But verging to decline, its splendors rise,
Its vistas strike, its palaces surprise;
While, scourged by famine from the smiling land,
The mournful peasant leads his humble band;
And while he sinks, without one arm to save,
The country blooms, a garden and a grave.
Where then, ah! where shall poverty reside,
To 'scape the pressure of contiguous pride?
If to some common's fenceless limits strayed,
He drives his flock to pick the scanty blade,
Those fenceless fields the sons of wealth divide,
And e'en the bare-worn common is denied.
If to the city sped,-what waits him there?
To see profusion that he must not share;
To see ten thousand baneful arts combined
To pamper luxury and thin mankind;
To see each joy the sons of pleasure know
Extorted from his fellow-creature's woe.
Here while the courtier glitters in brocade,
There the pale artist plies the sickly trade;
Here while the proud their long-drawn pomps display,
There the black gibbet glooms beside the way.
The dome where Pleasure holds her midnight reign,
Here, richly decked, admits the gorgeous train;
Tumultuous grandeur crowds the blazing square,
The rattling chariots clash, the torches glare.
Sure scenes like these no troubles e'er annoy!
Sure these denote one universal joy!
Are these thy serious thoughts?—Ah, turn thine eyes
Where the poor houseless shivering female lies.
She once, perhaps, in village plenty blest,
Has wept at tales of innocence distressed;
Her modest looks the cottage might adorn,
Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn;
Now lost to all, her friends, her virtue fled,
Near her betrayer's door she lays her head,
And, pinched with cold, and shrinking from the shower,
With heavy heart deplores that luckless hour,
When idly first, ambitious of the town,
She left her wheel and robes of country brown.
ne, the loveliest train, her pain?
d hunger led,
k a little bread!
s, a dreary scene, intrudes between, fainting steps they go, rs to their woe.
that charmed before,
horrid shore,
art a downward ray,
re birds forget to sing,
clusters cling;
th rank luxuriance crowned,
gathers death around;
stranger fears to wake
he vengeful snake;
wait their hapless prey,
murderous still than they;
mad tornado flies,
landscape with the skies.
om every former scene,
he grassy-vested green,
the warbling grove,
thefts of harmless love.
hat sorrows gloomed that parting day
rom their native walks away;
es, every pleasure past,
owers, and fondly looked their last, arewell, and wished in vain
se beyond the western main; still to face the distant deep, pt, and still returned to weep. e the first prepared to go orlds, and wept for others' woe; in conscious virtue brave, for worlds beyond the grave.
His lovely daughter, lovelier in her tears,
The fond companion of his helpless years,
Silent went next, neglectful of her charms,
And left a lover's for a father's arms.
With louder plaints the mother spoke her woes,
And blessed the cot where every pleasure rose;
And kissed her thoughtless babes with many a tear,
And clasped them close, in sorrow doubly dear;
Whilst her fond husband strove to lend relief
In all the silent manliness of grief.
O Luxury! thou cursed by Heaven's decree,
How ill exchanged are things like these for thee!
How do thy potions, with insidious joy,
Diffuse their pleasures only to destroy!
Kingdoms by thee, to sickly greatness grown,
Boast of a florid vigor not their own.
At every draught more large and large they grow,
A bloated mass of rank, unwieldy woe;
Till, sapped their strength, and every part unsound, Down, down they sink, and spread a ruin round.
E'en now the devastation is begun,
And half the business of destruction done;
Even now, methinks, as pondering here I stand,
I see the rural virtues leave the land.
Down where yon anchoring vessel spreads the sail
That idly waiting flaps with every gale,
Downward they move, a melancholy band,
Pass from the shore, and darken all the strand.
Contented toil, and hospitable care,
And kind connubial tenderness, are there;
And piety with wishes placed above,
And steady loyalty, and faithful love.
And thou, sweet Poetry, thou loveliest maid,
Still first to fly where sensual joys invade;
Unfit, in these degenerate times of shame,
To catch the heart, or strike for honest fame;
Dear charming nymph, neglected and decried,
My shame in crowds, my solitary pride;
all my bliss and all my woe,
he poor at first, and keep'st me so;
which the nobler arts excel,
very virtue, fare thee well!
, where'er thy voice be tried,
, on Pambamarca's side,
quinoctial fervors glow,
the polar world in snow,
, prevailing over time,
s of the inclement clime;
h with thy persuasive strain;
to spurn the rage of gain;
states of native strength possessed,
r, may still be very blest;
d empire hastes to swift decay,
the labored mole away;
ent power can time defy,
e billows and the sky.
Oliver Goldsmith [1728-1774]
of the chainless Mind!
geons, Liberty, thou art,
bitation is the heart
love of thee alone can bind;
ns to fetters are consigned-
he damp vault's dayless gloom-
nquers with their martyrdom,
me finds wings on every wind.
on is a holy place,
an altar; for 'twas trod,
ps have left a trace
ld pavement were a sod,
May none those marks efface!
tom tyranny to God.
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