"There, fpreading oaks fhall arch the vaulted dome;
"The Champion, there, of liberty, and Rome,
"In attic eloquence thall thunder laws,
"And uncorrupted fenates thout applaufe,
"Not more extatic vifions rapt the foul
"Of Numa, when to midnight grots he ftole,
"And learnt his lore, from virtue's mouth refin'd,
"To fetter vice, and harmonize mankind.
"Now ftretch'd at eafe befide fome fav'rite ftream,
"Of beauty and enchantment will I dream;
"Elyfium, feats of art, and laurels won,

"The Graces three, and * Japhet's fabled fon:
"Whilft Angelo fhall wave the myftic rod,
"And fee a new creation wait his nod;

"Prefcribe his bounds to Time's remorfelefs power, "And, to my arms, my abfent friends reftore; "Place me amidit the group, each well-known face, "The fons of fcience, lords of human race; "And as oblivion finks at his command,

"Nature fhall rife more finish'd from his hand;

Thus fome Magician, fraught with potent skill, "Transforms and moulds each varied mafs at will; "Calls animated forms of wonderous birth, "Cadmean offspring from the teeming earth; "Uncears the ponderous tombs, the realms of night, "And calls their cold inhabitants to light;

Or, as he traverfes a dreary fcene,

"Bids every fweet of nature there convene,

"Huge mountains, fkirted round with wavy woods, "The fhrub-deckt lawns, and fiiver fprinkled foods, "Whilft flow'rets fpring around the fmiling land, "And follow on the traces of his wand.

"Such profpects, lovely Auburn! then, be thine; "And what thou canft of bifs impart be mine; "Amid thy humble fhades, in tranquil eafe, "Grant me to país the remnant of my days. "Unfetter'd from the toil of wretch gain,

My raptur'd mufe fhall pour her nobleft ftrain, "Within her native bowers the notes prolong, "And, grateful, meditate her latest fong. "Thus, as adown the flope of life I bend, "And move, refign'd, to meet my latter end, "Each worldly with, each worldly care repreft, "A felf-approving heart alone poffeft,

Content, to bounteous Heaven I'll leave the rest." [

Prometheus.

Thus fpoke the Bard: but not one friendly power
With nod affentive crown'd the parting hour;
No eaftern meteor glar'd beneath the iky,
No dextral omen; Nature heav'd a figh
Prophetic of the dire impending blow,
The prefage of her lofs, and Britain's woe.
Already portion'd, unrelenting Fate

Had made a paufe upon the number'd date;
Behind stood death, too horrible for fight;
In darkness clad, expectant, prun'd for flight;
Pleas'd at the word, the shapelefs monfter fped,
On eager meffage to the humble fhed,
Where, wrapt by foft poetic vifions round,
Sweet flumbering, Fancy's darling fon he found.
At his approach the filken pinion'd train,
Affrighted, mount alott, and quit the brain
Which late they fann'd: now other fcenes than dales
Of woody pride, fucceed, or flow'ry vales:
As when a fudden tempeft veils the sky,
Before ferene, and ftreaming lightnings fly;
The profpect fhifts, and pitchy volumes roll,
Along the drear expanfe, from pole to pole;
Terrific horrors all the void inveft,

Whilst the Archfpectre iffies forth confeft.
The Bard beholds him beckon to the tomb
Of yawning night, eternity's dread womb; .
In vain attempts to fly, th' impaffive air
Retards his steps, and yields him to defpair;
He feels a gripe that thrills through every vein,
And panting ftruggles in the fatal chain.
Here paus'd the fell destroyer to furvey
The pride, the boaft of man, his deitin'd prey,
Prepar'd to ftrike, he pois'd aloft the dart,
And plung'd the fteel in Virtue's bleeding heart;
Abhorrent, back the fprings of life rebound,
And leave on Nature's face a grisly wound,
A wound enroll'd among Britannia's woes,
That ages yet to follow cannot clofe.

Oh, Goldfmith; how fhall forrow now effay
To murmur out her flow incondite lay?
In what fad accents mourn the luckless hour,
That yielded thee to unrelenting power;
Thee, the proud boaft of all the tuneful train
That fweep the lyre, or fwell the polish'd train?
Much honour'd Bard! if my untutor❜d verfe
Could pay a tribute worthy of thy hearfe,

With fearless hands I'd build the fane of praise,
And boldly ftrew the never-fading bays.
But, ah! with thee my guardian Genius fled,
And pillow'd in thy tomb. his filent head:
Pain'd Memory alone behind remains,
And penfive ftalks the folitary plains;
Rich in her forrows, honours without art,
She pays in tears, redundant from the heart.
And fay, what boots it o'er thy hallow'd dust
To heap the graven pile, or laurell'd buft;
Since by thy hands already rais'd on high,
We fee a fabric tow'ring to the sky;

Where hand and hand with time, the facred lore
Shall travel on till nature is no more?

ON THE DEATH OF DR. GOLDSMITH,

BY W. WOTY.

