[From Caractacus.] Mona on Snowdon calls: Hark, she speaks from all her strings: And greet in whispers sage and slow. And burst thy base with thunder's shock: Shall Mona use, than those that dwell In music's secret cells, and lie Steeped in the stream of harmony. Snowdon has heard the strain: Hark, amid the wondering grove Rustling vestments brush the ground; Round and round, and round they go, Through the twilight, through the shade, And gild the tufted misletoe. Cease, ye glittering race of light, Close your wings, and check your flight; Spread your robes of saffron hue; For lo! with more than mortal fire, Epitaph on Mrs Mason, in the Cathedral of Bristol. Take, holy earth! all that my soul holds dear: Take that best gift which heaven so lately gave: To Bristol's fount I bore with trembling care Her faded form; she bowed to taste the wave, And died! Does youth, does beauty, read the line? Does sympathetic fear their breasts alarm? Speak, dead Maria! breathe a strain divine; Even from the grave thou shalt have power to charm. Bid them be chaste, be innocent, like thee; Bid them in duty's sphere as meekly move; And if so fair, from vanity as free; As firm in friendship, and as fond in love. Tell them, though 'tis an awful thing to die, ('Twas even to thee) yet the dread path once trod, Heaven lifts its everlasting portals high, And bids 'the pure in heart behold their God." OLIVER GOLDSMITH. OLIVER GOLDSMITH, whose writings range over every department of miscellaneous literature, challenges attention as a poet chiefly for the unaffected ease, grace, and tenderness of his descriptions of rural and domestic life, and for a certain vein of pensive philosophic reflection. His countryman Burke said of himself, that he had taken his ideas of liberty not too high, that they might last him through life. Goldsmith seems to have pitched his poetry in a subdued under tone, that he might luxuriate at will among those images of quiet beauty, comfort, benevolence, and simple pathos, that were most congenial to his own character, his hopes, or his experience. This popular poet was born at Pallas, a small village in the parish of Forney, county of Longford, Ireland, on the 10th of November 1728. He was the sixth of a family of nine children, and his father, the Rev. Charles Goldsmith, was a poor curate, who eked out the scanty funds which he derived from his profession, by renting and cultivating some land. The poet's father afterwards succeeded to the rectory of Kilkenny West, and removed to the house and farm Ruins of the house at Lissoy, where Goldsmith spent of Lissoy, in his former parish. Here Goldsmith's youth was spent, and here he found the materials for his Deserted Village. After a good country education, Oliver was admitted a sizer of Trinity college, Dublin, June 11, 1745. The expense of his education was chiefly defrayed by his uncle, the Rev. Thomas Contarini, an excellent man, son to an Italian of the Contarini family at Venice, and a clergyman of the established church. At college, the poet was thoughtless and irregular, and always in want. His tutor was a man of fierce and brutal passions, and having struck him on one occasion before a party of friends, the poet left college, and wandered about the country for some time in the utmost poverty. His brother Henry clothed and carried him back to college, and on the 27th of February 1749, he was admitted to the degree of B.A. Goldsmith now gladly left the university, and returned to Lissoy. of the day. In 1758 he presented himself at Surgeons' Hall for examination as an hospital mate, with the view of entering the army or navy; but he had the mortification of being rejected as unqualified. That he might appear before the examining surgeon suitably dressed, Goldsmith obtained a new suit of clothes, for which Griffiths, The clothes were immediately to be returned when the purpose was served, or the debt was to be discharged. Poor Goldsmith, having failed in his object, and probably distressed by urgent want, pawned the clothes. The publisher threatened, and the poet replied "I know of no misery but a gaol, to which my own imprudences and your letter seem to point. I have seen it inevitable these three or four weeks, and, by heavens! request it as a favour as a favour that may prevent somewhat more fatal. I have been some years struggling with a wretched being-with all that contempt and indigence brings with it-with all those strong passions which make contempt insupportable. What, then, has a gaol that is formidable?' Such was the almost hopeless condition, the deep despair, of this imprudent but amiable author, who has added to the delight of millions, and to the glory of English literature. His father was dead, but he idled away two years among his relations. He afterwards became tutor in the family of a gentleman in Ireland, where he remained a year. His uncle then gave him £50 to study the law in Dublin, but he lost the whole in a gaming house. A second contribution was raised, and the poet next proceeded to Edinburgh, where he continued a year and a-half studying medi-publisher of the Monthly Review, became security. cine. He then drew upon his uncle for £20, and embarked for Bordeaux. The vessel was driven into Newcastle-upon-Tyne, and whilst there, Goldsmith and his fellow passengers were arrested and put into prison, where the poet was kept a fortnight. It appeared that his companions were Scotsmen, in the French service, and had been in Scotland enlisting soldiers for the French army. Having overcome this most innocent of all his misfortunes, he is represented as having immediately proceeded to Leyden; but this part of his biography has lately got a new turn from the inquiries of a gentleman whose book is quoted below,* according to which it would appear to have been now, instead of four years later, that Goldsmith acted as usher of Dr Milner's school at Peckham, in the neighbourhood of London. The tradition of the school is, that he was extremely