8 21. The Deferted Village. GOLDSMITH. SWEET Auburn lovelieft village of the plain, Where health and plenty cheer'd the labouring fwain;

Sunk are thy bow'rs in fhapelcfs ruin all,
And the long grafs o'ertops the mould'ring wall
And trembling, fhrinking from the spoiler's hand,
Far, far away thy children leave the land.

Ill fares the land, to haft'ning 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 peafantry, their country's pride,
When once deftroy'd, can never be fupplied.

A time there was, ere England's griefs began, When every rood of ground maintain'd its man; For him light labour spread her wholefome store; Juft gave what life requir'd, but gave no more: His beft companions, innocence and health; And his best riches, ignorance of wealth.

But times are alter'd: trade's unfeeling train Ufurp the land, and difpoffefs the fwain; Along the lawn, where fcatter'd hamlets rofe, Unwieldy wealth and cumb'rous pomp repofe; And ev'ry want to luxury allied, And ev'ry pang that folly pays to pride. Thofe gentle hours that plenty bade to bloom, Thofe calm defires that afk'd but little room, Thofe healthful sports that grac'd the peaceful fcene,

Where fmiling fpring its carlieft 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 fport 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 topp'd the neighb'ring hill, The hawthorn bufh, with feats beneath the fhade, For talking age and whifp'ring lovers made! How often have I blefs'd 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 circle in the fhade, The young contending as the old furvey'd; And many a gambol frolic'd o'er the ground, And fleights of art and feats of ftrength went round. And still, as each repeated pleasure tir'd, Succeeding ports the mirthful band infpir'd; The dancing pair that fimply fought renown, By holding out to tire each other down; The fwain miftruftlefs of his finutted face, While fecret laughter titter'd round the place; The bathful virgin's fide-long looks of love, The matron's glance that would thofe looks re[thefe, Thefe were thy charms, fweet village! fports like With fweet fucceffion, taught e'en toil to pleafe; Thefe round thy bow'rs their cheerful influence thed, [are fled. Thefe were thy charms-but all thefe charms Sweet fmiling village, lovelieft of the lawn, Thy fports are fled, and all thy charms withdrawn; Amidst thy bow'rs the tyrant's hand is seen, And defolation faddens all thy green: One only mafter grafps the whole domain, And half a tillage ftints thy fmiling plain; No more thy glaffy brook reflects the day, But, chok'd with fedges, works its weedy way; Along thy glades, a folitary gueft,

prove

The hollow-founding bittern guards its neft; Amidft thy defart walks the lapwing flies, And tires their echoes with unvaried cries.

Liv'd in each look, and brighten'd all the green-
Thefe, far departing, feek a kinder fhore,
And rural mirth and manners are no more.

Sweet Auburn! parent of the blissful hour, Thy glades forlorn confefs the tyrant's pow'r. Here, as I take my folitary rounds,

Amidft thy tangling walks, and ruin'd grounds;
And, many a year elaps'd, return to view
Where once the cottage ftood, the hawthorn grew;
Remembrance wakes with all her bufy train,
Swells at my breaft, and turns the past to pain.

In all my wand'rings round this world of care,
In all my griefs--and God has given my fhare-
I still had hopes, my latest hours to crown,
Amidst thefe humble bow'rs to lay me down;
To hufband out life's taper at the clofe,
And keep the flame from wafting by repofe:
I ftill had hopes, for pride attends us ftill,
Amidft the fwains to fhew my book-learn'd skill
Around my fire an evening group to draw,
And tell of all I felt, and all I faw;
And, as a hare, whom hounds and horns pursue,
Pants to the place from whence at first he flew,
I still had hopes, my long vexations paft,
Here to return-and die at home at last.

O bleft retirement, friend to life's decline, Retreat from care, that never must be mine! How bleft is he who crowns, in fhades like these, A youth of labour with an age of ease; Who quits a world where ftrong temptations try, And, fince 'tis hard to combat, learns to fly! For him no wretches, born to work and weep, Explore the mine, or tempt the dang'rous deep; No furly porter ftands in guilty ftate, To fpurn imploring famine from the gate; But on he moves to meet his latter end, Angels around befriending virtue's friend; Sinks to the grave with unperceiv'd decay, While refignation gently flopes the way;

R 3

And

While broken tea-cups, wifely kept for show,
Rang'd o'er the chimney, glisten'd in a row.
Vain tranfitory fplendour could not all
Reprieve the tott'ring manfion from its fall?
Obfcure it finks, nor fhall it more impart
An hour's importance to the poor man's heart;
Thither no more the peafant fhall repair
To fweet oblivion of his daily care;
No more the farmer's news, the barber's tale,
No more the woodman's ballad shall prevail;
No more the fmith his dusky brow fhall clear,
Relax his pond'rous ftrength, and lean to hear;
The hoft himself no longer fhall be found
Careful to fee the mantling blifs go round;
Nor the coy maid, half willing to be preft,
Shall kifs the cup to pafs it to the reft.

