_Scene as before._
FIRST PRIEST.
RECITATIVE.
YES, my companions, Heaven’s decrees are past,
And our fix’d empire shall for ever last;
In vain the madd’ning prophet threatens woe,
In vain rebellion aims her secret blow;
Still shall our fame and growing power be spread, 5
And still our vengeance crush the traitor’s head.
AIR.
Coeval with man
Our empire began,
And never shall fail
Till ruin shakes all; 10
When ruin shakes all,
Then shall Babylon fall.
FIRST PROPHET.
RECITATIVE.
’Tis thus that pride triumphant rears the head,
A little while, and all their power is fled;
But ha! what means yon sadly plaintive train, 15
That this way slowly bend along the plain?
And now, methinks, to yonder bank they bear
A palled corse, and rest the body there.
Alas! too well mine eyes indignant trace
The last remains of Judah’s royal race: 20
Our monarch falls, and now our fears are o’er,
Unhappy Zedekiah is no more!
AIR.
Ye wretches who, by fortune’s hate,
In want and sorrow groan;
Come ponder his severer fate, 25
And learn to bless your own.
You vain, whom youth and pleasure guide,
Awhile the bliss suspend;
Like yours, his life began in pride,
Like his, your lives shall end. 30
SECOND PROPHET.
RECITATIVE.
Behold his wretched corse with sorrow worn,
His squalid limbs with pond’rous fetters torn;
Those eyeless orbs that shock with ghastly glare,
Those ill-becoming rags—that matted hair!
And shall not Heaven for this its terrors show, 35
Grasp the red bolt, and lay the guilty low?
How long, how long, Almighty God of all,
Shall wrath vindictive threaten ere it fall!
ISRAELITISH WOMAN.
AIR.
As panting flies the hunted hind,
Where brooks refreshing stray; 40
And rivers through the valley wind,
That stop the hunter’s way:
Thus we, O Lord, alike distrest,
For streams of mercy long;
Those streams which cheer the sore opprest, 45
And overwhelm the strong.
FIRST PROPHET.
RECITATIVE.
But, whence that shout? Good heavens! amazement all!
See yonder tower just nodding to the fall:
See where an army covers all the ground,
Saps the strong wall, and pours destruction round; 50
The ruin smokes, destruction pours along;
How low the great, how feeble are the strong!
The foe prevails, the lofty walls recline—
O God of hosts, the victory is thine!
CHORUS OF ISRAELITES.
Down with them, Lord, to lick the dust; 55
Thy vengeance be begun:
Serve them as they have serv’d the just,
And let thy will be done.
FIRST PRIEST.
RECITATIVE.
All, all is lost. The Syrian army fails,
Cyrus, the conqueror of the world, prevails, 60
The ruin smokes, the torrent pours along;
How low the proud, how feeble are the strong!
Save us, O Lord! to thee, though late, we pray,
And give repentance but an hour’s delay.
FIRST AND SECOND PRIEST.
AIR.
Thrice happy, who in happy hour 65
To Heaven their praise bestow,
And own his all-consuming power
Before they feel the blow!
FIRST PROPHET.
RECITATIVE.
Now, now’s our time! ye wretches bold and blind,
Brave but to God, and cowards to mankind, 70
Too late you seek that power unsought before,
Your wealth, your pride, your kingdom, are no more.
AIR.
O Lucifer, thou son of morn,
Alike of Heaven and man the foe;
Heaven, men, and all, 75
Now press thy fall,
And sink thee lowest of the low.
FIRST PROPHET.
O Babylon, how art thou fallen!
Thy fall more dreadful from delay!
Thy streets forlorn 80
To wilds shall turn,
Where toads shall pant, and vultures prey.
SECOND PROPHET.
RECITATIVE.
Such be her fate. But listen! from afar
The clarion’s note proclaims the finish’d war!
Cyrus, our great restorer, is at hand, 85
And this way leads his formidable band.
Give, give your songs of Sion to the wind,
And hail the benefactor of mankind:
He comes pursuant to divine decree,
To chain the strong, and set the captive free. 90
CHORUS OF YOUTHS.
Rise to transports past expressing,
Sweeter from remember’d woes;
Cyrus comes, our wrongs redressing,
Comes to give the world repose.
CHORUS OF VIRGINS.
Cyrus comes, the world redressing, 95
Love and pleasure in his train;
Comes to heighten every blessing,
Comes to soften every pain.
SEMI-CHORUS.
Hail to him with mercy reigning,
Skilled in every peaceful art; 100
Who from bonds our limbs unchaining,
Only binds the willing heart.
THE LAST CHORUS.
But chief to Thee, our God, defender, friend,
Let praise be given to all eternity;
O Thou, without beginning, without end, 105
Let us, and all, begin and end, in Thee!
VERSES IN REPLY TO AN INVITATION TO
DINNER AT DR. BAKER’S.
‘This _is_ a poem! This _is_ a copy of verses!’
YOUR mandate I got,
You may all go to pot;
Had your senses been right,
You’d have sent before night;
As I hope to be saved, 5
I put off being shaved;
For I could not make bold,
While the matter was cold,
To meddle in suds,
Or to put on my duds; 10
So tell Horneck and Nesbitt,
And Baker and his bit,
And Kauffmann beside,
And the Jessamy Bride,
With the rest of the crew, 15
The Reynoldses two,
Little Comedy’s face,
And the Captain in lace,
(By-the-bye you may tell him,
I have something to sell him; 20
Of use I insist,
When he comes to enlist.
Your worships must know
That a few days ago,
An order went out, 25
For the foot guards so stout
To wear tails in high taste,
Twelve inches at least:
Now I’ve got him a scale
To measure each tail, 30
To lengthen a short tail,
And a long one to curtail.)—
Yet how can I when vext,
Thus stray from my text?
Tell each other to rue 35
Your Devonshire crew,
For sending so late
To one of my state.
But ’tis Reynolds’s way
From wisdom to stray, 40
And Angelica’s whim
To be frolick like him,
But, alas! Your good worships, how could they be wiser,
When both have been spoil’d in to-day’s _Advertiser_?
OLIVER GOLDSMITH.
LETTER IN PROSE AND VERSE TO MRS. BUNBURY
MADAM,
I read your letter with all that allowance
which critical candour could require, but after all find so much to object
to, and so much to raise my indignation, that I cannot help giving it a
serious answer.
I am not so ignorant, Madam, as not to see there are many sarcasms
contained in it, and solecisms also. (Solecism is a word that comes from
the town of Soleis in Attica, among the Greeks, built by Solon, and
applied as we use the word Kidderminster for curtains, from a town also of
that name;—but this is learning you have no taste for!)—I say,
Madam, there are sarcasms in it, and solecisms also. But not to seem an
ill-natured critic, I’ll take leave to quote your own words, and give you
my remarks upon them as they occur. You begin as follows:—
‘I hope, my good Doctor, you soon will be here,
And your spring-velvet coat very smart will appear,
To open our ball the first day of the year.’
Pray, Madam, where did you ever find the epithet ‘good,’ applied to the
title of Doctor? Had you called me ‘learned Doctor,’ or ‘grave Doctor,’ or
‘noble Doctor,’ it might be allowable, because they belong to the
profession. But, not to cavil at trifles, you talk of my ‘spring-velvet
coat,’ and advise me to wear it the first day in the year,—that is,
in the middle of winter!—a spring-velvet in the middle of winter!!!
