The Works of Oliver Goldsmith: Poetical works. Dramas. The vicar of Wakefield

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Little, Brown, 1854 - 1 páginas
 

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Página 39 - neighbouring 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 labour free, Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree; 1
Página 44 - beard descending swept his aged breast; The ruin'd spendthrift, now no longer proud, Claim'd kindred there, and had his claims allow'd; The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay, Sat by his fire, and talk'd the night away; 1 The "sad historian of the pensive plain" (whose figure is to be seen on the copperplate vignette
Página 45 - how fields were won. Pleas'd with his guests, the good man learn'd to glow, And quite forgot their vices in their woe; Careless their merits or their faults to scan, His pity gave ere charity began. Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, And even his failings
Página 45 - The service past, around the pious man, With steady zeal, each honest rustic ran; Even children follow'd with endearing wile, And pluck'd his gown, to share the good man's smile. His ready smile a parent's warmth exprest, Their welfare pleas'd him, and their cares distrest;
Página 48 - Yes ! let the rich deride, the proud disdain, These simple blessings of the lowly train, To me more dear, congenial to my heart, One native charm, than all the gloss of art: Spontaneous joys, where Nature has its play, The soul adopts, and owns their first-born sway; Lightly they frolic o'er the vacant mind, Unenvied, unmolested,
Página 21 - small, of all that human hearts endure, That part which laws or kiugs can cause or cure. Still to ourselves in every place consign'd, Our own felicity we make or find : With secret course, which no loud storms annoy, Glides the smooth current of domestic joy. The lifted axe, the agonising wheel, Luke's iron crown, and Damiens
Página 40 - 1 And desolation saddens all thy green : One only master grasps the whole domain, And half a tillage stints thy smiling plain; No more thy glassy brook reflects the day, But, chok'd with sedges, works its weedy way; Along thy glades, a solitary guest, The hollow-sounding bittern guards its nest; * 1
Página 13 - Clings close and closer to the mother's breast, So the loud torrent, and the whirlwind's roar, But bind him to his native mountains more. Such are the charms to barren states assign'd ; Their wants but few, their wishes all confin'd. Yet let them only share the praises due; If few their wants, their pleasures are but few:
Página 45 - The reverend champion stood. At his controul, Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul; Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise, And his last faltering accents whisper' d praise. At church, with meek and unaffected grace, His looks adorn'd the venerable place; Truth from his lips prevail'd with double sway, And fools, who came to scoff, remain'd to pray.
Página 42 - parent of the blissful hour, Thy glades forlorn confess the tyrant's power. Here, as I take my solitary rounds, Amidst thy tangling walks, and ruin'd grounds, And, many a year elaps'd, return to view Where once the cottage stood, the hawthorn grew, 1 Remembrance wakes, with all her busy train,

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