Yes! let the rich deride, the proud difdain,
Thefe fimple bleflings of the lowly train:
To me more dear, congenial to my heart,
One native charm, than all the glofs of art:
Spontaneous joys, where nature has its play,
The foul adopts, and owns their firft-born fway;
Lightly-they frolic o'er the vacant mind,
Unenvied, unmolefted, unconfin'd:

But the long pomp, the midnight masquerade,
With all the freaks of wanton wealth array'd,
In thefe, ere triflers half their with obtain,
The toiling pleasure fickens into pain;
And, ev'n while fashion's brightest arts decoy,
The heart diftrufting afks, if this be joy?

'Tis

Ye friends to truth, ye ftatefmen who furvey The rich man's joys increafe, the poor's decay, yours to judge how wide the limits ftand Between a fplendid and a happy land. Proud fwells the tide with loads of freighted ore, And fhouting folly hails them from her shore; Hoards, ev'n beyond the mifer's with, abound, And rich men flock from all the world around; Yet count our gains: this wealth is but a name That leaves our useful product ftill the fame. Not fo the lofs: the man of wealth and pride Takes up a space that many poor fupplied; Space for his lake, his park's extended bounds; Space for his horfes, equipage, and hounds; The robe that wraps his limbs in filken iloth Has robb'd the neighb'ring fields of half their His feat, where folitary fports are feen, [growth; Indignant fpurns the cottage from the green; Around the world each needful product flies, For all the luxuries the world fupplies. While thus the land adorn'd for pleasure all, In barren fplendour feebly waits the fall.

As fome fair female unadorn'd and plain, Secure to please while youth confirms her reign, Slights ev'ry borrow'd charm that drefs fupplies, Nor fhares with art the triumph of her eyes But when thofe charms are paft, for charms are frail When time advances, and when lovers fail She then fhines forth, folicitous to blefs, In all the glaring impotence of drefs. Thus fares the land, by luxury betray'd, In nature's fimpleft charms at first array'd But, verging to decline, its fplendours rife Its viftas ftrike, its palaces furprife.

While, fcourg'd by famine from the fmiling land The mournful peafant leads his humble band; And while he finks, without one arm to fave, The country blooms--a garden and a grave!

Where then, ah where, fhall poverty refide, To 'fcape the preffure of contiguous pride? If, to fome common's fencelets limits ft y'd, He drives his flock to pick the fcanty blade, Thofe fencelefs fields the fons of wealth divide, And ev'n the bare-worn common is denied.

If to the city fped—what waits him there?
To fee profufion that he must not share;
To fee ten thoufand baneful arts combin'd
To pamper luxury, and thin mankind;
To fee each joy the fons of pleasure know
Extorted from his fellow-creature's woe.
Here, while the courtier glitters in brocade,
There the pale artift plies the fickly trade ;[play,
Here, while the proud their long-drawn pomps dif-
There the black gibbet glooms befide the way.
The dome where pleasure holds her midnight
reign,

Here, richly deck'd, admits the gorgeous train;
Tumultuous grandeurcrowds the blazing fquare,
The rattling chariots clafh, the torches glare.
Sure scenes like thefe no troubles e'er annoy!
Sure thefe denote one univerfal joy! [eyes
Are these thy ferious thoughts? Ah, turn thine
Where the poor houseless fhiv'ring female lies.
She, once, perhaps, in village plenty bleft,
Has wept at tales of innocence diftreft;
Her modeft looks the cottage might adorn,
Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn:
Now loft to all; her friends, her virtue fled,
Near her betrayer's doors the lay her head;
And pinch'd with cold, and fhrinking from the
thow'r,

With heavy heart deplores that lucklefs hour,
When idly firft, ambitious of the town,
She left her wheel, and robes of country brown.
Dothine, fweet Auburn, thine,the lovelieft train,
Do thy fair tribes participate her pain ?
Ev'n now, perhaps, by cold and hunger led,
At proud men's doors they afk a little bread!