That would be
a solecism indeed! and yet, to increase the inconsistence, in another part
of your letter you call me a beau. Now, on one side or other, you must be
wrong. If I am a beau, I can never think of wearing a spring-velvet in
winter: and if I am not a beau, why then, that explains itself. But let me
go on to your two next strange lines:—
‘And bring with you a wig, that is modish and gay,
dance with the girls that are makers of hay.’
The absurdity of making hay at Christmas, you yourself seem sensible of:
you say your sister will laugh; and so indeed she well may! The Latins
have an expression for a contemptuous sort of laughter, ‘Naso contemnere
adunco’; that is, to laugh with a crooked nose. She may laugh at you in
the manner of the ancients if she thinks fit. But now I come to the most
extraordinary of all extraordinary propositions, which is, to take your
and your sister’s advice in playing at loo. The presumption of the offer
raises my indignation beyond the bounds of prose; it inspires me at once
with verse and resentment. I take advice! and from whom? You shall hear.
First let me suppose, what may shortly be true,
The company set, and the word to be, Loo;
All smirking, and pleasant, and big with adventure,
And ogling the stake which is fix’d in the centre.
Round and round go the cards, while I inwardly damn 5
At never once finding a visit from Pam.
I lay down my stake, apparently cool,
While the harpies about me all pocket the pool.
I fret in my gizzard, yet, cautious and sly,
I wish all my friends may be bolder than I: 10
Yet still they sit snug, not a creature will aim
By losing their money to venture at fame.
’Tis in vain that at niggardly caution I scold,
’Tis in vain that I flatter the brave and the bold:
All play their own way, and they think me an ass,— 15
‘What does Mrs. Bunbury?’ ‘I, Sir? I pass.’
‘Pray what does Miss Horneck? Take courage, come do,’—
‘Who, I? let me see, Sir, why I must pass too.’
Mr. Bunbury frets, and I fret like the devil,
To see them so cowardly, lucky, and civil. 20
Yet still I sit snug, and continue to sigh on,
Till made by my losses as bold as a lion,
I venture at all,—while my avarice regards
The whole pool as my own—‘Come, give me five cards.’
‘Well done!’ cry the ladies; ‘Ah, Doctor, that’s good! 25
The pool’s very rich—ah! the Doctor is loo’d!’
Thus foil’d in my courage, on all sides perplex’d,
I ask for advice from the lady that’s next:
‘Pray, Ma’am, be so good as to give your advice;
Don’t you think the best way is to venture for ’t twice?’ 30
‘I advise,’ cries the lady, ‘to try it, I own.—
Ah! the Doctor is loo’d! Come, Doctor, put down.’
Thus, playing, and playing, I still grow more eager,
And so bold, and so bold, I’m at last a bold beggar.
Now, ladies, I ask, if law-matters you’re skill’d in, 35
Whether crimes such as yours should not come before Fielding?
For giving advice that is not worth a straw,
May well be call’d picking of pockets in law;
And picking of pockets, with which I now charge ye,
Is, by quinto Elizabeth, Death without Clergy. 40
What justice, when both to the Old Bailey brought!
By the gods, I’ll enjoy it; though ’tis but in thought!
Both are plac’d at the bar, with all proper decorum,
With bunches of fennel, and nosegays before ’em;
Both cover their faces with mobs and all that; 45
But the judge bids them, angrily, take off their hat.
When uncover’d, a buzz of enquiry runs round,—
‘Pray what are their crimes?’—‘They’ve been pilfering found.’
‘But, pray, whom have they pilfer’d?’—‘A Doctor, I hear.’
‘What, yon solemn-faced, odd-looking man that stands near!’ 50
‘The same.’—‘What a pity! how does it surprise one!
Two handsomer culprits I never set eyes on!’
Then their friends all come round me with cringing and leering,
To melt me to pity, and soften my swearing.
First Sir Charles advances with phrases well strung, 55
‘Consider, dear Doctor, the girls are but young.’
‘The younger the worse,’ I return him again,
‘It shows that their habits are all dyed in grain.’
‘But then they’re so handsome, one’s bosom it grieves.’
‘What signifies _handsome_, when people are thieves?’ 60
‘But where is your justice? their cases are hard.’
‘What signifies _justice_? I want the _reward_.
There’s the parish of Edmonton offers forty pounds;
there’s the parish of St. Leonard, Shoreditch, offers forty pounds;
there’s the parish of Tyburn, from the Hog-in-the-Pound to St. Giles’s
watchhouse, offers forty pounds,—I shall have all that if I convict
them!’—
‘But consider their case,—it may yet be your own!
And see how they kneel! Is your heart made of stone?’
This moves:—so at last I agree to relent, 65
For ten pounds in hand, and ten pounds to be spent.
I challenge you all to answer this: I tell you, you cannot. It cuts deep;—but
now for the rest of the letter: and next— but I want room—so I
believe I shall battle the rest out at Barton some day next week.
I don’t value you all!
O. G.
VIDA’S GAME OF CHESS
TRANSLATED
ARMIES of box that sportively engage
And mimic real battles in their rage,
Pleased I recount; how, smit with glory’s charms,
Two mighty Monarchs met in adverse arms,
Sable and white; assist me to explore, 5
Ye Serian Nymphs, what ne’er was sung before.
No path appears: yet resolute I stray
Where youth undaunted bids me force my way.
O’er rocks and cliffs while I the task pursue,
Guide me, ye Nymphs, with your unerring clue. 10
For you the rise of this diversion know,
You first were pleased in Italy to show
This studious sport; from Scacchis was its name,
The pleasing record of your Sister’s fame.
When Jove through Ethiopia’s parch’d extent 15
To grace the nuptials of old Ocean went,
Each god was there; and mirth and joy around
To shores remote diffused their happy sound.
Then when their hunger and their thirst no more
Claim’d their attention, and the feast was o’er; 20
Ocean with pastime to divert the thought,
Commands a painted table to be brought.
Sixty-four spaces fill the chequer’d square;
Eight in each rank eight equal limits share.
Alike their form, but different are their dyes, 25
They fade alternate, and alternate rise,
White after black; such various stains as those
The shelving backs of tortoises disclose.
Then to the gods that mute and wondering sate,
You see (says he) the field prepared for fate. 30
Here will the little armies please your sight,
With adverse colours hurrying to the fight:
On which so oft, with silent sweet surprise,
The Nymphs and Nereids used to feast their eyes,
And all the neighbours of the hoary deep, 35
When calm the sea, and winds were lull’d asleep
But see, the mimic heroes tread the board;
He said, and straightway from an urn he pour’d
The sculptured box, that neatly seem’d to ape
The graceful figure of a human shape:— 40
Equal the strength and number of each foe,
Sixteen appear’d like jet, sixteen like snow.
As their shape varies various is the name,
Different their posts, nor is their strength the same.
There might you see two Kings with equal pride 45
Gird on their arms, their Consorts by their side;
Here the Foot-warriors glowing after fame,
There prancing Knights and dexterous Archers came
And Elephants, that on their backs sustain
Vast towers of war, and fill and shake the plain. 50
And now both hosts, preparing for the storm
Of adverse battle, their encampments form.