ADIEU, fweet bard! to each fine feeling true;
Thy virtues many, and thy foibles few;
Thofe form'd to charm e en vicious minds, and thefe
With harmless mirth the focial foul to please.
Another's woe thy heart could always melt;
None gave more free,-for none more deeply felt..
Sweet bard, adieu! thy own harmonious lays
Have fculptur'd out thy monument of praife;
Yes, thefe furvive to time's remotest day,
While drops the buft, and boastful tombs decay.
Reader, if number'd in the Mufe's train,
Go, tune the lyre, and imitate his ftrain
But, if no poet thou, reverse the plan;
Depart in peace, and imitate the man.

THE

TRAVELLER ;

OR,

A PROSPECT OF SOCIETY.

A POEM. 1765.

TO THE REV. HENRY GOLDSMITH.

. Dear Sir,

I

AM fenfible that the friendship between us can acquire no new force from the ceremonies of a Dedication; and perhaps it demands an excufe thus to prefix your name to my attempts, which you decline giving with your own. But as a part of this Poem was formerly written to you from Switzerland, the whole can now, with propriety, be only infcribed to you. It will alfo throw a light upon many parts of it, when the reader underftands, that it is addreffed to a man, who, defpifing fame and fortune, has retired early to happiness and obfcurity, with an income of forty pounds a year.

I now perceive, my dear brother, the wifdom of your humble choice. You have entered upon a facred office, where the harvest is great, and the labourers are but few; while you have left the field of ambition, where the labourers are many, and the harveft not worth carrying away. But of all kinds of ambition, what from the refinement of the times, from different fyftems of criticifm, and from the divifions of party, that which purfues poetical fame is the wildeft.

Poetry makes a principal amufement among unpolished nations; but in a country verging to the extremes of refinement, Painting and Mufic come in for a hare. As thefe offer the feeble mind a lefs laborious entertainment, they at firft rival Poetry, and at length fupplant her, and, though but younger fifters, feize upon the elder's birth-right.

Yet, however this art may be neglected by the powerful, it is ftill in greater danger from the miftaken efforts of the learned to improve it. What criticifms have we not heard of late in favour of blank verfe, and Pindaric odes, chorufies, anapefts and iambics, alliterative care and happy negligence! Every abfurdity has now a champion to defend it; and as he is generally much in the wrong, fo he has always much to fay; for error is ever talkative. But there is an enemy to this art fill more dangerous; I mean Party. Party entirely diftorts the judgment, and deftroys the tafe. When the mind is once infected with this difeafe, it can only find pleafure in what contributes to increase the distemper. Like the tyger, that feldom defifts from purfuing inan, after having once preyed upon human flesh, the reader, who has once gratified his appetite with calumny, makes, ever after, the moft agreeable feaft upon murdered reputation. Such readers generally admire fome half-witted thing, who wants to be thought a bold man, having loft the character of a wife one. Him they dignify with the name of Poet: his tawdry lampoons are called fatires; his turbulence is faid to be force, and his phrenzy fire.

What reception a Poem may find, which has neither abufe, party, nor blank verfe to fupport it, I cannot tell, nor am I folicitous to know. My aims are right. Without efpoufing the caufe of any party, I have attempted to moderate the rage of all. I have endeavoured to fhew, that there may be equal happinefs in ftates that are differently governed from our own; that every state has a particular principle of happiness, and that this principle in each may be carried to a mifchievous excefs. There are few can judge better than yourfelf how far thefe pofitions are illuftrated in this Poem.

I am, Dear Sir,

Your most affectionate Brother,

OLIVER GOLDSMITH.

REMOTE, unfriended, melancholy, flow,
Or by the lazy Scheld, or wandering Po;
Or onward, where the rude Carinthian boor
Against the houseless stranger shuts the door;
Or where Campania's plain forfaken lies,
A weary wafte expanding to the skies;
Where'er I roam, whatever realms to fee,
My heart untravell'd fondly turns to thee;
Still to my brother turns with ceaseless pain,
And drags at each remove a length'ning chain.
Eternal bleffings crown my earliest friend,
And round his dwelling guardian faints attend ;
Bleft be that spot, where cheerful guests retire
To paufe from toil, and trim their evening fire;
Bleft that abode, where want and pain repair,
And every ftranger finds a ready chair:
Bleft be thofe feafts, with fimple plenty crown'd,
Where all the ruddy family around
Laugh at the jefts or pranks that never fail,
Or figh with pity at fome mournful tale;
Or prefs the bafhful ftranger to his food,
And learn the luxury of doing good.

But me, not deftin'd fuch delights to fhare,
My prime of life in wandring spent and care;
Impell'd, with fteps unceafing to pursue;
Some fleeting good, that mocks me with the view;
That, like the circle bounding earth and skies,
Allures from far, yet, as I follow, flies;
My fortune leads to traverse realms alone,
And find no fpot of all the world my own.
E'en now, where Alpine folitudes afcend,.
I fet me down a penfive hour to spend;
And, plac'd on high above the ftorm's career,
Look downward where an hundred realms appear;
Lakes, forefts, cities, plains extending wide,
The pomp of kings, the fhepherd's humbler pride.
When thus Creation's charms around combine,
Amidst the store fhould thankless pride repine?