Boast of a florid vigor not their own. At every draught more large and large they grow, A bloated mass of rank, unwieldly woe, Till sapped their strength and every part unsound, Down, down they sink, and spread a ruin 'round. Goldsmith vindicates his own expressed views in a letter to Sir Joshua Reynolds. He says: "For twenty or thirty years past, it has been the fashion to consider 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 professed ancient on that head, and continue to think those luxuries prejudicial to states by which so many vices are introduced, and so many kingdoms have been undone. Indeed, so much has been poured out of late on the other side of the question, that, merely for the sake of novelty, and variety, one would sometimes wish to be right." "Truth is an endearing quality;" perhaps it was this spell that brought so many hearts to his shrine. Certain it is, he was loved while living, and mourned when dead. When Goldsmith died, Reynolds, then in the full tide of success, threw his pencil aside in sorrow, and Burke turned from the fast brightening vision of renown to weep. No obituary more sincere or more. heartfelt could be desired than this. CHRISTMAS SONG-1866. An anthem of joy, an anthem of love, For another Christmas day; Let the earth rejoice, the Heavens be glad While we our offerings pay. We come with lowly, reverent hearts, Of diamond and of gold. Oh no, not these, for the earth is His, The moon that gems the vaulted dome, In her silvery canopy. An angel band at His behest, The couriers of His will, Await the mandate which shall bid On earth so weak, in Heaven so strong, A mortal yet divine, I ask not, for I may not know This mystery of thine. Then an anthem of love, an anthem of joy, For our Saviour's natal day, With the angel choir exulting join, The sweet attesting lay. TO M. H Dear friend, dear friend, my heart to day Renews its youth from memory's spring, And as its rolling waters play, One gift to you it fain would bring. My mother's friend! That name alone My wilful pride, my wayward youth, Then as ye cluster round the board, For blessings on the coming year. |