The poetical works of Oliver Goldsmith, with remarks, attempting to ascertain the actual scene of The deserted village, by R.H. Newell

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1811
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Page 41 - grows wild, There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, The village preacher's modest mansion rose. 140 A man he was to all the country dear, And passing rich with forty pounds a year; Remote from towns he ran his godly race, Nor e'er had chaug'd, nor wish'd to change his place;
Page 43 - The service past, around the pious man, With steady zeal, each honest rustic ran: Ev'n children follow'd, with endearing wile, •••', . / And pluck'd his gown, to share the good man's smile..' His ready smile a parent's warmth exprest, 185 Their welfare pleas'd him, and their cares distrest: To them his heart, his love, his griefs, were
Page 42 - Unpractis'd he to fawn, or seek for pow'r,: 145 By doctrines fashion'd to the varying hour'; > Far other aims his heart had learn'd to prize, More skill'd to raise the wretched than to rise.' His house was known to all the vagrant train, He chid their wanderings, but relieved their pain; The long-remember'd beggar was his guest,
Page 37 - III fares the land, to hastening ills a prey, Where wealth accumulates, and men decay; Princes and lords may flourish, or may fade; A breath can make them, as a breath has made; But a bold peasantry, their country's pride, 55 When once destroy'd, can never be
Page 156 - WHEN lovely woman stoops to folly, And finds too late that men betray; What charm can sooth her melancholy, What art can wash her guilt away? The only art her guilt to cover, To: hide her shame from every eye, To give repentance to her lover, And wring his bosom—is, to die!
Page 26 - To seek a good each government bestows? In every government, though terrors reign, Though tyrant kings or tyrant laws restrain, How small, of all that human hearts endure, That part which laws or kings can cause or cure! Still to ourselves in every place consign'd,
Page 39 - 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 shew my book-learn'd skill, Around my fire an evening group to draw, 91 And tell of all I felt, and all I saw: And, as
Page 45 - and still the wonder grew 215 That one small head could carry all he knew. But past is all his fame: the very spot, Where many a time he triumph'd, is forgot. Near yonder thorn, that lifts its head on high, Where once the sign-post caught the passing eye, Low lies that house were nut-brown draughts inspir'd,
Page 44 - The love he bore to learning was in fault; The village all declar'd how much he knew; 'Twas certain he could write and cipher too; Lands he could measure, terms and tides presage, And ev'n the story ran that he could gauge: 210
Page 122 - His manners were gentle, complying, and bland; Still born to improve us in every part, His pencil our faces, his manners our heart: To coxcombs averse, yet most civilly steering, When they judg'd without skill he was still hard of hearing; When they talk'd of their Raphaels, Corregios, and stuff, He shifted his trumpet

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