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meorge Steeverow up my he said talk

One vice of a darker shade was imputed year might then be called opulent. Not to him, envy. But there is not the least one in ten of the young gentlemen of reason to believe that this bad pas- 1710 good families who were studying the law sion, though it sometimes made him there had so much. But all the wealth wince and utter fretful exclamations, which Lord Clive had brought from Benever impelled him to injure by wicked gal, and Sir Lawrence Dundas from arts the reputation of any of his rivals. Germany, joined together, would not The truth probably is, that he was not have sufficed for Goldsmith. He spent more envious, but merely less prudent ! twice as much as he had. He wore (770 than his neighbors. His heart was on his fine clothes, gave dinners of several lips. All those small jealousies, which courses, paid court to venal beauties. are but too common among men of letters, He had also, it should be remembered, but which a man of letters who is [720 to the honor of his heart, though not of also a man of the world does his best his head, a guinea, or five, or ten, accordto conceal, Goldsmith avowed with the ing to the state of his purse, ready for simplicity of a child. When he was envi any tale of distress, true or false. But it ous, instead of affecting indifference, in was not in dress or feasting, in promiscustead of damning with faint praise, in- ous amours or promiscuous charities, that stead of doing injuries slily and in the his chief expense lay. He had been (780 dark, he told everybody that he was from boyhood a gambler, and at once the envious. “Do not, pray, do not talk of most sanguine and the most unskilful of Johnson in such terms,” he said to Bos- gamblers. For a time he put off the day well; "you harrow. up my very soul.” [730 of inevitable ruin by temporary expediGeorge Steevens and Cumberland were i ents. He obtained advances from bookmen far too cunning to say such a thing. / sellers, by promising to execute works They would have echoed the praises of which he never began. But at length the man they envied, and then have sent this source of supply failed. He owed to the newspapers anonymous libels upon more than £2,000; and he saw no hope of him. Both what was good and what extrication from his embarrassments. [790 was bad in Goldsmith's character was to His spirits and health gave way. He was his associates a perfect security that he attacked by a nervous fever, which he would never commit such villainy. He thought himself competent to treat. It was neither ill-natured enough, nor (740 would have been happy for him if his long-headed enough to be guilty of any medical skill had been appreciated as malicious act which required contrivance justly by himself as by others. Notwithand disguise.

standing the degree which he pretended Goldsmith has sometimes been repre to have received at Padua, he could prosented as a man of genius, cruelly treated cure no patients. “I do not practice," by the world, and doomed to struggle he once said; “I make it a rule to pre- [800 with difficulties which at last broke his scribe only for my friends.” “Pray, dear heart. But no representation can be Doctor,” said Beauclerk, “alter your more remote from the truth. He did, rule, and prescribe only for your enemies." indeed, go through much sharp [750 Goldsmith now, in spite of this excellent misery before he had done anything con advice, prescribed for himself. The remedy siderable in literature. But, after his aggravated the malady. The sick man name had appeared on the title-page of was induced to call in real physicians; the Traveller, he had none to blame but and they at one time imagined that they himself for his distresses. His average had cured the disease. Still his weakness income during the last seven years of his | and restlessness continued. He could (810 life certainly exceeded £400 a year; and get no sleep, he could take no food. “You £400 a year ranked, among the incomes are worse," said one of his medical atof that day, at least as high as £800 a tendants, “than you should be from the year would rank at present. A single 1760 degree of fever which you have. Is your man living in the Temple with £400 a | mind at ease?” “No, it is not,” were

the last recorded words of Oliver Gold were found in company with great (870 smith. He died on the 3rd of April, 1774, weaknesses. But the list of poets to whose in his forty-sixth year. He was laid in works Johnson was requested by the bookthe churchyard of the Temple; but the sellers to furnish prefaces ended with spot was not marked by any inscrip- (820 Lyttleton, who died in 1773. The line tion, and is now forgotten. The coffin seems to have been drawn expressly for was followed by Burke and Reynolds. the purpose of excluding the person Both these great men were sincere mourn whose portrait would have most fitly ers. Burke, when he heard of Goldsmith's closed the series. Goldsmith, however, death, had burst into a flood of tears. has been fortunate in his biographers. Reynolds had been so much moved by Within a few years his life has been [880 the news that he had flung aside his brush written by Mr. Prior, by Mr. Washington and palette for the day.

