The Poetical Works of Dr. Oliver Goldsmith: Containing His Deserted Village, Traveller, Hermit, Retaliation ... Etc. Etc., to which is Prefixed the Life of the Author

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C. Downes, 1802 - 96 pages

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Page 92 - GOOD people all, with one accord, Lament for Madam Blaize, Who never wanted a good word— From those who spoke her praise. The needy seldom pass'd her door, And always found her kind; She freely lent to all the poor— Who left a pledge behind.
Page 77 - Here Reynolds is laid, and, to tell you my mind, He has not left a wiser or better behind ; His pencil was striking, resistless, and grand ; His manners were gentle, complying, and bland ; Still born to improve us in every part, His pencil our faces, his manners our heart...
Page 28 - How often have I blest the coming day, When toil remitting lent its turn to play, And all the village train, from labour free, Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree...
Page 14 - 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 fruits 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.
Page 35 - Yet he was kind, or, if severe in aught, The love he bore to learning was in fault...
Page 31 - I still had hopes my latest hours to crown, Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down ; To husband out life's taper at the close, And keep the flame from wasting by repose : I still had hopes, for pride attends us still, Amidst the swains to show my book-learned skill, Around my fire an evening group to draw, And tell of all I felt, and all I saw...
Page 36 - Where once the sign-post caught the passing eye, Low lies that house where nut-brown draughts inspired, Where grey-beard mirth and smiling toil retired, Where village statesmen talked with looks profound, And news much older than their ale went round.
Page 18 - 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.
Page 64 - Even liberty itself is barter'd here. At gold's superior charms all freedom flies, The needy sell it, and the rich man buys; A land of tyrants, and a den of slaves...
Page 32 - Who quits a world where strong temptations try, And since 'tis hard to combat, learns to fly ! For him no wretches, born to work and weep, Explore the mine, or tempt the dangerous deep; No surly porter stands in guilty state, To spurn imploring famine from.

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