Ah, no! To diftant climes, a dreary fcene,
Where half the convex world intrudes between,
Through torrid tracts with fainting steps they go,
Where wild Altama murmurs to their woe.
Far diff'rent there from all that charm'd before,
The various terrors of that horrid thore;
Thofe blazing funs that dart a downward ray,
And fiercely thed intolera.le day;
Thofe matted woods where birds forget to fing,
But filent bats in drowsy clusters cling;[crown'd,
Thofe pois'nous fields with rank luxuriance
Where the dark fcorpion gathers death around;
Where at each step the stranger fears to wake
The rattling terrors of the vengeful fnake;
Where crouching tigers wait their hapless prey;
And favage men, more murd'rous ftill than they:
While oft in whirls the mad tornado flies,
Mingling the ravag'd landfcape with the skies.
Far different thefe from ev'ry former fcene,
The cooling brep's, the graffy-vefted green,

R 4

The

And spread his vegetable store,
And gaily prefs'd, and smil'd;
And, skill'd in legendary lore,
The ling'ring hours beguil'd.
Around in fympathetic mirth
Its tricks the kitten tries,
The cricket chirrups in the hearth,
The crackling faggot flies.
But nothing could a charm impart
To foothe the stranger's woe;
For grief was heavy at his heart,
And tears began to flow.

His rifing cares the Hermit fpied,
With anfw'ring care opprefs'd:

And whence, unhappy youth,' he cried,
• The sorrows of thy breast ?
From better habitations fpurn'd,
Reluctant doft thou rove?

'Or grieve for friendship unreturn'd,
'Or unregarded love?

Alas! the joys that fortune brings
Are trifling, and decay;

And those who prize the paultry things
'More trifling still than they.
And what is Friendship but a name,
• A charm that lulls to fleep;

A fhade that follows wealth or fame,
And leaves the wretch to weep?

And love is still an emptier found, The modern fair one's jeft;

'On earth unfeen, or only found " To warm the turtle's neft.

For fhame' fond youth, thy forrows hush, 'And fpurn the fex !' he faid: But, while he fpoke, a rising blush His love-lorn guest betray'd. Surpris'd he fees new beauties rife, Swift mantling to the view, Like colours o'er the morning skies, As bright, as tranfient too. The bashful look, the rising breast, Alternate fpread alarms; The lovely ftranger ftands confefs'd A maid in all her charms.

And, ah ! forgive a stranger rude, 'A wretch forlorn,' fhe cried, 'Whose feet unhallow'd thus intrude 'Where Heaven and you refide! But let a maid thy pity fhare, 'Whom love has taught to ftray; 'Who feeks for reft, but finds defpair Companion of her way.

'My father liv'd befide the Tyne, A wealthy lord was he;

'And all his wealth was mark'd as mine,
'He had but only me.

To win me from his tender arms
Unnumber'd fuitors came;

Who prais'd me for imputed charms,
And felt, or feign'd, a flame.

2

Each hour a mercenary crowd

With richest proffers ftrove;
Among the reft young Edwin bow'd,
But never talk'd of love.

In humble, fimpleft habit clad,
No wealth or pow'r had he;
Wifdom and worth were all he had,
But thefe were all to me.

The bloffom op'ning to the day,
The dews of heaven refin'd,
"Could nought of purity display
To emulate his mind.

The dew, the bloffoms of the tree,

With charms inconftant shine: Their charms were his; but, woe to me!

• Their conftancy was mine.

For ftill I tried each fickle art,

Importunate and vain;

And while his paffion touch'd my heart,

I triumph'd in his pain:

Till, quite dejected with my fcorn,
He left me to my pride;

And fought a folitude forlorn

In fecret, where he died.

But mine the forrow, mine the fault!
And well my life fhall pay;

'I'll feek the folitude he fought,

And stretch me where he lay!
And there forlorn, defpairing, hid,
I'll lay me down and die;
'Twas fo for me that Edwin did,
And fo for him will I'

Forbid it, Heaven!' the Hermit cried,
And clafp'd her to his breast :
The wond'ring fair-one turn'd to chide-
'Twas Edwin's felf that prefs'd!
Turn, Angelina, ever dear;

My charmer, turn to fee

Thy own, thy long-loft Edwin here,
Reftor'd to love and thee!

Thus let me hold thee to my heart,
And ev'ry care refign:
And fhall we never, never part,

My life my all that's mine?

'No, never from this hour to part;
We'll live and love fo true,
The figh that rends thy conftant heart
Shall break thy Edwin's too!'

§ 23. A Panegyric to my Lord Protector, of the prefent Greatnefs, and joint Intereft, of his Highness and this Nation. WALLER. WHILE with a strong, and yet a gentle hand,

You bridle faction, and our hearts command; Protect us from ourselves, and from the foe; Make us unite, and make us conquer too: Let partial fpirits ftill aloud complain, Think themselves injur'd that they cannot reign; And own no liberty, but where they may Without controul upon their fellows prey.