CHAPTER X

OLIVER GOLDSMITH, 1728-1774

"No man was more foolish when he had not a pen in his hand, or more wise when he had." -DR. SAMUEL JOHNSON.

"He was a friend to virtue, and in his most playful pages never forgets what is due to it. A gentleness, delicacy, and purity of feeling distinguish whatever he wrote, and bear a correspondence to a generosity of disposition which knew no bounds but his last guinea."-SIR WALTER SCOTT.

OLIVER GOLDSMITH was born in a little village called Pallas, or Pallasmore, in the county of Longford, Ireland, in 1728. His father was a poor Protestant clergyman, whose income during the earlier portion of his life did not exceed forty pounds a year. This amiable and worthy man has been immortalized in the writings of his illustrious son, being the antitype of the "man in black" in "The Citizen of the World," the "Dr. Primrose" of "The Vicar of Wakefield," and the "village preacher" of "The Deserted Village." Oliver was the fifth in a family of eight children, so it was impossible for his father to afford to give him the advantages of a liberal education; but his uncle Contarine furnished the necessary money to enable the future poet to attend in succession the universities of Dublin, Edinburgh, and Leyden. The poet's first teacher, however, was the schoolmistress of the little village of Lissoy, which is supposed to be the "sweet Auburn" of his verses.

Passing in succession through one or two inferior schools, Goldsmith entered Trinity College, Dublin, as a sizar, in 1745. At Dublin, the young poet's career was idle and irregular. The prescribed studies of the college he detested, while he evinced a strong proclivity for getting into debt, scrapes, and difficulties generally. More than once his uncle Contarine opened his purse to assist his thriftless nephew, who occasionally was forced to write

and sing street ballads to keep himself from starving. He left Dublin in 1749, and spent a year or two in idleness, alternating with irresolute and vain attempts to settle down, first as a schoolmaster, and then as a lawyer. His uncle sent him to Edinburgh to study medicine; and from Edinburgh he proceeded to Leyden, where he remained only a year, and then set off to make, on foot, the tour of the European Continent, and with no resources whatever except a guinea and a flute. In this destitute manner Goldsmith proceeded through Flanders, France, Switzerland, and Italy.

OLIVER GOLDSMITH

After his return to England he made the friendship of Dr. Johnson, and published "The Traveler" (1764), which brought him both money and celebrity. Encouraged by this success, and by the kindly interest taken in him by such men as Pitt, Burke, and Sir Joshua Rey

nolds, Goldsmith produced in succession his celebrated domestic novel, "The Vicar of Wakefield "; his two comedies, "The Good-natured Man" and "She Stoops to Conquer"; and "The Deserted Village."

These were all in an encouraging degree successful; but nothing could teach their unfortunate author the virtues of caution, self-restraint, and self-respect. He continued to be borne down by debt, and his life remained as darkly checkered as ever. He died in the prime of life, in 1774, of a fever produced by his irregular mode of living and intense mental anxiety. He was buried in the graveyard of the Temple Church, Fleet Street, London, where a flagstone still marks his grave; and in Westminster Abbey there is a monument to his memory, inscribed with a Latin epitaph from the pen of Dr. Johnson.

The poetry of Goldsmith is simple in expression, and full of quiet tenderness, while his lines are easy and melodious. In his prose works he is considered to have come very near the perfection of Addison's style.

Washington Irving thus describes Goldsmith's personal appearance: “In stature he was somewhat under the middle size, and his body was strongly built. His forehead was low, and more prominent than is usual; his complexion pallid; his face almost round, and pitted with the smallpox. His first appearance was, therefore, by no means captivating: yet the general lineaments of his countenance bore the stamp of intellect, and exhibited traces of deep thinking; and when he grew easy and cheerful in company, he relaxed into such a display of good humor as soon removed every unfavorable impression."

THE DESERTED VILLAGE

SWEET Auburn! loveliest village of the plain;

Where health and plenty cheered the laboring swain,
Where smiling spring its earliest visit paid,
And parting summer's lingering blooms delayed:
Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease,
Seats of my youth, when every sport could please,
How often have I loitered o'er thy green,
Where humble happiness endeared each scene!
How often have I paused on every charm,
The sheltered cot, the cultivated farm,
The never failing brook, the busy mill,

The decent church that topt the neighboring hill,
The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade,
For talking age and whispering lovers made!

How often have I blest the coming day,

When toil remitting lent its turn to play,

And all the village train, from labor free,

Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree,
While many a pastime circled in the shade,

5

ΙΟ

15

The young contending as the old surveyed;

20

And many a gambol frolicked o'er the ground,

And sleights of art and feats of strength went round.

These were thy charms, sweet village! sports like these,
With sweet succession, taught even toil to please :
These round thy bowers their cheerful influence 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 withdrawn ;
Amidst thy bowers the tyrant's hand is seen,

And desolation saddens all thy green :

One only master grasps the whole domain,
And half a tillage stints thy smiling plain.

35

No more thy glassy brook reflects the day,
But, choked with sedges, works its weedy way;
Along thy glades, a solitary guest,

40

The hollow-sounding bittern guards its nest;
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 moldering wall ;
And trembling, shrinking from the spoiler's hand,
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 fade;

45

50

A breath can make them, as a breath has made :
But a bold peasantry, their country's pride,
When once destroyed, can never be supplied.

55

A time there was, ere England's griefs began, When every rood of ground maintained its man ; For him light labor spread her wholesome store, Just gave what life required, but gave no more: His best companions, innocence and health; And his best riches, ignorance of wealth.

But times are altered: trade's unfeeling train

Usurp the land and dispossess the swain ;

AM. AND BRIT. AU. — 13

60