In gallant trim the gilded Vessel goes; Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the helm; 75 Regardless of the sweeping Whirlwind's sway, That, hush'd in grim repose, expects his evening prey." II. 3. "Fill high the sparkling bowl, The rich repast prepare, Reft of a crown, he yet may share the feast: 80 Close by the regal chair 85 Fell Thirst and Famine scowl A baleful smile upon their baffled Guest. Lance to lance, and horse to horse? Long years of havoc urge their destined course, And thro' the kindred squadrons mow their way. shame, With many a foul and midnight murther fed, Revere his Consort's faith, his Father's fame, 90 And spare the meek Usurper's holy head. Above, below, the rose of snow, Twined with her blushing foe, we spread: The bristled Boar in infant gore Wallows beneath the thorny shade. 95 Now, Brothers, bending o'er th' accursed loom Stamp we our vengeance deep, and ratify his doom." III. 1. "Edward, lo! to sudden fate (Weave we the woof. The thread is spun.) 100 (The web is wove. The work is done.) Stay, oh stay! nor thus forlorn Leave me unbless'd, unpitied, here to mourn: 105 But oh! what solemn scenes on Snowdon's height Descending slow their glitt'ring skirts unroll? Visions of glory, spare my aching sight, Ye unborn Ages, crowd not on my soul! No more our long-lost Arthur we bewail. 110 All hail, ye genuine Kings, Britannia's Issue, hail!" III. 2. "Girt with many a Baron hold Sublime their starry fronts they rear; 115 In the midst a Form divine! 120 Her eye proclaims her of the Briton-line; What strings symphonious tremble in the air, Hear from the grave, great Taliessin, hear; They breathe a soul to animate thy clay. Bright Rapture calls, and soaring, as she sings, Waves in the eye of Heav'n her many-colour'd wings." 125 III. 3. "The verse adorn again Fierce War, and faithful Love, And Truth severe, by fairy Fiction drest. Pale Grief, and Pleasing Pain, 130 With Horrour, Tyrant of the throbbing breast. And distant warblings lessen on my ear, 135 Fond impious Man, think'st thou, yon sanguine cloud, 140 Rais'd by thy breath, has quench'd the Orb of day? To-morrow he repairs the golden flood, And warms the nations with redoubled ray. Enough for me: With joy I see The different doom our Fates assign. Be thine Despair, and sceptr❜d Care, To triumph, and to die, are mine.” He spoke, and headlong from the mountain's height Deep in the roaring tide he plung'd to endless night. Oliver Goldsmith 1728-1774 THE DESERTED VILLAGE (1770) Sweet Auburn! loveliest village of the plain, swain, Where smiling spring its earliest visit paid, 5 Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease, Seats of my youth, when every sport could please, How often have I paus'd on every charm, 10 The shelter'd cot, the cultivated farm, The never-failing brook, the busy mill, The decent church that topt the neighbouring hill, The hawthorn bush with seats beneath the shade, For talking age and whispering lovers made! 15 How often have I blest 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, 20 The young contending as the old survey'd, And many a gambol frolick'd o'er the ground, And sleights of art and feats of strength went round! And still, as each repeated pleasure tir'd, Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspir'd; 25 The dancing pair that simply sought renown By holding out to tire each other down, The swain mistrustless of his smutted face, 30 The matron's glance that would those looks 35 reprove. These were thy charms, sweet village! sports like these, With sweet succession, taught even toil to please; shed; These were thy charms-but all these charms are fled. Sweet smiling village, loveliest of the lawn, Thy sports are fled, and all thy charms with drawn; Amidst thy bowers the tyrant's hand is seen, And desolation saddens all thy green; One only master grasps the whole domain, The hollow-sounding bittern guards its nest; 45 Amidst thy desert walks the lapwing flies, And tires their echoes with unvaried cries: Sunk are thy bowers in shapeless ruin all, And the long grass o'ertops the mouldering wall; And, trembling, shrinking from the spoiler's hand, 50 Far, far away thy children leave the land. Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey, Where wealth accumulates and men decay; Princes and lords may flourish, or may fs.deA breath can make them, as a breath has made55 But a bold peasantry, their country's pride, When once destroy'd, can never be supplied. A time there was, ere England's griefs began, When every rood of ground maintain’d its man: For him light labour spread her wholesome store, 60 Just gave what life requir'd, but gave no more; His best companions, innocence and health, And his best riches, ignorance of wealth. But times are alter'd; trade's unfeeling train Usurp the land, and dispossess the swain: 65 Along the lawn where scatter'd hamlets rose, Unwieldy wealth and cumbrous pomp repose, And every want to opulence allied, And every pang that folly pays to pride. Those gentle hours that plenty bade to bloom, 70 Those calm desires that ask'd but little room, Those healthful sports that grac'd the peaceful scene, Liv'd in each look and brighten'd all the green- |