Read Ebook: Selections from Five English Poets by Burns Robert Contributor Coleridge Samuel Taylor Contributor Dryden John Contributor Goldsmith Oliver Contributor Gray Thomas Contributor Litchfield Mary E Mary Elizabeth Editor

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Ebook has 493 lines and 37245 words, and 10 pages

For who, to dumb Forgetfulness a prey, 85 This pleasing anxious being e'er resigned, Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, Nor cast one longing, ling'ring look behind?

On some fond breast the parting soul relies, Some pious drops the closing eye requires; 90 Ev'n from the tomb the voice of Nature cries, Ev'n in our ashes live their wonted fires.

For thee, who mindful of th' unhonored Dead Dost in these lines their artless tale relate; If chance, by lonely Contemplation led, 95 Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate,

Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, "Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn Brushing with hasty steps the dews away, To meet the sun upon the upland lawn. 100

"There at the foot of yonder nodding beech, That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, His listless length at noontide would he stretch, And pore upon the brook that babbles by.

"Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, 105 Mutt'ring his wayward fancies he would rove; Now drooping, woeful wan, like one forlorn, Or crazed with care, or crossed in hopeless love.

"One morn I missed him on the customed hill, Along the heath and near his fav'rite tree; 110 Another came; nor yet beside the rill, Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he;

"The next, with dirges due in sad array Slow thro' the church-way path we saw him borne. Approach and read the lay 115 Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn."

THE EPITAPH

Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth, A youth to Fortune and to Fame unknown. Fair Science frowned not on his humble birth, And Melancholy marked him for her own. 120

Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere, Heav'n did a recompense as largely send: He gave to Mis'ry all he had, a tear, He gained from Heaven a friend.

No farther seek his merits to disclose, 125 Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, The bosom of his Father and his God.

Notice that throughout the poem the lines are of equal length, each consisting of five feet or measures, and that in a stanza the alternate lines rhyme.

Incense-breathing Morn. The poet regards the morning as a person; that is, he personifies morning. Personification is seldom used now, but the eighteenth-century poets delighted in it. It is frequently employed in this poem.

Glebe, soil, ground.

Where through the long-drawn aisle, etc. It was the custom to bury the poorer people of a village in the churchyard, and the rich or high-born in the church.

Storied urn. Funeral urns such as were used by the ancients were frequently decorated with scenes from the life of the deceased.

Provoke, call forth, call back to life.

Full many a gem, etc. One of the best-known stanzas in English poetry.

Village-Hampden. John Hampden was an English patriot who refused to pay taxes levied by the king without the consent of Parliament, and who died in 1643 from a wound received while fighting for the liberties of England.

Cromwell. Oliver Cromwell , the famous Protector, is now regarded by historians in general as one of the foremost champions of English liberty.

Still, always.

Th' unlettered Muse. In Greek mythology the Muses were nine goddesses who presided over the arts and sciences, song, and the different kinds of poetry. The true poet was supposed to be inspired by them. Gray imagines a new kind of Muse who inspires the writers of crude epitaphs.

For thee, who mindful, etc. Gray refers to himself as the writer of this poem.

Chance, perchance.

Lawn, a cleared place in a wood, not cultivated. Now, of course, the word always means grassland near a house which is kept closely cut.

Science, knowledge in general, not natural science only.

OLIVER GOLDSMITH

Goldsmith was born in Pallas, an out-of-the-way hamlet in Longford County, Ireland, where his father, the curate, was looked upon as "passing rich, with forty pounds a year." Not long after, the family removed to Lissoy, in the County of Westmeath, where they lived in much comfort. Here Oliver passed his childhood and youth, and it is doubtless to Lissoy that his thoughts returned when he wrote of "Sweet Auburn, loveliest village of the plain." As a boy he had his share of troubles. In school he was pronounced "a stupid, heavy blockhead," and he was often made sport of by his companions on account of his awkward figure and his homely face, pitted with the smallpox. In his eighteenth year he entered Trinity College, Dublin, as a sizar, that is, a poor student who pays in part for his tuition by doing certain kinds of work. After four years devoted to study--spiced with a good deal of fun--he graduated at the foot of his class.

At twenty-one he showed no special bent. For a while he lived with his mother, now a widow, and idled his time away with gay companions. After being refused a position in the church, he resolved to try teaching; but this occupation proved so little to his taste that he decided to give it up and study medicine. With the help of a generous uncle he entered the medical school at Edinburgh, leaving Ireland never to return. At the end of a year and a half he concluded that foreign travel would do more for him than a longer stay in Scotland. His uncle sent him twenty pounds, and with this he reached Leyden, where, if he possibly attended a few lectures, he certainly associated with wild companions who helped him to get rid of his money. Having succeeded in borrowing a small sum, he was about to leave Leyden, when in a florist's garden he saw a rare, high-priced flower which he felt sure would delight his kind uncle, who was an enthusiast in flower culture. Without a thought of his own needs he ran in, bought a parcel of the roots, and sent them off to Ireland; then, with a guinea in his pocket, he started on his travels. Although his uncle may have sent him small sums occasionally, it is not easy to see how he managed to wander as he did from country to country. It is said that he paid his way among the peasants by flute playing, and that he returned the hospitality of convents by disputing on learned subjects; but these stories are doubtless fictitious. One thing is certain, he arrived in London in February, 1756, having reached the age of twenty-eight, with a medical degree, but with no money in his pocket.