In the fourth space, and on the farthest line,
Directly opposite the Monarchs shine;
The swarthy on white ground, on sable stands 55
The silver King; and then they send commands.
Nearest to these the Queens exert their might;
One the left side, and t’other guards the right:
Where each, by her respective armour known.
Chooses the colour that is like her own. 60
Then the young Archers, two that snowy-white
Bend the tough yew, and two as black as night;
(Greece call’d them Mars’s favourites heretofore,
From their delight in war, and thirst of gore).
These on each side the Monarch and his Queen 65
Surround obedient; next to these are seen
The crested Knights in golden armour gay;
Their steeds by turns curvet, or snort or neigh.
In either army on each distant wing
Two mighty Elephants their castles bring, 70
Bulwarks immense! and then at last combine
Eight of the Foot to form the second line,
The vanguard to the King and Queen; from far
Prepared to open all the fate of war.
So moved the boxen hosts, each double-lined, 75
Their different colours floating in the wind:
As if an army of the Gauls should go,
With their white standards, o’er the Alpine snow
To meet in rigid fight on scorching sands
The sun-burnt Moors and Memnon’s swarthy bands. 80
Then Father Ocean thus; you see them here,
Celestial powers, what troops, what camps appear.
Learn now the sev’ral orders of the fray,
For e’en these arms their stated laws obey.
To lead the fight, the Kings from all their bands 85
Choose whom they please to bear their great commands.
Should a black hero first to battle go, |
Instant a white one guards against the blow; |
But only one at once can charge or shun the foe. |
Their gen’ral purpose on one scheme is bent, 90
So to besiege the King within the tent,
That there remains no place by subtle flight
From danger free; and that decides the fight.
Meanwhile, howe’er, the sooner to destroy
Th’ imperial Prince, remorseless they employ 95
Their swords in blood; and whosoever dare
Oppose their vengeance, in the ruin share.
Fate thins their camp; the parti-coloured field
Widens apace, as they o’ercome or yield,
But the proud victor takes the captive’s post; 100
There fronts the fury of th’ avenging host
One single shock: and (should he ward the blow),
May then retire at pleasure from the foe.
The Foot alone (so their harsh laws ordain)
When they proceed can ne’er return again. 105
But neither all rush on alike to prove
The terror of their arms: The Foot must move
Directly on, and but a single square;
Yet may these heroes, when they first prepare
To mix in combat on the bloody mead, 110
Double their sally, and two steps proceed;
But when they wound, their swords they subtly guide
With aim oblique, and slanting pierce his side.
But the great Indian beasts, whose backs sustain
Vast turrets arm’d, when on the redd’ning plain 115
They join in all the terror of the fight,
Forward or backward, to the left or right,
Run furious, and impatient of confine
Scour through the field, and threat the farthest line.
Yet must they ne’er obliquely aim their blows; | 120
That only manner is allow’d to those |
Whom Mars has favour’d most, who bend the stubborn bows. |
These glancing sidewards in a straight career,
Yet each confin’d to their respective sphere,
Or white or black, can send th’ unerring dart 125
Wing’d with swift death to pierce through ev’ry part.
The fiery steed, regardless of the reins,
Comes prancing on; but sullenly disdains
The path direct, and boldly wheeling round, |
Leaps o’er a double space at ev’ry bound: 130 |
And shifts from white or black to diff’rent colour’d ground. |
But the fierce Queen, whom dangers ne’er dismay,
The strength and terror of the bloody day,
In a straight line spreads her destruction wide,
To left or right, before, behind, aside. 135
Yet may she never with a circling course
Sweep to the battle like the fretful Horse;
But unconfin’d may at her pleasure stray,
If neither friend nor foe block up the way;
For to o’erleap a warrior, ’tis decreed 140
Those only dare who curb the snorting steed.
With greater caution and majestic state
The warlike Monarchs in the scene of fate
Direct their motions, since for these appear
Zealous each hope, and anxious ev’ry fear. 145
While the King’s safe, with resolution stern
They clasp their arms; but should a sudden turn
Make him a captive, instantly they yield,
Resolved to share his fortune in the field.
He moves on slow; with reverence profound 150
His faithful troops encompass him around,
And oft, to break some instant fatal scheme,
Rush to their fates, their sov’reign to redeem;
While he, unanxious where to wound the foe,
Need only shift and guard against a blow. 155
But none, however, can presume t’ appear
Within his reach, but must his vengeance fear;
For he on ev’ry side his terror throws;
But when he changes from his first repose,
Moves but one step, most awfully sedate, 160
Or idly roving, or intent on fate.
These are the sev’ral and establish’d laws:
Now see how each maintains his bloody cause.
Here paused the god, but (since whene’er they wage
War here on earth the gods themselves engage 165
In mutual battle as they hate or love,
And the most stubborn war is oft above),
Almighty Jove commands the circling train
Of gods from fav’ring either to abstain,
And let the fight be silently survey’d; 170
And added solemn threats if disobey’d.
Then call’d he Phoebus from among the Powers
And subtle Hermes, whom in softer hours
Fair Maia bore: youth wanton’d in their face;
Both in life’s bloom, both shone with equal grace. 175
Hermes as yet had never wing’d his feet;
As yet Apollo in his radiant seat
Had never driv’n his chariot through the air,
Known by his bow alone and golden hair.
These Jove commission’d to attempt the fray, 180
And rule the sportive military day;
Bid them agree which party each maintains,
And promised a reward that’s worth their pains.
The greater took their seats; on either hand
Respectful the less gods in order stand, 185
But careful not to interrupt their play,
By hinting when t’ advance or run away.
Then they examine, who shall first proceed
To try their courage, and their army lead.
Chance gave it for the White, that he should go 190
First with a brave defiance to the foe.
Awhile he ponder’d which of all his train
Should bear his first commission o’er the plain;
And then determined to begin the scene
With him that stood before to guard the Queen. 195
He took a double step: with instant care
Does the black Monarch in his turn prepare
The adverse champion, and with stern command
Bid him repel the charge with equal hand.
There front to front, the midst of all the field, 200
With furious threats their shining arms they wield;
Yet vain the conflict, neither can prevail
While in one path each other they assail.
On ev’ry side to their assistance fly
Their fellow soldiers, and with strong supply 205
Crowd to the battle, but no bloody stain
Tinctures their armour; sportive in the plain
Mars plays awhile, and in excursion slight
Harmless they sally forth, or wait the fight.
But now the swarthy Foot, that first appear’d 210
To front the foe, his pond’rous jav’lin rear’d
Leftward aslant, and a pale warrior slays,
Spurns him aside, and boldly takes his place.
Unhappy youth, his danger not to spy!
Instant he fell, and triumph’d but to die. 215
At this the sable King with prudent care
Removed his station from the middle square,
And slow retiring to the farthest ground,
There safely lurk’d, with troops entrench’d around.
Then from each quarter to the war advance 220
The furious Knights, and poise the trembling lance:
By turns they rush, by turns the victors yield,
Heaps of dead Foot choke up the crimson’d field:
They fall unable to retreat; around
The clang of arms and iron hoofs resound. 225
But while young Phoebus pleased himself to view
His furious Knight destroy the vulgar crew,
Sly Hermes long’d t’ attempt with secret aim
Some noble act of more exalted fame.