Irving, and by Mr. Forster. The diliA short time after Goldsmith's death, gence of Mr. Prior deserves great praise; a little poem appeared, which will, as (830 the style of Mr. Washington Irving is long as our language lasts, associate the always pleasing; but the highest place names of his two illustrious friends with must, in justice, be assigned to the emihis own. It has already been mentioned nently interesting work of Mr. Forster. that he sometimes felt keenly the sarcasm which his wild blundering talk brought upon him. He was, not long before his ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH (1819–1861) last illness, provoked into retaliating. He wisely betook himself to his pen; and QUA CURSUM VENTUS at that weapon he proved himself a match for all his assailants together. Within (840 As ships, becalmed at eve, that lay a small compass he drew with a singularly With canvas drooping, side by side, easy and vigorous pencil the characters | Two towers of sail at dawn of day of nine or ten of his intimate associates. Are scarce long leagues apart descried; 4 Though this little work did not receive his last touches, it must always be re | When fell the night, upsprung the breeze, garded as a masterpiece. It is impossible, And all the darkling hours they plied, however, not to wish that four or five | Nor dreamt but each the self-same likenesses which have no interest for pos By each was cleaving, side by side: . terity were wanting to that noble gallery, and that their places were supplied (850 E'en so—but why the tale reveal by sketches of Johnson and Gibbon, as 1 Of those, whom year by year unchanged, happy and vivid as the sketches of Burke Brief absence joined anew to feel, II and Garrick.

Astounded, soul from soul estranged? Some of Goldsmith's friends and admirers honored him with a cenotaph in At dead of night their sails were filled, Westminster Abbey. Nollekens was the And onward each rejoicing steeredsculptor; and Johnson wrote the inscrip | Ah, neither blame, for neither willed, 15 tion. It is much to be lamented that | Or wist, what first with dawn appeared! Johnson did not leave to posterity a more durable and a more valuable memorial (860 To veer, how vain! On, onward strain, of his friend. A life of Goldsmith would | Brave barks! In light, in darkness too, have been an inestimable addition to the | Through winds and tides one compass Lives of the Poets. No man appreciated guides, Goldsmith's writings more justly than To that, and your own selves, be true. 20 Johnson: no man was better acquainted with Goldsmith's character and habits: But o blithe breeze; and O great seas, and no man was more competent to de Though ne'er, that earliest parting past, lineate with truth and spirit the pecul On your wide plain they join again, iarities of a mind in which great powers! Together lead them home at last.

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One port, methought, alike they sought, 25

One purpose hold where'er they fare,O bounding breeze, O rushing seas!

At last, at last, unite them there!

| In spite of dreams, in spite of thought,
'Tis not in vain, and not for nought,
The wind it blows, the ship it goes,
Though where and whither, no one knows.

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WHERE LIES THE LAND

LIFE IS STRUGGLE Where lies the land to which the ship

To wear out heart, and nerves, and brain,

And give oneself a world of pain; would go? Far, far ahead, is all her seamen know.

Be eager, angry, fierce, and hot, And where the land she travels from?

Imperious, supple—God knows what,

For what's all one to have or not;
Away,
Far, far behind, is all that they can say.

O false, unwise, absurd, and vain!
For 'tis not joy, it is not gain,

It is not in itself a bliss,
On sunny noons upon the deck's smooth

Only it is precisely this face,

That keeps us all alive. Linked arm in arm, how pleasant here to

pace; Or, o'er the stern reclining, watch below

To say we truly feel the pain, The foaming wake far widening as we go.

And quite are sinking with the strain;

Entirely, simply, undeceived, On stormy nights when wild northwesters

Believe, and say we ne'er believed

The object, e'en were it achieved, 15 rave, How proud a thing to fight with wind and

A thing we e'er had cared to keep; wave!

With heart and soul to hold it cheap,

10 The dripping sailor on the reeling mast

And then to go and try it again; Exults to bear, and scorns to wish it

O false, unwise, absurd, and vain!

0, 'tis not joy, and 'tis not bliss, past.

Only it is precisely this

That keeps us still alive.
Where lies the land to which the ship

. would go?
Far, far ahead, is all her seamen know.
And where the land she travels from? ITE DOMUM SATURÆ, VENIT
Away,

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HESPERUS Far, far behind, is all that they can say.

The skies have sunk, and hid the upper

snow

(Home, Rose, and home, Provence and ALL IS WELL

La Palie),

The rainy clouds are filing fast below, Whate'er you dream, with doubt possessed, And wet will be the path, and wet shall Keep, keep it snug within your breast,

we. And lay you down and take your rest; Home, Rose, and home, Provence and Forget in sleep the doubt and pain,

La Palie. And when you wake, to work again. 5 The wind it blows, the vessel goes, Ah dear, and where is he, a year agone, And where and whither, no one knows. Who stepped beside and cheered us on

and on? 'Twill all be well: no need of care; My sweetheart wanders far away from me, Though how it will, and when, and In foreign land or on a foreign sea, where,

Home, Rose, and home, Provence and La We cannot see, and can't declare. 10 | Palie.

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they

AVA

The lightning zigzags shoot across the sky When sweethearts wander far away from (Home, Rose, and home, Provence and me. La Palie),

Home, Rose, and home, Provence and La And through the vale the rains go sweep Palie.

ing by; Ah me, and when in shelter shall we be? The sky behind is brightening up anew Home, Rose, and home, Provence and (Home, Rose, and home, Provence and La Palie.

