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The Traveller, the Deserted Village, and Other Poems
Oliver Goldsmith,Richard Westall
Visualitzaciˇ completa - 1822
Amidst ballad bards beauty Bishop of Dromore blessings blest bliss bookseller bow'rs breast brother BULKLEY Burke character charms cheerful climes David Garrick dear DESERTED VILLAGE diff'rent DRAWN BY RICHARD e'en Epilogue EPITAPH ev'n ev'ry eyes fame flies follow'd fond Garrick genius gentle heart heav'n hermit honest honour JOHN SHARPE Johnson keep a corner labour land Lishoy lord luxury mind mirth MISS CATLEY native ne'er never o'er OLIVER GOLDSMITH once passion pasty pensive PICCADILLY pity plac'd pleas'd pleasure poem poet poet's poor pow'r praise pride racter RICHARD WESTALL RA rise round scene shore sigh simile sinks Sir Joshua Reynolds skies smiling sorrow soul spread STOOPS TO CONQUER stranger supply'd swain sweet SWEET AUBURN tale thee There's thine thou toil TRAVELLER turn twas venison VICAR OF WAKEFIELD wealth Whitefoord wish'd wretch
PÓgina 104 - Though fraught with all learning, yet straining his throat, To persuade Tommy Townshend* to lend him a vote ; Who, too deep for his hearers, still went on refining, And thought of convincing, while they thought of -dining. Though equal to all things, for all things unfit: Too nice for a statesman, too proud for a wit ; For a patriot, too cool ; for a drudge, disobedient ; And too fond of the right, to pursue the expedient. In short, 'twas his fate, unemployed or in place, sir, To eat mutton cold,...
PÓgina 109 - 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...
PÓgina 67 - The reverend champion stood. At his control Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul ; Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise, And his last faltering accents whispered praise.
PÓgina 132 - Islington there was a man, Of whom the world might say, That still a godly race he ran Whene'er he went to pray. A kind and gentle heart he had, To comfort friends and foes; The naked every day he clad, When he put on his clothes. And in that town a dog was found, As many dogs there be, Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound, And curs of low degree.
PÓgina 64 - The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool, The playful children just let loose from school, The watch-dog's voice that bayed the whispering wind. And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind, These all in sweet confusion sought the shade, And filled each pause the nightingale had made.
PÓgina 63 - How happy he who crowns in shades like these A youth of labour with an age of ease; Who quits a world where strong temptations try And, since 'tis hard to combat, learns to fly.
PÓgina 65 - Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled, And still where many a garden flower grows wild ; There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, The village preacher's modest mansion rose. 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 changed, nor wished to change, his place.
PÓgina 70 - Thither no more the peasant shall repair To sweet 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 smith his dusky brow shall clear, Relax his ponderous strength, and lean to hear...
PÓgina 78 - Redress the rigours of the inclement clime; Aid slighted truth with thy persuasive strain ; Teach erring man to spurn the rage of gain ; Teach him, that states of native strength...