For this, he inoffensive pass’d along 230
Through ranks of Foot, and midst the trembling throng
Sent his left Horse, that free without confine
Rov’d o’er the plain, upon some great design
Against the King himself. At length he stood,
And having fix’d his station as he would, 235
Threaten’d at once with instant fate the King
And th’ Indian beast that guarded the right wing.
Apollo sigh’d, and hast’ning to relieve
The straiten’d Monarch, griev’d that he must leave
His martial Elephant expos’d to fate, 240
And view’d with pitying eyes his dang’rous state.
First in his thoughts however was his care
To save his King, whom to the neighbouring square
On the right hand, he snatch’d with trembling flight;
At this with fury springs the sable Knight, 245
Drew his keen sword, and rising to the blow,
Sent the great Indian brute to shades below.
O fatal loss! for none except the Queen
Spreads such a terror through the bloody scene.
Yet shall you ne’er unpunish’d boast your prize, 250 |
The Delian god with stern resentment cries; |
And wedg’d him round with Foot, and pour’d in fresh supplies. |
Thus close besieg’d trembling he cast his eye
Around the plain, but saw no shelter nigh,
No way for flight; for here the Queen oppos’d, 255
The Foot in phalanx there the passage clos’d:
At length he fell; yet not unpleas’d with fate,
Since victim to a Queen’s vindictive hate.
With grief and fury burns the whiten’d host,
One of their Tow’rs thus immaturely lost. 260
As when a bull has in contention stern
Lost his right horn, with double vengeance burn
His thoughts for war, with blood he’s cover’d o’er,
And the woods echo to his dismal roar,
So look’d the flaxen host, when angry fate 265
O’erturn’d the Indian bulwark of their state.
Fired at this great success, with double rage
Apollo hurries on his troops t’ engage,
For blood and havoc wild; and, while he leads
His troops thus careless, loses both his steeds: 270
For if some adverse warriors were o’erthrown,
He little thought what dangers threat his own.
But slyer Hermes with observant eyes
March’d slowly cautious, and at distance spies
What moves must next succeed, what dangers next arise. 275
Often would he, the stately Queen to snare,
The slender Foot to front her arms prepare,
And to conceal his scheme he sighs and feigns
Such a wrong step would frustrate all his pains.
Just then an Archer, from the right-hand view, 280
At the pale Queen his arrow boldly drew,
Unseen by Phoebus, who, with studious thought,
From the left side a vulgar hero brought.
But tender Venus, with a pitying eye,
Viewing the sad destruction that was nigh, 285
Wink’d upon Phoebus (for the Goddess sat
By chance directly opposite); at that
Roused in an instant, young Apollo threw
His eyes around the field his troops to view:
Perceiv’d the danger, and with sudden fright | 290
Withdrew the Foot that he had sent to fight, |
And sav’d his trembling Queen by seasonable flight. |
But Maia’s son with shouts fill’d all the coast:
The Queen, he cried, the important Queen is lost.
Phoebus, howe’er, resolving to maintain 295
What he had done, bespoke the heavenly train.
What mighty harm, in sportive mimic flight,
Is it to set a little blunder right,
When no preliminary rule debarr’d?
If you henceforward, Mercury, would guard 300
Against such practice, let us make the law:
And whosoe’er shall first to battle draw,
Or white, or black, remorseless let him go
At all events, and dare the angry foe.
He said, and this opinion pleased around: 305
Jove turn’d aside, and on his daughter frown’d,
Unmark’d by Hermes, who, with strange surprise,
Fretted and foam’d, and roll’d his ferret eyes,
And but with great reluctance could refrain
From dashing at a blow all off the plain. 310
Then he resolved to interweave deceits,—
To carry on the war by tricks and cheats.
Instant he call’d an Archer from the throng,
And bid him like the courser wheel along:
Bounding he springs, and threats the pallid Queen. 315
The fraud, however, was by Phoebus seen;
He smiled, and, turning to the Gods, he said:
Though, Hermes, you are perfect in your trade,
And you can trick and cheat to great surprise, |
These little sleights no more shall blind my eyes; | 320
Correct them if you please, the more you thus disguise. |
The circle laugh’d aloud; and Maia’s son
(As if it had but by mistake been done)
Recall’d his Archer, and with motion due,
Bid him advance, the combat to renew. 325
But Phoebus watch’d him with a jealous eye,
Fearing some trick was ever lurking nigh,
For he would oft, with sudden sly design,
Send forth at once two combatants to join
His warring troops, against the law of arms, 330
Unless the wary foe was ever in alarms.
Now the white Archer with his utmost force
Bent the tough bow against the sable Horse,
And drove him from the Queen, where he had stood
Hoping to glut his vengeance with her blood. 335
Then the right Elephant with martial pride
Roved here and there, and spread his terrors wide:
Glittering in arms from far a courser came,
Threaten’d at once the King and Royal Dame;
Thought himself safe when he the post had seized, 340
And with the future spoils his fancy pleased.
Fired at the danger a young Archer came,
Rush’d on the foe, and levell’d sure his aim;
(And though a Pawn his sword in vengeance draws,
Gladly he’d lose his life in glory’s cause). 345
The whistling arrow to his bowels flew,
And the sharp steel his blood profusely drew;
He drops the reins, he totters to the ground,
And his life issued murm’ring through the wound.
Pierced by the Foot, this Archer bit the plain; | 350
The Foot himself was by another slain; |
And with inflamed revenge, the battle burns again. |
Towers, Archers, Knights, meet on the crimson ground,
And the field echoes to the martial sound.
Their thoughts are heated, and their courage fired, 355
Thick they rush on with double zeal inspired;
Generals and Foot, with different colour’d mien, |
Confusedly warring in the camps are seen,— |
Valour and fortune meet in one promiscuous scene. |
Now these victorious, lord it o’er the field; 360
Now the foe rallies, the triumphant yield:
Just as the tide of battle ebbs or flows.
As when the conflict more tempestuous grows
Between the winds, with strong and boisterous sweep
They plough th’ Ionian or Atlantic deep! 365
By turns prevail the mutual blustering roar,
And the big waves alternate lash the shore.
But in the midst of all the battle raged
The snowy Queen, with troops at once engaged;
She fell’d an Archer as she sought the plain,— 370
As she retired an Elephant was slain:
To right and left her fatal spears she sent,
Burst through the ranks, and triumph’d as she went;
Through arms and blood she seeks a glorious fate,
Pierces the farthest lines, and nobly great 375
Leads on her army with a gallant show,
Breaks the battalions, and cuts through the foe.
At length the sable King his fears betray’d,
And begg’d his military consort’s aid:
With cheerful speed she flew to his relief, 380
And met in equal arms the female chief.
Who first, great Queen, and who at last did bleed?
How many Whites lay gasping on the mead?
Half dead, and floating in a bloody tide,
Foot, Knights, and Archer lie on every side. 385
Who can recount the slaughter of the day?
How many leaders threw their lives away?
The chequer’d plain is fill’d with dying box,
Havoc ensues, and with tumultuous shocks
The different colour’d ranks in blood engage, 390
And Foot and Horse promiscuously rage.