15 La Palie),

The rain is ending, and our journey too: Cold, dreary cold, the stormy winds feel Heigho! aha! for here at home are we:- 45

In, Rose, and in, Provence and La Palie. O'er foreign lands and foreign seas that

stray (Home, Rose, and home, Provence and La SAY NOT THE STRUGGLE NOUGHT Palie).

AVAILETH And doth he e'er, I wonder, bring to mind The pleasant huts and herds he left be- Say not the struggle nought availeth, hind?

The labor and the wounds are vain, And doth he sometimes in his slumbering | The enemy faints not, nor faileth, see

And as things have been they remain. The feeding kine, and doth he think of me,

If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars; 5 My sweetheart wandering wheresoe'er it It may be, in yon smoke concealed, be?

Your comrades chase e'en now the fliers, Home, Rose, and home, Provence and And, but for you, possess the field. La Palie.

For while the tired waves, vainly breaking, The thunder bellows far from snow to Seem here no painful inch to gain, 10 snow

25 | Far back, through creeks and inlets mak(Home, Rose, and home, Provence and

ing, La Palie),

Comes silent, flooding in, the main. And loud and louder roars the flood below.

And not by eastern windows only, Heigho! but soon in shelter shall we be: | When daylight comes, comes in the Home, Rose, and home, Provence and light, La Palie.

In front, the sun climbs slow, how slowly,

But westward, look, the land is bright. Or shall he find before his term be sped 30 Some comelier maid that he shall wish to wed?

MATTHEW ARNOLD (1822–1888) (Home, Rose, and home, Provence and La Palie.)

SHAKESPEARE For weary is work, and weary day by day To have your comfort miles on miles | Others abide our question. Thou art free. away.

We ask and ask —- Thou smilest and art Home, Rose, and home, Provence and still, La Palie.

Out-topping knowledge. For the loftiest

hill Or may it be that I shall find my mate, Who to the stars uncrowns his majesty, And he returning see himself too late? Planting his steadfast footsteps in the sea,5 For work we must, and what we see, we | Making the heaven of heavens his dwellsee,

ing-place, And God he knows, and what must be, Spares but the cloudy border of his base must be,

To the foiled searching of mortality;

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And thou, who didst the stars and sun- Sand-strewn caverns, cool and deep, 35 beams know,

Where the winds are all asleep; Self-schooled, self-scanned, self-honored, Where the spent lights quiver and gleam, self-secure,

10 Where the salt weed sways in the stream, Didst tread on earth unguessed at.- Where the sea-beasts, ranged all round, Better so!

Feed in the ooze of their pastureAll pains the immortal spirit must endure, 1 ground;

40 All weakness which impairs, all griefs Where the sea-snakes coil and twine, which bow,

Dry their mail and bask in the brine: Find their sole speech in that victorious Where great whales come sailing by, brow.

Sail and sail, with unshut eye,
Round the world for ever and aye? 45
When did music come this way?

Children dear, was it yesterday?
THE FORSAKEN MERMAN

Children dear, was it yesterday
Come, dear children, let us away,

(Call yet once!) that she went away? Down and away below!

Once she sate with you and me, 50 Now my brothers call from the bay, On a red gold throne in the heart of the Now the great winds shoreward blow,

sea, Now the salt tides seaward flow, 5 And the youngest sate on her knee. · Now the wild white horses play,

She combed its bright hair, and she Champ and chafe and toss in the spray;

tended it well, Children dear, let us away!

When down swung the sound of a far-ofi This way, this way!

bell.

She sighed, she looked up through the Call her once before you go

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clear green sea; Call once yet!

She said: “I must go, for my kinsfolk In a voice that she will know:

pray “Margaret! Margaret!”

In the little gray church on the shore toChildren's voices should be dear

day. (Call once more!) to a mother's ear; 15 'Twill be Easter-time in the world, ah Children's voices, wild with pain

me! Surely she will come again!

And I lose my poor soul, Merman! here Call her once and come away;

with thee.This way, this way!

I said: “Go up, dear heart, through the “Mother dear, we cannot stay;

waves; The wild white horses foam and fret.” Say thy prayer, and come back to the Margaret! Margaret!

kind sea-caves!”

She smiled, she went up through the surf Come, dear children, come away down;

in the bay. Call no more!

Children dear, was it yesterday?
One last look at the white-walled town, 25
And the little gray church on the windy Children dear, were we long alone?
shore;

“The sea grows stormy, the little ones Then come down!

moan;

65 She will not come though you call all day: Long prayers,” I said, “in the world they Come away, come away!

say;

Come!” I said; and we rose through the Children dear, was it yesterday

surf in the bay. We heard the sweet bells over the bay? We went up the beach, by the sandy In the caverns where we lay,

down Through the surf and through the swell, Where the sea-stocks bloom, to the whiteThe far-off sound of a silver bell?

walled town;

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