Oliver Goldsmith - The Deserted Village (1770)

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Even children followed with endearing wile,
And plucked his gown, to share the good man's smile.

Oliver Goldsmith
A man's own heart must ever be given to gain that of another.

Oliver Goldsmith
The pictures placed for ornament and use, The twelve good rules, the royal game of goose.

Oliver Goldsmith
Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey,
Where wealth accumulates, and men decay;
Princes and lords may flourish, or may fade;
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.

Oliver Goldsmith
How wide the limits stand
Between a splendid and a happy land.

Oliver Goldsmith
In arguing too, the parson owned his skill,
For e'en though vanquished, he could argue still;
While words of learned length, and thundering sound
Amazed the gazing rustics ranged around;
And still they gazed, and still the wonder grew,
That one small head could carry all he knew.

Oliver Goldsmith
Sweet Auburn! loveliest village of the plain.

Oliver Goldsmith
Careless their merits or their faults to scan,
His pity gave ere charity began.
Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride,
And e'en his failings leaned to Virtue's side.

Oliver Goldsmith
Wept o'er his wounds, or tales of sorrow done,
Shoulder'd his crutch, and shew'd how fields were won.

Oliver Goldsmith
And, ev'n while fashion's brightest arts decoy,
The heart distrusting asks, if this be joy.

Oliver Goldsmith
To me more dear, congenial to my heart,
One native charm, than all the gloss of art.

Oliver Goldsmith
The watchdog's voice that bayed the whispering wind,
And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind.

Oliver Goldsmith
Truth from his lips prevailed with double sway,
And fools, who came to scoff, remained to pray.

Oliver Goldsmith
Thou source of all my bliss, and all my woe,
That found'st me poor at first, and keep'st me so.

Oliver Goldsmith
Her modest looks the cottage might adorn,
Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn.

Oliver Goldsmith
Well had the boding tremblers learn'd to trace
The day's disasters in his morning face;
Full well they laugh'd with counterfeited glee
At all his jokes, for many a joke had he;
Full well the busy whisper circling round
Convey'd the dismal tidings when he frown'd.
Yet was he kind, or if severe in aught,
The love he bore to learning was in fault;
The village all declar'd how much he knew,
'T was certain he could write and cipher too.

Oliver Goldsmith
A man he was to all the country dear,
And passing rich with forty pounds a year.
Remote from towns he ran his godly race,
Nor e'er had changed nor wished to change his place.

Oliver Goldsmith
In all my wanderings round this world of care,
In all my griefs-and God has given my share-
I still had hopes my latest hours to crown,
Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down.

Oliver Goldsmith
And, as a bird each fond endearment tries
To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies,
He tried each art, reproved each dull delay,
Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way.

Oliver Goldsmith
The whitewashed wall, the nicely sanded floor,
The varnished clock that clicked behind the door;
The chest contrived a double debt to pay,
A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day.

Oliver Goldsmith
The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade,
For talking age and whispering lovers made.

Oliver Goldsmith
Where village statesmen talked with looks profound,
And news much older than their ale went round.

Oliver Goldsmith
His house was known to all the vagrant train,
He chid their wanderings but reliev'd their pain;
The long remembered beggar was his guest,
Whose beard descending swept his aged breast.

Oliver Goldsmith
As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form,
Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm,—
Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread,
Eternal sunshine settles on its head.

Oliver Goldsmith
A man severe he was, and stern to view;
I knew him well, and every truant knew:
Well had the boding tremblers learned to trace
The day's disasters in his morning face;
Full well they laughed with counterfeited glee,
At all his jokes, for many a joke had he;
Full well the bust whisper, circling round,
Conveyed the dismal tidings when he frowned;
Yet he was kind; or if severe in aught,
The love he bore to learning was in fault;
The village all declared how much he knew;
'Twas certain he could write, and cipher too.

Oliver Goldsmith