With nobler courage and superior might
The dreadful Amazons sustain the fight,
Resolved alike to mix in glorious strife,
Till to imperious fate they yield their life. 395
Meanwhile each Monarch, in a neighbouring cell,
Confined the warriors that in battle fell,
There watch’d the captives with a jealous eye,
Lest, slipping out again, to arms they fly.
But Thracian Mars, in stedfast friendship join’d 400
To Hermes, as near Phoebus he reclined,
Observed each chance, how all their motions bend,
Resolved if possible to serve his friend.
He a Foot-soldier and a Knight purloin’d
Out from the prison that the dead confined; 405
And slyly push’d ’em forward on the plain; |
Th’ enliven’d combatants their arms regain, |
Mix in the bloody scene, and boldly war again. |
So the foul hag, in screaming wild alarms
O’er a dead carcase muttering her charms, 410
(And with her frequent and tremendous yell
Forcing great Hecate from out of hell)
Shoots in the corpse a new fictitious soul; |
With instant glare the supple eyeballs roll, |
Again it moves and speaks, and life informs the whole. | 415
Vulcan alone discern’d the subtle cheat;
And wisely scorning such a base deceit,
Call’d out to Phoebus. Grief and rage assail
Phoebus by turns; detected Mars turns pale.
Then awful Jove with sullen eye reproved 420
Mars, and the captives order’d to be moved
To their dark caves; bid each fictitious spear
Be straight recall’d, and all be as they were.
And now both Monarchs with redoubled rage
Led on their Queens, the mutual war to wage. 425
O’er all the field their thirsty spears they send,
Then front to front their Monarchs they defend.
But lo! the female White rush’d in unseen,
And slew with fatal haste the swarthy Queen;
Yet soon, alas! resign’d her royal spoils, 430
Snatch’d by a shaft from her successful toils.
Struck at the sight, both hosts in wild surprise
Pour’d forth their tears, and fill’d the air with cries;
They wept and sigh’d, as pass’d the fun’ral train,
As if both armies had at once been slain. 435
And now each troop surrounds its mourning chief,
To guard his person, or assuage his grief.
One is their common fear; one stormy blast
Has equally made havoc as it pass’d.
Not all, however, of their youth are slain; 440
Some champions yet the vig’rous war maintain.
Three Foot, an Archer, and a stately Tower,
For Phoebus still exert their utmost power.
Just the same number Mercury can boast,
Except the Tower, who lately in his post 445
Unarm’d inglorious fell, in peace profound,
Pierced by an Archer with a distant wound;
But his right Horse retain’d its mettled pride,—
The rest were swept away by war’s strong tide.
But fretful Hermes, with despairing moan, 450
Griev’d that so many champions were o’erthrown,
Yet reassumes the fight; and summons round
The little straggling army that he found,—
All that had ’scaped from fierce Apollo’s rage,—
Resolved with greater caution to engage 455
In future strife, by subtle wiles (if fate
Should give him leave) to save his sinking state.
The sable troops advance with prudence slow,
Bent on all hazards to distress the foe.
More cheerful Phoebus, with unequal pace, 460
Rallies his arms to lessen his disgrace.
But what strange havoc everywhere has been! |
A straggling champion here and there is seen; |
And many are the tents, yet few are left within. |
Th’ afflicted Kings bewail their consorts dead, 465
And loathe the thoughts of a deserted bed;
And though each monarch studies to improve
The tender mem’ry of his former love,
Their state requires a second nuptial tie.
Hence the pale ruler with a love-sick eye 470
Surveys th’ attendants of his former wife,
And offers one of them a royal life.
These, when their martial mistress had been slain,
Weak and despairing tried their arms in vain;
Willing, howe’er, amidst the Black to go, 475
They thirst for speedy vengeance on the foe.
Then he resolves to see who merits best,
By strength and courage, the imperial vest;
Points out the foe, bids each with bold design
Pierce through the ranks, and reach the deepest line: 480
For none must hope with monarchs to repose
But who can first, through thick surrounding foes,
Through arms and wiles, with hazardous essay,
Safe to the farthest quarters force their way.
Fired at the thought, with sudden, joyful pace 485
They hurry on; but first of all the race
Runs the third right-hand warrior for the prize,—
The glitt’ring crown already charms her eyes.
Her dear associates cheerfully give o’er |
The nuptial chase; and swift she flies before, | 490
And Glory lent her wings, and the reward in store. |
Nor would the sable King her hopes prevent,
For he himself was on a Queen intent,
Alternate, therefore, through the field they go.
Hermes led on, but by a step too slow, 495
His fourth left Pawn: and now th’ advent’rous White
Had march’d through all, and gain’d the wish’d for site.
Then the pleased King gives orders to prepare
The crown, the sceptre, and the royal chair,
And owns her for his Queen: around exult 500
The snowy troops, and o’er the Black insult.
Hermes burst into tears,—with fretful roar
Fill’d the wide air, and his gay vesture tore.
The swarthy Foot had only to advance
One single step; but oh! malignant chance! 505
A towered Elephant, with fatal aim,
Stood ready to destroy her when she came:
He keeps a watchful eye upon the whole,
Threatens her entrance, and protects the goal.
Meanwhile the royal new-created bride, 510
Pleased with her pomp, spread death and terror wide;
Like lightning through the sable troops she flies,
Clashes her arms, and seems to threat the skies.
The sable troops are sunk in wild affright,
And wish th’ earth op’ning snatch’d ’em from her sight. 515
In burst the Queen, with vast impetuous swing: |
The trembling foes come swarming round the King, |
Where in the midst he stood, and form a valiant ring. |
So the poor cows, straggling o’er pasture land,
When they perceive the prowling wolf at hand, 520
Crowd close together in a circle full,
And beg the succour of the lordly bull;
They clash their horns, they low with dreadful sound,
And the remotest groves re-echo round.
But the bold Queen, victorious, from behind 525
Pierces the foe; yet chiefly she design’d
Against the King himself some fatal aim,
And full of war to his pavilion came.
Now here she rush’d, now there; and had she been
But duly prudent, she had slipp’d between, 530
With course oblique, into the fourth white square,
And the long toil of war had ended there,
The King had fallen, and all his sable state;
And vanquish’d Hermes cursed his partial fate.
For thence with ease the championess might go, 535
Murder the King, and none could ward the blow.
With silence, Hermes, and with panting heart,
Perceived the danger, but with subtle art,
(Lest he should see the place) spurs on the foe,
Confounds his thoughts, and blames his being slow. 540
For shame! move on; would you for ever stay?
What sloth is this, what strange perverse delay?—
How could you e’er my little pausing blame?—
What! you would wait till night shall end the game?
Phoebus, thus nettled, with imprudence slew 545
A vulgar Pawn, but lost his nobler view.
Young Hermes leap’d, with sudden joy elate;
And then, to save the monarch from his fate,
Led on his martial Knight, who stepp’d between,
Pleased that his charge was to oppose the Queen— 550
Then, pondering how the Indian beast to slay,
That stopp’d the Foot from making farther way,—
From being made a Queen; with slanting aim
An archer struck him; down the monster came,
And dying shook the earth: while Phoebus tries 555
Without success the monarch to surprise.
