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EPITAPH

ON

DR. PARNEL.

THIS tomb, infcrib'd to gentle PARNEL's name,

May fpeak our gratitude, but not his fame,
What heart but feels his fweetly moral lay,
That leads to truth thro' pleasure's flow'ry way?
Celestial themes confefs'd his tuneful aid;
And heav'n, that lent him genius, was repaid.
Needless to him the tribute we bestow,

The tranfitory breath of fame below:
More lafting rapture from his works shall rise,
While converts thank their poet in the skies,

THE DESERTED VILLAGE.

ΤΟ

SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS,

DEAR SIR,

I CAN have no expectations in an address of this

kind either to add to your reputation, or to esta. blish my own. You can gain nothing from my admiration, as I am ignorant of that art in which you are faid to excel; and I may lofe much by the severity of your judgment, as few have a jufter tafte in poetry than you. Setting intereft therefore afide, to which I never paid much attention, I must be indulged at present in following my affec tions. The only dedication I ever made was to my brother, because I loved him better than most other men. He is fince dead. Permit me to infcribe this poem to you.

How far you may be pleased with the verfification and mere mechanical parts of this attempt, I don't pretend to enquire; but I know you will D

object

object (and indeed feveral of our best and wifest friends concur in the opinion) that the depopulation it deplores is no where to be feen, and the diforders it laments are only to be found in the poet's own imagination. To this I can scarce make any other answer than that I fincerely believe what I have written; that I have taken all poffible pains, in my country excurfions, for thefe four or five years paft, to be certain of what I allege, and that all my views and enquiries have led me to believe thofe miferies real, which I here attempt to difplay. But this is not the place to enter into an enquiry, whether the country be depopulating or not; the difcuffion would take up much room, and I fhould prove myself, at beft, an indifferent politician, to tire the reader with a long preface, when I want his unfatigued attention to a long poem.

In regretting the depopulation of the country, I inveigh against the increase of our luxuries; and here alfo I expect the fhout of modern politicians againft me. For twenty or thirty years paft, it has been the fafhion to confider luxury as one of the greatest national advantages; and all the wisdom of antiquity in that particular as erroneous. Still, however, I must remain a profeffed ancient on that head, and continue to think thofe luxuries prejudicial to ftates, by which for

many

many vices are introduced, and by which fo many kingdoms have been undone. Indeed fo much has been poured out of late on the other fide of the question, that, merely for the fake of novelty and variety, one would fometimes wish to be in the right, I am,

Dear Sir,

Your fincere friend,

And ardent admirer,

OLIVER GOLDSMITH.

D 2

THE DESERTED VILLAGE.

SWEET

WEET AUBURN! lovelieft village of the plain, Where health and plenty chear'd the lab'ring swain, Where fmiling fpring its earlieft vifit paid, And parting fummer's ling'ring blooms delay'd. Dear lovely bow'rs of innocence and ease, Seats of my youth, when ev'ry sport could please, How often have I loiter'd o'er thy green, Where humble happiness endear'd each scene ! How often have I paus'd on ev'ry charm, The fhelter'd cot, the cultivated farm, The never-failing brook, the bufy mill, The decent church that topt the neighb'ring hill. The hawthorn-bufh, with feats beneath the fhade, For talking age, and whisp'ring lovers made! How often have I bleft the coming day, When toil remitting lent its turn to play, And all the village train, from labour free, Led up their fports beneath the fpreading tree; While many a paftime circled in the shade, The young contending as the old furvey'd; And many a gambol frolic'd o'er the ground, And flights of art and feats of ftrength went round. And still as each repeated pleasure tir'd,

Succeeding sports the mirthful band infpir'd ;

The

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