'Till half a patriot, half a coward grown, I fly from petty tyrants to the throne.

Yes, brother, curse me with that baleful hour,
When first ambition struck at regal power;
And thus, polluting honour in its source,
Gave wealth to sway the mind with double force.
Have we not seen, round Britain's peopled shore,
Her useful sons exchang'd for useless ore?
Seen all her triumphs but destruction haste,
Like flaring tapers brightening as they waste;
Seen opulence, her grandeur to maintain,
Lead stern depopulation in her train,
And over fields, where scatter'd hamlets rose,
In barren solitary pomp repose?
Have we not seen, at pleasure's lordly call,
The smiling long-frequented village fall ;
Beheld the duteous son, the sire decay'd,
The modest matron, and the blushing maid,
Forc'd from their homes, a melancholy train,
To traverse climes beyond the western main ;

370

380

Where

Where wild Oswego spreads her swamps around,
And Niagara stuns with thund'ring sound?

390

Even now, perhaps, as there some pilgrim strays Through tangled forests, and through dangerous ways; Where beasts with man divided empire claim, And the brown Indian takes a deadly aim ; There, while above the giddy tempest flies, And all around distressful yells arise, The pensive exile, bending with his woe, To stop too fearful, and too faint to go, Casts a fond look where England's glories shine, And bids his bosom sympathize with mine.

Vain, very vain, my weary search to find
That bliss which only centers in the mind:
Why have I stray'd, from pleasure and repose,
To seek a good each government bestows?
In every government, though terrors reign,
Though tyrant kings, or tyrant laws restrain,
How small, of all that human hearts endure,
That part which laws or kings can cause or cure.

G

400

Still

Still to ourselves in every place consign'd,

Our own felicity we make or find :

410

With secret course, which no loud storms annoy,

Glides the smooth current of domestic joy.
The lifted ax, the agonizing wheel,
Luke's iron crown, and Damien's bed of steel,
To men remote from power but rarely known,
Leave reason, faith and conscience all our own.

THE END.

416

NOTES.

THE first edition of "The Traveller' was published in December 1764. As is usually the case when books are published towards the end of the year, it was dated forward to the next. One copy, however, exists which has the date of 1764 on the title-page. This was probably rather a "proof" than a copy intended for sale. The Dedication in this copy-which is in the Locker-Lampson collection-is much shorter than in the later copies. It runs thus: "This Poem is inscribed to the Rev. Henry Goldsmith, M.A. By his most affectionate Brother Oliver Goldsmith."

It is stated in the various memoirs of Goldsmith that he formed the plan of "The Traveller" while wandering on the Continent in 1754-5. Goldsmith, however, in his Dedication to his brother, says no more than that a part of the poem was written to him from Switzerland. With "A Prospect of Society" before us, it seems reasonable to conclude that the poem developed itself very gradually in the author's mind, and that it was begun without any clear idea as to its general design. It is plain that the various parts of the poem were written at intervals during the nine or ten years that elapsed from the time that the first verses were composed until its publication. It is certain that they were at first very loosely con

nected. Moreover, a poem the composition of which is spread over such a long period is certain to differ very much in its final state from its author's first conception. It is probable that Goldsmith at first intended nothing more than to record in verse some of the impressions which he received in the course of his wanderings. Perhaps it is these impressions, after all, that are the best parts of the poem, and not those in which the author assumes the part of a moral and political philosopher. These latter parts-or, at least, some of them-it may be suspected were written under the influence of Dr. Johnson, who, in addition to the ten or eleven lines which he contributed to the poem, probably assisted his friend very materially in putting it into shape. In saying this I do not intend any disparagement of Goldsmith. What he borrowed from Johnson was certainly not the most valuable part of his work. I cannot help thinking that Goldsmith, if left to himself, would have had too much good sense to conclude his poem by urging that it makes little or no difference to a man whether he lives under a good or a bad government-or, in other words, whether he is a freeman or a slave. That was a favourite idea of Dr. Johnson's; but we can easily conceive how he might have dealt with it had it been advanced by some one else. "Sir," we may imagine him to say, "it depends wholly upon the kind of person. I do not doubt that you, sir, might exist comfortably enough under the worst of governments, but not a man solicitous for the honour of his country, or desirous of enjoying his own self-respect."

The first edition of "The Traveller," as the reader has seen, consisted of 416 lines only. In later editions other lines were added, until the poem in the ninth edition (which was the last published in the author's lifetime) comprised 438 lines. There were, besides, many minor alterations. The latter I do not