The Foot, then uncontroll’d with instant pride,
Seized the last spot, and moved a royal bride.
And now with equal strength both war again,
And bring their second wives upon the plain; 560
Then, though with equal views each hop’d and fear’d,
Yet, as if every doubt had disappear’d,
As if he had the palm, young Hermes flies
Into excess of joy; with deep disguise,
Extols his own Black troops, with frequent spite 565
And with invective taunts disdains the White.
Whom Phoebus thus reproved with quick return—
As yet we cannot the decision learn
Of this dispute, and do you triumph now?
Then your big words and vauntings I’ll allow, 570
When you the battle shall completely gain;
At present I shall make your boasting vain.
He said, and forward led the daring Queen;
Instant the fury of the bloody scene
Rises tumultuous, swift the warriors fly 575
From either side to conquer or to die.
They front the storm of war: around ’em Fear,
Terror, and Death, perpetually appear.
All meet in arms, and man to man oppose,
Each from their camp attempts to drive their foes; 580
Each tries by turns to force the hostile lines;
Chance and impatience blast their best designs.
The sable Queen spread terror as she went
Through the mid ranks: with more reserved intent
The adverse dame declined the open fray, 585
And to the King in private stole away:
Then took the royal guard, and bursting in,
With fatal menace close besieged the King.
Alarm’d at this, the swarthy Queen, in haste,
From all her havoc and destructive waste 590
Broke off, and her contempt of death to show, |
Leap’d in between the Monarch and the foe, |
To save the King and state from this impending blow. |
But Phoebus met a worse misfortune here:
For Hermes now led forward, void of fear, 595
His furious Horse into the open plain,
That onward chafed, and pranced, and pawed amain.
Nor ceased from his attempts until he stood
On the long-wished-for spot, from whence he could
Slay King or Queen. O’erwhelm’d with sudden fears, 600
Apollo saw, and could not keep from tears.
Now all seem’d ready to be overthrown;
His strength was wither’d, ev’ry hope was flown.
Hermes, exulting at this great surprise,
Shouted for joy, and fill’d the air with cries; 605
Instant he sent the Queen to shades below,
And of her spoils made a triumphant show.
But in return, and in his mid career,
Fell his brave Knight, beneath the Monarch’s spear.
Phoebus, however, did not yet despair, 610
But still fought on with courage and with care.
He had but two poor common men to show,
And Mars’s favourite with his iv’ry bow.
The thoughts of ruin made ’em dare their best
To save their King, so fatally distress’d. 615
But the sad hour required not such an aid;
And Hermes breathed revenge where’er he stray’d.
Fierce comes the sable Queen with fatal threat,
Surrounds the Monarch in his royal seat;
Rushed here and there, nor rested till she slew 620
The last remainder of the whiten’d crew.
Sole stood the King, the midst of all the plain,
Weak and defenceless, his companions slain.
As when the ruddy morn ascending high
Has chased the twinkling stars from all the sky, 625
Your star, fair Venus, still retains its light,
And, loveliest, goes the latest out of sight.
No safety’s left, no gleams of hope remain;
Yet did he not as vanquish’d quit the plain,
But tried to shut himself between the foe,— | 630
Unhurt through swords and spears he hoped to go, |
Until no room was left to shun the fatal blow. |
For if none threaten’d his immediate fate,
And his next move must ruin all his state,
All their past toil and labour is in vain, | 635
Vain all the bloody carnage of the plain,— |
Neither would triumph then, the laurel neither gain. |
Therefore through each void space and desert tent,
By different moves his various course he bent:
The Black King watch’d him with observant eye, 640
Follow’d him close, but left him room to fly.
Then when he saw him take the farthest line,
He sent the Queen his motions to confine,
And guard the second rank, that he could go
No farther now than to that distant row. 645
The sable monarch then with cheerful mien
Approach’d, but always with one space between.
But as the King stood o’er against him there,
Helpless, forlorn, and sunk in his despair,
The martial Queen her lucky moment knew, | 650
Seized on the farthest seat with fatal view, |
Nor left th’ unhappy King a place to flee unto. |
At length in vengeance her keen sword she draws, |
Slew him, and ended thus the bloody cause: |
And all the gods around approved it with applause. | 655
The victor could not from his insults keep,
But laugh’d and sneer’d to see Apollo weep.
Jove call’d him near, and gave him in his hand
The powerful, happy, and mysterious wand
By which the Shades are call’d to purer day, 660
When penal fire has purged their sins away;
By which the guilty are condemn’d to dwell
In the dark mansions of the deepest hell;
By which he gives us sleep, or sleep denies,
And closes at the last the dying eyes. 665
Soon after this, the heavenly victor brought
The game on earth, and first th’ Italians taught.
For (as they say) fair Scacchis he espied
Feeding her cygnets in the silver tide,
(Sacchis, the loveliest Seriad of the place) 670
And as she stray’d, took her to his embrace.
Then, to reward her for her virtue lost,
Gave her the men and chequer’d board, emboss’d
With gold and silver curiously inlay’d;
And taught her how the game was to be play’d. 675
Ev’n now ’tis honour’d with her happy name;
And Rome and all the world admire the game.
All which the Seriads told me heretofore,
When my boy-notes amused the Serian shore.
NOTES
INTRODUCTION
He was born . . . at Pallas. This is the usual
account. But it was maintained by the family of the poet’s mother, and has
been contended (by Dr. Michael F. Cox in a Lecture on ‘The Country and
Kindred of Oliver Goldsmith,’ published in vol. 1, pt. 2, of the _Journal_
of the ‘National Literary Society of Ireland.’ 1900) that his real
birth-place was the residence of Mrs. Goldsmith’s parents, Smith-Hill
House, Elphin, Roscommon, to which she was in the habit of paying frequent
visits. Meanwhile, in 1897, a window was placed to Goldsmith’s memory in
Forgney Church, Longford,—the church of which, at the time of his
birth, his father was curate.
his academic career was not a success. ‘Oliver
Goldsmith is recorded on two occasions as being remarkably diligent at
Morning Lecture; again, as cautioned for bad answering at Morning and
Greek Lectures; and finally, as put down into the next class for neglect
of his studies’ (Dr. Stubbs’s _History of the University of Dublin_,
1889, p. 201 n.)
a scratched signature upon a window-pane. This,
which is now at Trinity College, Dublin, is here reproduced in facsimile.
When the garrets of No. 35, Parliament Square, were pulled down in 1837,
it was cut out of the window by the last occupant of the rooms, who broke
it in the process. (Dr. J. F. Waller in Cassell’s _Works_ of
Goldsmith, [1864–5], pp. xiii-xiv n.)
a poor physician. Where he obtained his diploma
is not known. It was certainly not at Padua (_Athenaeum_, July
21, 1894). At Leyden and Louvain Prior made inquiries but, in each case,
without success. The annals of the University of Louvain were, however,
destroyed in the revolutionary wars. (Prior, _Life_, 1837, i,
pp. 171, 178).
declared it to be by Goldsmith. Goldsmith’s
authorship of this version has now been placed beyond a doubt by the
publication in facsimile of his signed receipt to Edward Dilly for
third share of ‘my translation,’ such third share amounting to 6 pounds
13s. 4d. The receipt, which belongs to Mr. J. W. Ford of Enfield Old Park,
is dated ‘January 11th, 1758.’ (_Memoirs of a Protestant_,
etc., Dent’s edition, 1895, i, pp. xii-xviii.)