good-natured and playful, and advanced his pupils more by conversation than by book-tasks. On the supposition of this being the true account of Goldsmith's 25th year, we may presume that he next went to Leyden, and there made the resolution to travel over the Continent in spite of all pecuniary deficiencies. He stopped some time at Louvain, in Flanders, at Antwerp, and at Brussels. In France, he is said, like George Primrose, in his Vicar of Wakefield, to have occasionally earned a night's lodging and food by playing on his flute. How often have I led thy sportive choir, Traveller. Henceforward the life of Goldsmith was that of a man of letters. He lived solely by his pen. Besides numerous contributions to the Monthly and Critical Reviews, the Lady's Magazine, the British Magazine, &c., he published an Inquiry into the Present State of Polite Learning in Europe (1759), his admirable Chinese Letters, afterwards published with the title of The Citizen of the World, a Life of Beau Nash, and the History of England in a series of letters from a nobleman to his son. The latter was highly successful, and was popularly attributed to Lord Chesterfield. In December 1764 appeared his poem of The Traveller, the chief corner-stone of his fame, 'without one bad line,' as has been said; without one of Dryden's careless verses.' Charles Fox pronounced it one of the finest poems in the English language; and Dr Johnson (then numbered among Goldsmith's friends) said that the merit of The Traveller' was so well established, that Mr Fox's Scenes of this kind formed an appropriate school praise could not augment it, nor his censure diminish for the poet. He brooded with delight over these it. The periodical critics were unanimous in its pictures of humble primitive happiness, and his praise. In 1766 he published his exquisite novel, imagination loved to invest them with the charms of The Vicar of Wakefield, which had been written two poetry. Goldsmith afterwards visited Germany years before, and sold to Newberry the bookseller, and the Rhine. From Switzerland he sent the first to discharge a pressing debt. His comedy of The sketch of the 'Traveller' to his brother. The loftier Good-Natured Man was produced in 1767, his Roman charms of nature in these Alpine scenes seems to History next year, and The Deserted Village in 1770. have had no permanent effect on the character or The latter was as popular as "The Traveller,' and direction of his genius. He visited Florence, Verona, speedily ran through a number of editions. In 1773, Venice, and stopped at Padua some months, where Goldsmith's comedy, She Stoops to Conquer, was he is supposed to have taken his medical degree. In brought out at Covent Garden theatre with immense 1756 the poet reached England, after two years of applause. He was now at the summit of his fame wandering, lonely, and in poverty, yet buoyed up and popularity. The march had been long and toilby dreams of hope and fame. Many a hard struggle some, and he was often nearly fainting by the way; he had yet to encounter! His biographers repre- but his success was at length complete. His name sent him as now becoming usher at Dr Milner's stood among the foremost of his contemporaries; his school, a portion of his history which we have seen works brought him in from £1000 to £1800 per anreason to place at an earlier period. However this num. Difficulty and distress, however, still clung may be, he is soon after found contributing to the to him: poetry had found him poor at first, and she Monthly Review. He was also some time assistant kept him so. From heedless profusion and extravato a chemist. A college friend, Dr Sleigh, enabled gance, chiefly in dress, and from a benevolence which him to commence practice as a humble physician knew no limit while his funds lasted, Goldsmith was in Bankside, Southwark; but his chief support scarcely ever free from debt. The gaming table also arose from contributions to the periodical literature presented irresistible attractions. He hung loosely on society, without wife or domestic tie; and his early habits and experience were ill calculated to teach him strict conscientiousness or regularity. He continued to write task-work for the booksellers, * Collections Illustrative of the Geology, History, Antiquities, and Associations of Camberwell. By Douglas Allport. Camberwell: 1841. and produced a History of England' in four volumes. This was succeeded by a History of Greece' in two volumes, for which he was paid £250. He had contracted to write a History of Animated Nature' in eight volumes, at the rate of a hundred guineas for each volume; but this work he did not live to complete, though the greater part was finished in his own attractive and easy manner. In March 1774, he was attacked by a painful complaint (dysuria)| caused by close study, which was succeeded by a nervous fever. Contrary to the advice of his apothecary, he persisted in the use of James's powders, a medicine to which he had often had recourse; and gradually getting worse, he expired in strong convulsions on the 4th of April. The death of so popular an author, at the age of forty-five, was a shock equally to his friends and the public. The former knew his sterling worth, and loved him with all his foibles-his undisguised vanity, his national proneness to blundering, his thoughtless extravagance, his credulity, and his frequent absurdities. Under these ran a current of generous benevolence, of enlightened zeal for the happiness and improvement of mankind, and of manly independent feeling. He died £2000 in debt: Was ever poet so trusted before!' exclaimed Johnson. His remains were interred in the Temple burying ground, and a monument erected to his memory in Westminster Abbey, next the grave of Gay, whom he somewhat resembled in character, and far surpassed in genius. heightening the effect of his pictures. In the following quotation, the rich scenery of Italy, and the effeminate character of its population, are