THE

TRAVELLER;

OR,

A PROSPECT OF SOCIETY.

REMOTE, unfriended, melancholy, slow,(')
Or by the lazy Scheld, or wandering Po ;
Or onward, where the rude Carinthian boor(2)
Against the houseless stranger shuts the door;
Or where Campania's plain forsaken lies,
A weary waste expanding to the skies;
Where'er I roam, whatever realms to see,
My heart untravell'd fondly turns to thee :

(1) [ An anecdote connected with this poem, exhibiting that absence of mind and facility of temper in its author, which occasionally led him to make admissions which he did not mean, and which were thence sometimes turned against himself, was told by Dr. Johnson. "I remember," said he, "Chamier once asked him what he meant by slow, in the first line of the Traveller. Did he mean tardiness of locomotion?' Goldsmith, who would say something without consideration, answered, 'Yes.' I was sitting by and said, 'No, Sir, you did not mean tardiness of locomotion; you mean that sluggishness of mind which comes upon a man in solitude.' He, however, was a man who, whatever he wrote, did it better than any other man could do he deserved a place in Westminster Abbey, and every year he lived would have deserved it better. See Boswell, vol. vii. p. 85, ed. 1835.]

(2) [ Carinthia was visited by Goldsmith in 1755. Being questioned as to the justice of the censure passed upon a people whom other travellers praised for being as good, if not better than their neighbours, he gave as a reason his being once, after a fatiguing day's walk, obliged to quit a house he had entered for shelter, and pass part or the whole of the night in seeking another. See Life, ch. x.]

Still to my Brother turns, with ceaseless pain,
And drags at each remove a lengthening chain.(1)

Eternal blessings crown my earliest friend,
And round his dwelling guardian saints attend;
Blest be that spot, where cheerful guests retire
To pause from toil, and trim their evening fire;
Blest that abode, where want and pain repair,
And every stranger finds a ready chair;
Blest be those feasts with simple plenty crown'd,
Where all the ruddy family around

Laugh at the jests or pranks that never fail,
Or sigh with pity at some mournful tale ;
Or press the bashful stranger to his food,
And learn the luxury of doing good. (3)

But me, not destin'd such delights to share,
My prime of life in wandering spent and care ·
Impell'd, with steps unceasing, to pursue

Some fleeting good, that mocks me with the view; (4)
That, like the circle bounding earth and skies,
Allures from far, yet, as I follow, flies; (5)

(1) ["The farther I travel, I feel the pain of separation with stronger force; those ties that bind me to my native country and you, are still unbroken. By every remove I only drag a greater length of chain."-Citizen of the World. See vol. ii. p. 11.]

(2) ["Blest be those feasts where mirth and peace abound."-First edit.]
(3) [Imit." Hard was their lodging, homely was their food,

For all their luxury was doing good."—GARTH.]

(4) ["When will my wanderings be at an end? When will my restless disposition give me leave to enjoy the present hour? When at Lyons, I thought all happiness lay beyond the Alps; when in Italy, I found myself still in want of something, and expected to leave solitude behind me by going into Romelia; and now you find me turning back, still expecting ease every where but where I am."-The Bee, See vol. i. p. 18.]

(5) ["Death, the only friend of the wretched, for a little while mocks the weary traveller with the view, and like his horizon still flies before him.' Vicar of Wakefield, ch. xxix.]

My fortune leads to traverse realms alone,
And find no spot of all the world my own.

(1)

Ev'n now, where Alpine solitudes ascend,
I sit me down a pensive hour to spend ;
And, plac'd on high above the storm's career,
Look downward where an hundred realms appear;
Lakes, forests, cities, plains, extending wide,(2)
The pomp of kings, the shepherd's humbler pride.

When thus Creation's charms around combine,
Amidst the store, should thankless pride repine ?(3)
Say, should the philosophic mind disdain

That good which makes each humbler bosom vain ?(4)
Let school-taught pride dissemble all it can,
These little things are great to little man ;

And wiser he, whose sympathetic mind

Exults in all the good of all mankind.

Ye glittering towns, with wealth and splendour crown'd;
Ye fields, where summer spreads profusion round;
Ye lakes, whose vessels catch the busy gale;

Ye bending swains, that dress the flowery vale;
For me your tributary stores combine :
Creation's heir, the world, the world is mine!

As some lone miser, visiting his store,
Bends at his treasure, counts, recounts it o'er;
Hoards after hoards his rising raptures fill,
Yet still he sighs, for hoards are wanting still:

(1) [Imit.-" My destin'd miles I shall have gone,

By Thames or Mease, by Po or Rhone,

And found no foot of earth my own."-PRIOR.]

(2) ["Lakes, forests, cities, plains extended wide."-First edit.]
(3) [ "Amidst the store, 't were thankless to repine."-First edit.]

(4) ["Twere affectation all, and school-taught pride,

To spurn the splendid things by heaven supply'd."-First edit.]

Thus to my breast alternate passions rise,

Pleas'd with each good that Heaven to man supplies :
Yet oft a sigh prevails, and sorrows fall,
To see the hoard of human bliss so small;
And oft I wish, amidst the scene to find,
Some spot to real happiness consign'd,

Where my worn soul, each wandering hope at rest,
May gather bliss to see my fellows blest.

(2)

But, where to find that happiest spot below,"
Who can direct, when all pretend to know?
The shuddering tenant of the frigid zone
Boldly proclaims that happiest spot his own ;(3)
Extols the treasures of his stormy seas,

And his long nights of revelry and ease:
The naked negro, panting at the line,
Boasts of his golden sands and palmy wine,
Basks in the glare, or stems the tepid wave,
And thanks his gods for all the good they gave.
Such is the patriot's boast, where'er we roam,
His first, best country, ever is at home.
And yet, perhaps, if countries we compare,
And estimate the blessings which they share,
Though patriots flatter, still shall wisdom find
An equal portion dealt to all mankind;
As different good, by art or nature given,
To different nations makes their blessings even.

(1) ["To see the sum of human bliss so small."-First edit.]

(2) "Yet, where to find," &c.-First edit. J

(3) ["Boldly asserts that country for his own."-First edit.]

(4) "And yet, perhaps, if states with states we scan,

Or estimate their bliss on reason's plan,

Though patriots flatter and though fools contend,

We still shall find uncertainty suspend;

Find that each good, by art or nature given,

To these or those, but makes the balance even:

Find that the bliss of all is much the same,

And patriotic boasting reason's shame."-First edit.]