12, Green Arbour Court, Old Bailey. This was a
tiny square occupying a site now absorbed by the Holborn Viaduct and
Railway Station. No. 12, where Goldsmith lived, was later occupied by
Messrs. Smith, Elder & Co. as a printing office. An engraving of the
Court forms the frontispiece to the _European Magazine_ for
January, 1803.
or some of his imitators. The proximate cause of
the _Citizen of the World_, as the present writer has suggested
elsewhere, _ may_ have been Horace Walpole’s _Letter from XoHo_
[Soho?], _a Chinese Philosopher at London, to his friend Lien Chi, at
Peking_. This was noticed as ‘in Montesquieu’s manner’ in the May issue
of the _Monthly Review_ for 1757, to which Goldsmith was a
contributor (_Eighteenth Century Vignettes_, first series,
second edition, 1897, pp. 108–9).
demonstrable from internal evidence. e.g.—The
references to the musical glasses (ch. ix), which were the rage in 1761–2;
and to the _Auditor_ (ch. xix) established by Arthur Murphy in
June of the latter year. The sale of the ‘Vicar’ is discussed at length in
chapter vii of the editor’s _Life of Oliver Goldsmith_ (‘Great
Writers’ series), 1888, pp. 110–21.
started with a loss. This, which to some critics
has seemed unintelliglble, rests upon the following: ‘The first three
editions, . . . resulted in a loss, and the fourth, which was not issued
until eight [four?] years after the first, started with a balance against
it of £2 16s. 6d., and it was not until that fourth edition had been
sold that the balance came out on the right side’ (_A Bookseller of
the Last Century_ [John Newbery] by Charles Welsh, 1885, p. 61). The
writer based his statement upon Collins’s ‘Publishing book, account of
books printed and shares therein, No. 3, 1770 to 1785.’
James’s Powder. This was a famous patent
panacea, invented by Johnson’s Lichfield townsman, Dr. Robert James of the
_Medicinal Dictionary_. It was sold by John Newbery, and had an
extraordinary vogue. The King dosed Princess Elizabeth with it; Fielding,
Gray, and Cowper all swore by it, and Horace Walpole, who wished to try it
upon Mme. du Deffand _in extremis_,
said he should use it if the house were on fire. William Hawes, the Strand
apothecary who attended Goldsmith, wrote an interesting _Account of the
late Dr. Goldsmith’s Illness, so far as relates to the Exhibition of Dr.
James’s Powders,_ etc., 1774, which he dedicated to Reynolds and Burke.
To Hawes once belonged the poet’s worn old wooden writing-desk, now in the
South Kensington Museum, where are also his favourite chair and cane.
Another desk-chair, which had descended from his friend, Edmund Bott, was
recently for sale at Sotheby’s (July, 1906).
[Illustration:
Green Arbour Court, Little Old Bailey.]
GREEN ARBOUR COURT,
LITTLE OLD BAILEY
(as it appeared in 1803)
EDITIONS OF THE POEMS.
No collected edition of Goldsmith’s poetical works appeared until after
his death. But, in 1775, W. Griffin, who had published the _Essays_
of ten years earlier, issued a volume entitled _The Miscellaneous
Works of Oliver Goldsmith, M.B., containing all his Essays and Poems_.
The ‘poems’ however were confined to ‘The Traveller,’ ‘The Deserted
Village,’ ‘Edwin and Angelina,’ ‘The Double Transformation,’ ‘A New
Simile,’ and ‘Retaliation,’—an obviously imperfect harvesting. In
the following year G. Kearsly printed an eighth edition of _Retaliation_,
with which he included ‘The Hermit’ (‘Edwin and Angelina’), ‘The Gift,’
‘Madam Blaize,’ and the epilogues to _The Sister_ and _She
stoops to Conquer_;* while to an edition of _The Haunch of
Venison_, also put forth in 1776, he added the ‘Epitaph on Parnell’
and two songs from the oratorio of _The Captivity_. The next
collection appeared in a volume of _Poems and Plays_ published
at Dublin in 1777, where it was preceded by a ‘Life,’ written by W.
Glover, one of Goldsmith’s ‘Irish clients.’ Then, in 1780, came vol. i of
T. Evans’s _ Poetical and Dramatic Works, etc., now first collected_,
also having a ‘Memoir,’ and certainly fuller than anything which had gone
before. Next followed the long-deferred _Miscellaneous Works,_
etc., of 1801, in four volumes, vol. ii of which comprised the plays and
poems. Prefixed to this edition is the important biographical sketch,
compiled under the direction of Bishop Percy, and usually described as the
_Percy Memoir_, by which title it is referred to in the ensuing
notes. The next memorable edition was that edited for the Aldine Series in
1831, by the Rev. John Mitford. Prior and Wright’s edition in vol. iv of
the _Miscellaneous Works_, etc., of 1837, comes after this;
then Bolton Corney’s excellent _Poetical Works_ of 1845; and
vol. i of Peter Cunningham’s _Works_, etc. of 1854. There are
other issues of the poems, the latest of which is to be found in vol. ii
(1885) of the complete _Works_, in five volumes, edited for
Messrs. George Bell and Sons by J. W. M. Gibbs.
* Some copies of this are dated 1777, and contain _The Haunch
of Venison_ and a few minor pieces.
Most of the foregoing editions have been consulted for the following
notes; but chiefly those of Mitford, Prior, Bolton Corney, and Cunningham.
Many of the illustrations and explanations now supplied will not, however,
be found in any of the sources indicated. When an elucidatory or parallel
passage is cited, an attempt has been made, as far as possible, to give
the credit of it to the first discoverer. Thus, some of the illustrations
in Cunningham’s notes are here transferred to Prior, some of Prior’s to
Mitford, and so forth. As regards the notes themselves, care has been
taken to make them full enough to obviate the necessity, except in rare
instances, of further investigation. It is the editor’s experience that
references to external authorities are, as a general rule, sign-posts to
routes which are seldom travelled.*
* In this connexion may be recalled the dictum of Hume quoted by Dr.
Birkbeck Hill:—‘Every book should be as complete as possible within
itself, and should never refer for anything material to other books’ (_History
of England_, 1802, ii. 101).
THE TRAVELLER.
It was on those continental wanderings which occupied Goldsmith between
February, 1755 and February, 1756 that he conceived his first idea of
this, the earliest of his poems to which he prefixed his name; and he
probably had in mind Addison’s _Letter from Italy to Lord Halifax_,
a work in which he found ‘a strain of political thinking that was, at that
time [1701]. new in our poetry.’ (_Beauties of English Poesy_,
1767, i. III). From the dedicatory letter to his brother—which says
expressly, ‘as a part of this Poem was formerly written to you from
Switzerland, the whole can now, with propriety, be only inscribed
to you’—it is plain that some portion of it must have been actually
composed abroad. It was not, however, actually published until the 19th of
December, 1764, and the title-page bore the date of 1765.* The publisher
was John Newbery, of St. Paul’s Churchyard, and the price of the book, a
quarto of 30 pages, was 1s. 6d. A second, third and fourth edition quickly
followed, and a ninth, from which it is here reprinted, was issued in
1774, the year of the author’s death. Between the first and the sixth
edition of 1770 there were numerous alterations, the more important of
which are indicated in the ensuing notes.