For two years he lived in the great city poor and unknown. He was in turn apothecary's assistant, poor physician, proof-reader, usher in a "classical school," and hack writer. At last, almost discouraged, he decided to obtain if possible the position of factory surgeon on the Coromandel coast, in India. He failed to get the place, and was also unsuccessful in his efforts to pass the examination at Surgeon's Hall for the humble post of hospital mate.

THE TRAVELLER;

OR, A PROSPECT OF SOCIETY

Remote, unfriended, melancholy, slow, 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 forsaken lies, 5 A weary waste expanding to the skies; Where'er I roam, whatever realms to see, My heart untravelled fondly turns to thee; Still to my brother turns, with ceaseless pain, And drags at each remove a lengthening chain. 10

Eternal blessings crown my earliest friend, And round his dwelling guardian saints attend: Blest be that spot where cheerful guests retire To pause from toil, and trim their ev'ning fire: Blest that abode where want and pain repair, 15 And every stranger finds a ready chair: Blest be those feasts, with simple plenty crowned, Where all the ruddy family around Laugh at the jests or pranks that never fail, Or sigh with pity at some mournful tale; 20 Or press the bashful stranger to his food, And learn the luxury of doing good.

But me, not destined such delights to share, My prime of life in wand'ring spent and care; Impelled, with steps unceasing, to pursue 25 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 spot of all the world my own. 30

Even now, where Alpine solitudes ascend, I sit me down a pensive hour to spend; And placed on high above the storm's career, Look downward where an hundred realms appear; Lakes, forests, cities, plains extending wide, 35 The pomp of kings, the shepherd's humbler pride.

When thus Creation's charms around combine, Amidst the store should thankless pride repine? Say, should the philosophic mind disdain That good which makes each humbler bosom vain? 40 Let school-taught pride dissemble all it can, These little things are great to little man; And wiser he, whose sympathetic mind Exults in all the good of all mankind. Ye glitt'ring towns, with wealth and splendor crowned; 45 Ye fields, where summer spreads profusion round; Ye lakes, whose vessels catch the busy gale; Ye bending swains, that dress the flow'ry vale; For me your tributary stores combine: Creation's heir, the world, the world is mine. 50

As some lone miser, visiting his store, Bends at his treasure, counts, recounts it o'er; Hoards after hoards his rising raptures fill, Yet still he sighs, for hoards are wanting still: Thus to my breast alternate passions rise, 55 Pleased with each good that Heaven to man supplies: Yet oft a sigh prevails, and sorrows fall, To see the hoard of human bliss so small; And oft I wish amidst the scene to find Some spot to real happiness consigned, 60 Where my worn soul, each wand'ring hope at rest, May gather bliss to see my fellows blest.

But where to find that happiest spot below Who can direct, when all pretend to know? The shudd'ring tenant of the frigid zone 65 Boldly proclaims that happiest spot his own; Extols the treasures of his stormy seas, And his long nights of revelry and ease: The naked negro, panting at the line, Boasts of his golden sands and palmy wine, 70 Basks in the glare, or stems the tepid wave, And thanks his gods for all the good they gave. Such is the patriot's boast where'er we roam; His first, best country ever is at home. And yet, perhaps, if countries we compare, 75 And estimate the blessings which they share, Though patriots flatter, still shall wisdom find An equal portion dealt to all mankind; As different good, by Art or Nature given, To different nations makes their blessings even. 80

Nature, a mother kind alike to all, Still grants her bliss at Labor's earnest call: With food as well the peasant is supplied On Idra's cliffs as Arno's shelvy side; And though the rocky crested summits frown, 85 These rocks by custom turn to beds of down. From Art more various are the blessings sent; Wealth, commerce, honor, liberty, content. Yet these each other's power so strong contest, That either seems destructive of the rest. 90 Where wealth and freedom reign, contentment fails And honor sinks where commerce long prevails. Hence every state, to one loved blessing prone, Conforms and models life to that alone. Each to the favorite happiness attends, 95 And spurns the plan that aims at other ends: Till carried to excess in each domain, This fav'rite good begets peculiar pain.

But let us try these truths with closer eyes, And trace them through the prospect as it lies: 100 Here for a while my proper cares resigned, Here let me sit in sorrow for mankind; Like yon neglected shrub at random cast, That shades the steep, and sighs at every blast.

