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O MEMORY! thou fond deceiver,

Still importunate and vain, To former joys recurring ever,

And turning all the past to pain. Thou, like the world, the’oppress'd oppressing,

Thy smiles increase the wretch's woe! And he who wants each other blessing,

In thee must ever find a foe.



AMIDST the clamour of exulting joys,

Which triumph forces from the patriot heart, Grief dares to mingle her soul-piercing voice,

And quells the raptures which from pleasure start.

Oh, Wolfe ! to thee a streaming flood of woe

Sighing we pay, and think e'en conquest dear; Quebec in vain shall teach our breasts to glow,

Whilst thy sad fate extorts the heart-wrung tear. Alive, the foe thy dreadful vigour fled,

And saw thee fall with joy-pronouncing eyes; Yet they shall know thou conquerest, ti.ough dead,

Since from thy tomb a thousand heroes rise.



This tomb, inscrib'd to gentle Parnell's name,
May speak our gratitude, but not his fame.
What heart but feels his sweetly moral lay,
That leads to truth through pleasure's flowery way!
Celestial themes confess'd his tuneful aid;
And Heaven, that lent him genius, was repaid.
Needless to him the tribute we bestow,
The transitory breath of fame below :
More lasting rapture from his works shall rise,
While converts thank their poet in the skies.



HERE lies poor Ned Purdon, from misery freed,

Who long was a bookseller's hack;
He led such a damnable life in this world-

I don't think he'll wish to come back.

* This person was educated at Trinity college, Dublin; but Having wasted his patrimony, he enlisted as a foot soldier. Growing tired of that employment, he obtained his discharge, and became a scribbler in the newspapers. He translated Vol. taire's Henriade. Goldsmith's epitaph is nearly a translation from a little piece of De Cailly's, called La mort du Sire Es. tienne.

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Preserved by Macrobius.*
What! no way left to shun the inglorious stage,
And save from infamy my sinking age !
Scarce half alive, oppress’d with many a year,
What in the name of dotage drives me here?
A time there was, when glory was my guide,
Nor force nor fraud could turn my steps aside ;
Unaw'd by power, and unappal'd by fear,
With honest thrift I held my honour dear :
But this vile hour disperses all my store,
And all my hoard of honour is no more ;
For, ah ! too partial to my life's decline,
Cæsar persuades, submission must be mine;
Him I obey, whom Heaven himself obeys,
Hopeless of pleasing, yet inclin’d to please.
Here then at once I welcome every shame,
And cancel at threescore a life of fame ;
No more my titles shall my children tell,
The old buffoon will fit my name as well;
This day beyond its term my fate extends,
For life is ended when our honour ends.

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This translation was first printed in one of Goldsmith's earliest works. The present state of Learniog in Europe, 12mo. 1759.



TRAGEDY OF ZOBEIDE. In these bold times, when Learning's sons explore The distant climates, and the savage shore ; When wise astronomers to India steer, And quit for Venus many a brighter here; While botanists, all cold to smiles and dimpling, Forsake the fair, and patiently-go simpling; Our bard into the general spirit enters, And fits his little frigate for adventures. With Scythian stores and trinkets deeply laden, He this way steers his course, in hopes of tradingYet, ere he lands, has order'd me before, To make an observation on the shore. Where are we driven ! our reck’ning sure is lost ! This seems a rocky and a dangerous coast. Lord! what a sultry climate am I under! Yon ill-foreboding cloud seems big with thunder :

[Upper gallery. There mangroves spread, and larger than I've seen 'em

(Pit. Here trees of stately size—and billing turtles in 'em

[Balconies. Here ill-condition’d oranges abound- [Stage. And apples, bitter apples, strew the ground :

[Tasting them. The' inhabitants are cannibals I fear : I heard a hissing—there are serpents here ! O, there the people are—best keep my distance; Our captain (gentle natives) craves assistance ; Our ship's well-stor'd-in yonder creek we've laid His honour is no mercenary trader.


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This is his first adventure ; lend him aid,
And we may chance to drive a thriving trade.
His goods, he hopes, are prime, and brought from far,
Equally fit for gallantry and war.
What, no reply to promises so ample?
-I'd best step back-and order up a sample.




Hold! prompter, hold! a word before your non-

sense ;
I'd speak a word or two to ease my conscience.
My pride forbids it ever should be said,
My heels eclips'd the honours of my head ;
That I found humour in a pyeball vest,
Or ever thought that jumping was a jest.

[1'akes off his mask.
Whence, and what art thou, visionary birth?
Nature disowns, and reason scorns thy mirth ;
In thy black aspect every passion sleeps,
The joy that dimples, and the woe that weeps.
How hast thou fill’d the scene with all thy brood
Of fools pursuing, and of fools pursued !
Whose ins and outs no ray of sense discloses ;
Whose only plot it is to break our noses ;
Whilst from below the trap-door demons rise,
And from above the dangling deities.
And shall I mix in this unhallow'd crew ?
May rosin'd lightning blast me, if I do!
No,I will act-I'll vindicate the stage :
Shakspeare himself shall feel my tragic rage.

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