placed in striking juxtaposition with the rugged mountains of Switzerland and their hardy natives. [Italians and Swiss Contrasted.] Far to the right, where Apennine ascends, Could nature's bounty satisfy the breast, But small the bliss that sense alone bestows, The plan of The Traveller' is simple, yet compre-Contrasted faults through all his manners reign: hensive and philosophical. The poet represents himself as sitting among Alpine solitudes, looking down on a hundred realms Lakes, forests, cities, plains extending wide, The pomp of kings, the shepherd's humbler pride. He views the whole with delight, yet sighs to think that the hoard of human bliss is so small, and he wishes to find some spot consigned to real happiness, where his worn soul' Might gather bliss to see his fellows blessed. But where is such a spot to be found? The natives of each country think their own the best-the patriot boasts His first, best country, ever is at home. If nations are compared, the amount of happiness in Stern o'er each bosom reason holds her state, Pride in their port, defiance in their eye, I see the lords of human kind pass by; Intent on high designs, a thoughtful band, By forms unfashioned, fresh from nature's hand. While even the peasant boasts these rights to scan, Though poor, luxurious; though submissive, vain; Yet, still the loss of wealth is here supplied My soul turn from them, turn we to survey Goldsmith was a master of the art of contrast in But winter lingering chills the lap of May; No zephyr fondly sues the mountain's breast, Yet still, even here, content can spread a charm, He sees his little lot the lot of all; To shame the meanness of his humble shed; Thus every good his native wilds impart, [France Contrasted with Holland.] So blest a life these thoughtless realms display, Thus idly busy rolls their world away: Theirs are those arts that mind to mind endear, For honour forms the social temper here. Honour, that praise which real merit gains, Or even imaginary worth obtains, Here passes current; paid from hand to hand, It shifts in splendid traffic round the land. From courts to camps, to cottages it strays, And all are taught an avarice of praise; They please, are pleased, they give to get esteem, Till, seeming blest, they grow to what they seem. But while this softer art their bliss supplics, It gives their follies also room to rise: For praise too dearly loved, or warmly sought, Enfeebles all internal strength of thought; And the weak soul, within itself unblest, Leans for all pleasure on another's breast. Hence ostentation here, with tawdry art, Pants for the vulgar praise which fools impart; Here vanity assumes her pert grimace, And trims her robe of frieze with copper lace; Here beggar pride defrauds her daily cheer, To boast one splendid banquet once a-year; The mind still turns where shifting fashion draws, Nor weighs the solid worth of self-applause. To men of other minds my fancy flies, Embosomed in the deep where Holland lies. Methinks her patient sons before me stand, Where the broad ocean leans against the land, And, sedulous to stop the coming tide, Lift the tall rampire's artificial pride. Onward, methinks, and diligently slow, The firm connected bulwark seems to grow; Spreads its long arms amidst the watery roar, Scoops out an empire, and usurps the shore: While the pent ocean, rising o'er the pile, Thus, while around the wave-subjected soil And industry begets a love of gain. Hence all the good from opulence that springs, Are here displayed. Their much-loved wealth imparts But view them closer, craft and fraud appear, At gold's superior charms all freedom flies, The Deserted Village' is limited in design, but exhibits the same correctness of outline, and the same beauty of colouring, as 'The Traveller.' The poet drew upon his recollections of Lissoy for most of the landscape, as well as the characters introduced. His father sat for the village pastor, and such a portrait might well have cancelled, with Oliver's relations, all the follies and irregularities of his youth. Perhaps there is no poem in the English language more universally popular than the Deserted Village.' Its best passages are learned in youth, and never quit the memory. Its delineations of rustic life accord with those ideas of romantic purity, seclusion, and happiness, which the young mind associates with the country and all its charms, before modern manners and oppression had driven them thence To pamper luxury, and thin mankind. Political economists may dispute the axiom, that luxury is hurtful to nations; and curious speculators, like Mandeville, may even argue that private vices are public benefits; but Goldsmith has a surer advocate in the feelings of the heart, which yield a spontaneous assent to the principles he inculcates, when teaching by examples, with all the efficacy of apparent truth, and all the effect of poetical beauty and excellence. [Description of Auburn- The Village Preacher, the Schoolmaster, and Alehouse-Reflections.] Sweet Auburn! loveliest village of the plain, The decent church that topped the neighbouring hill; And still, as each repeated pleasure tired, Sweet was the sound, when oft, at evening's close, Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled, And passing rich with forty pounds a-year; Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way, Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change, his place; Where once the sign-post caught the passing eye, Unskilful he to fawn, or seek for power, By doctrines fashioned to the varying hour; Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, He watched and wept, he prayed and felt for all; Beside the bed where parting life was laid, Low lies that house where nut-brown draughts inspired, The parlour splendours of that festive place; Vain transitory splendour! could not all No more the farmer's news, the barber's tale, Yes! let the rich deride, the proud disdain, Ye friends to truth, ye statesmen who survey |