774 THE DESERTED VILLAGE (1770) 5 10 15 20 15 For talking age and whispering lovers made! 1 Some of the details of the poem are thought to have been suggested by the village of Lissoy in Ireland, where Goldsmith's childhood was spent; but in his account of the desertion of the village, the poet is true to conditions that actually prevailed in England at that time. Throughout the land a new aristocracy of wealth was pushing aside the small farmer (11. 270-280); the harvests were correspondingly diminished; and even the commons, formerly opened to the poor, were shut off, or "denied" (1.307). Luxury, which Goldsmith regards as the source of national corruption, was also increasing in consequence of a rapid growth in material prosperity. And all the village train from labour free, Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree; 20 While many a pastime circled in the shade, And still, as each repeated pleasure tir'd, The swain mistrustless of his smutted face, 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, One only master grasps the whole domain, 40 45 The hollow-sounding bittern guards its nest; Far, far away thy children leave the land. 50 Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey, Where wealth accumulates and men decay; Princes and lords may flourish, or may fadeA breath can make them, as a breath has made 55 But a bold peasantry, their country's pride, When once destroy'd, can never be supplied. A time there was, ere England's griefs began, When every rood of ground maintain'd its man: For him light labour spread her wholesome store, Just gave what life requir'd, but gave no more; His best companions, innocence and health, 61 And his best riches, ignorance of wealth. But times are alter'd; trade's unfeeling train Usurp the land, and dispossess the swair: Along the lawn where scatter'd hamlets rose, 65 Unwieldy wealth and cumbrous pomp repose, And every want to opulence allied, And every pang that folly pays to pride. Those gentle hours that plenty bade to bloom, Those calm desires that ask'd but little room, 70 |