ΕΡΙΤΑΡΗ

ON

DR. PARNEL.

THIS tomb, infcrib'd to gentle Parner's name,

May speak our gratitude, but not his fame,
What heart but feels his sweetly moral lay,
That leads to truth thro' pleasure's flow'ry way?
Celestial themes confefs'd his tuneful aid;
And heav'n, that lent him genius, was repaid.
Needless to him the tribute we bestow,
The tranfitory breath of fame below :
More lasting rapture from his works shall rise,
While converts thank their poet in the skies,

THE DESERTED VILLAGE.

TO

SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS,

DEAR SIR,

I CAN CAN have no expectations in an address of this kind either to add to your reputation, or to esta. blish my own. You can gain nothing from my admiration, as I am ignorant of that art in which you are faid to excel; and I may lose much by the severity of your judgment, as few have a juster taste in poetry than you. Setting intereft therefore afide, to which I never paid much attention, I must be indulged at present in following my affec tions. The only dedication I ever made was to my brother, because I loved him better than most other men. He is fince dead. Permit me to infcribe this poem to you.

How far you may be pleased with the versifica. tion and mere mechanical parts of this attempt, I don't pretend to enquire; but I know you will object

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object (and indeed several of our best and wisest friends concur in the opinion) that the depopulation it deplores is no where to be feen, and the diforders it laments are only to be found in the poet's own imagination. To this I can scarce make any other answer than that I fincerely believe what I have written; that I have taken all poffible pains, in my country excursions, for these four or five years past, to be certain of what I allege, and that all my views and enquiries have led me to believe those miseries real, which I here attempt to display. But this is not the place to enter into an enquiry, whether the country be depopulating or not; the discussion would take up much room, and I should prove myself, at best, an indifferent politician, to tire the reader with a long preface, when I want his unfatigued attention to a long poem.

In regretting the depopulation of the country, I inveigh against the increase of our luxuries; and here also I expect the shout of modern politicians against me. For twenty or thirty years paft, it has been the fashion to confider luxury as one of the greatest national advantages; and all the wisdom of antiquity in that particular as erroneous. Still, however, I must remain a profeffed ancient on that head, and continue to think those luxuries prejudicial to states, by which fo many vices are introduced, and by which so many kingdoms have been undone. Indeed fo much has been poured out of late on the other fide of the question, that, merely for the sake of novelty and variety, one would fometimes wish to be in the right. I am,

Dear Sir,

Your fincere friend,

And ardent admirer,

OLIVER GOLDSMITH.

Da

THE DESERTED VILLAGE.

SWEET AUBURN! lovelieft village of the plain,
Where health and plenty chear'd the lab'ring swain,
Where smiling spring its earliest vifit paid,
And parting fummer's ling'ring blooms delay'd.
Dear lovely bow'rs of innocence and ease,
Seats of my youth, when ev'ry sport could please,
How often have I loiter'd o'er thy green,
Where humble happiness endear'd each scene!
How often have I paus'd on ev'ry charm,
The shelter'd' cot, the cultivated farm,
The never-failing brook, the bufy mill,
The decent church that topt the neighb'ring hill.
The hawthorn-bush, with feats beneath the fhade,
For talking age, and whisp'ring lovers made!
How often have I bleft the coming day,
When toil remitting lent its turn to play,
And all the village train, from labour free,
Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree;
While many a pastime circled in the shade,
The young contending as the old furvey'd;
And many a gambol frolic'd o'er the ground,
And flights of art and feats of strength went round.
And still as each repeated pleasure tir'd,
Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspir'd;

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