Pagina-afbeeldingen
PDF
ePub

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 understands, that it is addressed 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 wisdom 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 harvest not worth carrying away. But of all kinds of ambition, as things are now circumstanced, perhaps that which pursues Poetical fame is the wildeft. What from the increased refinement of the times, from the diverfity of judg ments, produced by oppofing fyftems of criticifm, and from the more prevalent divifions of opinion influenced by party, the frongest and happiest efforts can expect to please but in a very narrow circle.

Poetry makes a principal amusement among unpolished nations; but in a country verging to the extremes of refinement, Painting and Mufic come in for a share: And as thefe offer the feeble mind a less laborious entertainment, they at first rival Poetry, and at length fupplant her-they engross all that favour once fhewn to 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 fill in greater danger from the mistaken efforts of the learned to improve it. What criticisms have we not heard of late in favour of blank verfe, and Pindaric odes-chorusses, anapests, and iambies—allite

rative 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 taste. When the mind is once infected with this disease, it can only find pleasure in what contributes to increase the diftemper. Like the tyger that feldom defifts from pursuing man after having once preyed upon human flesh, the Reader who has once gratified his appetite with calumny, makes, ever after, the most agreeable feast 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 Poethis 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 abuse, party, nor blank verfe to fupport it, I cannot tell, nor am I folicitous to know. My aims are right. Without efpoufing the cause of any party, I have attempted to moderate the rage of all. I have endeavoured to fhew, that there may be equal happiness in flates that are differently governed from our own—that every ftate has a particular principle of happiness—and that this principle in each may be carried to a mischievous excess. There are few can judge better than your felf how far thefe pofitions are illuftrated in this

Poem.

I am, dear Sir,

Your most affectionate Brother,

OLIVER GOLDSMITH.

THE

TRAVELLER;

OR,

A PROSPECT OF SOCIETY.

REMOTE, unfriended, melancholy, flow, Or by the lazy Scheldt or wandering Po; Or onward, where the rude Carinthian boor Against the houseless stranger fhuts the door; Or where Campania's plain forfaken lies, A weary waste 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 lengthening chain. Eternal bleffings crown my earliest friend, And round his dwelling guardian-faints attend; Bleft be that spot where cheerful guests retire To pause from toil, and trim their ev’ning fireBleft that abode where want and pain repair, And every stranger finds a ready chair— Bleft be thofe feafts with fimple plenty crown'd. Where all the ruddy family around

Laugh at the jests or pranks that never fail,
Or figh with pity at fome mournful tale,
Or prefs the bafhful stranger to his food,
And learn the luxury of doing good.

But me, not destin❜d such delights to share,
My prime of life in wandering spent, and care!
Impell'd with steps 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 spot of all the world my own.

Ev'n now, where Alpine folitudes afcend,
I fit 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, should thankless pride repine?
Say, fhould the philofophic mind disdain

That good which makes each humbler bofom vain?
Let fchool-taught pride diffemble all it can,
Thefe little things are great to little man;
And wifer he, whofe fympathetic mind
Exults in all the good of all mankind.

Ye glittering towns, with wealth and splendor crown'd;
Ye fields, where fummer fpreads profufion round;
Ye lakes, whofe veffels catch the bufy gale;
Ye bending swains, that drefs the flow'ry vale
For me your tributary ftores combine-
Creation's heir, the world, the world is mine.

« VorigeDoorgaan »