Far to the right, where Apennine ascends, 105 Bright as the summer, Italy extends: Its uplands sloping deck the mountain's side, Woods over woods in gay theatric pride; While oft some temple's mould'ring tops between With venerable grandeur mark the scene, 110

Could Nature's bounty satisfy the breast, The sons of Italy were surely blest. Whatever fruits in different climes were found, That proudly rise, or humbly court the ground; Whatever blooms in torrid tracts appear, 115 Whose bright succession decks the varied year; Whatever sweets salute the northern sky With vernal lives, that blossom but to die; These, here disporting, own the kindred soil, Nor ask luxuriance from the planter's toil; 120 While sea-born gales their gelid wings expand To winnow fragrance round the smiling land.

But small the bliss that sense alone bestows, And sensual bliss is all the nation knows. In florid beauty groves and fields appear; 125 Man seems the only growth that dwindles here. Contrasted faults through all his manners reign: Though poor, luxurious; though submissive, vain; Though grave, yet trifling; zealous, yet untrue; And ev'n in penance planning sins anew. 130 All evils here contaminate the mind That opulence departed leaves behind; For wealth was theirs, not far removed the date When commerce proudly nourished through the state, At her command the palace learnt to rise, 135 Again the long-fallen column sought the skies, The canvas glowed, beyond e'en nature warm, The pregnant quarry teemed with human form; Till, more unsteady than the southern gale, Commerce on other shores displayed her sail; 140 While nought remained of all that riches gave, But towns unmanned, and lords without a slave: And late the nation found with fruitless skill Its former strength was but plethoric ill.

Yet, still, even here content can spread a charm, 175 Redress the clime, and all its rage disarm. Though poor the peasant's hut, his feasts tho' small, He sees his little lot the lot of all; Sees no contiguous palace rear its head To shame the meanness of his humble shed; 180 No costly lord the sumptuous banquet deal To make him loath his vegetable meal; But calm, and bred in ignorance and toil, Each wish contracting fits him to the soil. Cheerful at morn he wakes from short repose, 185 Breathes the keen air, and carols as he goes; With patient angle trolls the finny deep; Or drives his venturous plowshare to the steep; Or seeks the den where snow-tracks mark the way, And drags the struggling savage into day. 190 At night returning, every labor sped, He sits him down the monarch of a shed; Smiles by his cheerful fire, and round surveys His children's looks, that brighten at the blaze; While his loved partner, boastful of her hoard, 195 Displays her cleanly platter on the board: And haply too some pilgrim, thither led, With many a tale repays the nightly bed.

Thus every good his native wilds impart Imprints the patriot passion on his heart; 200 And ev'n those ills that round his mansion rise Enhance the bliss his scanty fund supplies. Dear is that shed to which his soul conforms, And dear that hill which lifts him to the storms; And as a child, when scaring sounds molest, 205 Clings close and closer to the mother's breast, So the loud torrent and the whirlwind's roar But bind him to his native mountains more.

Such are the charms to barren states assigned; Their wants but few, their wishes all confined. 210 Yet let them only share the praises due: If few their wants, their pleasures are but few; For every want that stimulates the breast Becomes a source of pleasure when redressed; Whence from such lands each pleasing science flies 215 That first excites desire, and then supplies; Unknown to them, when sensual pleasures cloy, To fill the languid pause with finer joy; Unknown those powers that raise the soul to flame, Catch every nerve, and vibrate 'through the frame. 220 Their level life is but a smould'ring fire, Unquenched by want, unfanned by strong desire; Unfit for raptures, or, if raptures cheer On some high festival of once a year, In wild excess the vulgar breast takes fire, 225 Till, buried in debauch, the bliss expire.

But not their joys alone thus coarsely flow: Their morals, like their pleasures, are but low; For, as refinement stops, from sire to son Unaltered, unimproved, the manners run, 230 And love's and friendship's finely-pointed dart Fall blunted from each indurated heart. Some sterner virtues o'er the mountain's breast May sit, like falcons, cow'ring on the nest; But all the gentler morals, such as play 235 Thro' life's more cultured walks, and charm the way, These, far dispersed, on timorous pinions fly, To sport and flutter in a kinder sky.

To kinder skies, where gentler manners reign, I turn; and France displays her bright domain. 240 Gay, sprightly land of mirth and social ease, Pleased with thyself, whom all the world can please, How often have I led thy sportive choir, With tuneless pipe, beside the murmuring Loire? Where shading elms along the margin grew, 245 And freshened from the wave the Zephyr flew; And haply, though my harsh touch, faltering still, But mocked all tune, and marred the dancer's skill, Yet would the village praise my wonderous power, And dance, forgetful of the noontide hour. 250 Alike all ages. Dames of ancient days Have led their children through the mirthful maze, And the gay grandsire, skilled in gestic lore, Has frisked beneath the burthen of threescore.

So blest a life these thoughtless realms display; 255 Thus idly busy rolls their world away; Theirs are those arts that mind to mind endear, For honor forms the social temper here. Honor, that praise which real merit gains, Or even imaginary worth obtains, 260 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; 265 Till, seeming blest, they grow to what they seem.

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