* This is the generally recognized first edition. But the late Mr.
Frederick Locker Lampson, the poet and collector, possessed a quarto copy,
dated 1764, which had no author’s name, and in which the dedication ran as
follows:—‘This poem is inscribed to the Rev. Henry Goldsmith, M.A.
By his most affectionate Brother Oliver Goldsmith.’ It was, in all
probability, unique, though it is alleged that there are octavo copies
which present similar characteristics. It has now gone to America with the
Rowfant Library.
In 1902 an interesting discovery was made by Mr. Bertram Dobell, to
whom the public are indebted for so many important literary ‘finds.’ In a
parcel of pamphlets he came upon a number of loose printed leaves entitled
_A Prospect of Society_. They obviously belonged to _The
Traveller_; but seemed to be its ‘formless unarranged material,’ and
contained many variations from the text of the first edition. Mr. Dobell’s
impression was that ‘the author’s manuscript, written on loose leaves, had
fallen into confusion, and was then printed without any attempt at
re-arrangement.’ This was near the mark; but the complete solution of the
riddle was furnished by Mr. Quiller Couch in an article in the _Daily
News_ for March 31, 1902, since recast in his charming volume _From
a Cornish Window_, 1906, pp. 86–92. He showed conclusively that
_The Prospect_ was ‘merely an early draft of _The
Traveller_ printed backwards in fairly regular sections.’ What had
manifestly happened was this. Goldsmith, turning over each page as
written, had laid it on the top of the preceding page of MS. and forgotten
to rearrange them when done. Thus the series of pages were reversed; and,
so reversed, were set up in type by a matter-of-fact compositor. Mr.
Dobell at once accepted this happy explanation; which—as Mr. Quiller
Couch points out—has the advantage of being a ‘blunder just so
natural to Goldsmith as to be almost postulable.’ One or two of the
variations of Mr. Dobell’s ‘find’—variations, it should be added,
antecedent to the first edition—are noted in their places.
The didactic purpose of _The Traveller_ is defined in the
concluding paragraph of the _Dedication_; and, like many of the
thoughts which it contains, had been anticipated in a passage
of _The Citizen of the World_, 1762, i. 185:—‘Every mind
seems capable of entertaining a certain quantity of happiness, which no
institutions can encrease, no circumstances alter, and entirely
independent on fortune.’ But the best short description of the poem is
Macaulay’s:—‘In the _Traveller_ the execution, though
deserving of much praise, is far inferior to the design. No philosophical
poem, ancient or modern, has a plan so noble, and at the same time so
simple. An English wanderer, seated on a crag among the Alps, near the
point where three great countries meet, looks down on the boundless
prospect, reviews his long pilgrimage, recalls the varieties of scenery,
of climate, of government, of religion, of national character, which he
has observed, and comes to the conclusion, just or unjust, that our
happiness depends little on political institutions, and much on the temper
and regulation of our own minds.’ (_Encyclop. Britannica_,
Goldsmith, February, 1856.)
The only definite record of payment for _ The Traveller_ is
‘Copy of the Traveller, a Poem, 21_l_,’ in Newbery’s MSS.; but as the
same sum occurs in Memoranda of much later date than 1764, it is possible
that the success of the book may have prompted some supplementary fee.
A Prospect, i.e. ‘a view.’ ‘I went to Putney, and
other places on the Thames, to take ‘prospects’ in crayon, to carry into
France, where I thought to have them engraved’ (Evelyn, _Diary_,
20th June, 1649). And Reynolds uses the word of Claude in his Fourth
Discourse:—‘His pictures are a composition of the various draughts
which he had previously made from various beautiful scenes and prospects’
(_Works_, by Malone, 1798, i. 105). The word is common on old
prints, e.g. _An Exact Prospect of the Magnificent Stone Bridge at
Westminster_, etc., 1751.
Dedication. The Rev. Henry Goldsmith, says the
Percy _ Memoir_, 1801, p. 3, ‘had distinguished himself both at
school and at college, but he unfortunately married at the early age of
nineteen; which confined him to a Curacy, and prevented his rising to
preferment in the church.’
with an income of forty pounds a year. Cf. _The
Deserted Village_, ll. 141–2:—
A man he was, to all the country dear,
And passing rich with _forty pounds a year_.
Cf. also Parson Adams in ch. iii of _Joseph Andrews_, who has
twenty-three; and Mr. Rivers, in the _Spiritual Quixote_,
1772:—‘I do not choose to go into orders to be a curate all my
life-time, and work for about fifteen-pence a day, or twenty-five pounds
a year’ (bk. vi, ch. xvii). Dr. Primrose’s stipend is thirty-five in the
first instance, fifteen in the second (_Vicar of Wakefield_,
chapters ii and iii). But Professor Hales (_Longer English Poems_,
1885, p. 351) supplies an exact parallel in the case of Churchill, who, he
says, when a curate at Rainham, ‘prayed and starved on _ forty pounds a
year_.’ The latter words are Churchill’s own, and sound like a
quotation; but he was dead long before _The Deserted Village_
appeared in 1770. There is an interesting paper in the _Gentleman’s
Magazine_ for November, 1763, on the miseries and hardships of the
‘inferior clergy.’
But of all kinds of ambition, etc. In the first
edition of 1765, p. ii, this passage was as follows:—‘But of all
kinds of ambition, as things are now circumstanced, perhaps that which
pursues poetical fame, is the wildest. What from the encreased refinement
of the times, from the diversity of judgments produced by opposing systems
of criticism, and from the more prevalent divisions of opinion influenced
by party, the strongest and happiest efforts can expect to please but in a
very narrow circle. Though the poet were as sure of his aim as the
imperial archer of antiquity, who boasted that he never missed the heart;
yet would many of his shafts now fly at random, for the heart is too often
in the wrong place.’ In the second edition it was curtailed; in the sixth
it took its final form.
they engross all that favour once shown to her.
First version—‘They engross all favour to themselves.’
the elder’s birthright. Cunningham here aptly
compares Dryden’s epistle _To Sir Godfrey Kneller_, II. 89–92:—
Our arts are sisters, though not twins in birth;
For hymns were sung in Eden’s happy earth:
But oh, the painter muse, though last in place,
Has seized the blessing first, like Jacob’s race.
_Party_=faction. Cf. lines 31–2 on Edmund Burke in
_ Retaliation_:—
Who, born for the Universe, narrow’d his mind,
And to _party_ gave up what was meant for mankind.
Such readers generally admire, etc. ‘I suppose this
paragraph to be directed against Paul Whitehead, or Churchill,’ writes
Mitford. It was clearly aimed at Churchill, since Prior (_Life_,
1837, ii. 54) quotes a portion of a contemporary article in the _St.
James’s Chronicle_ for February 7–9, 1765, attributed to Bonnell
Thornton, which leaves little room for doubt upon the question. ‘The
latter part of this paragraph,’ says the writer, referring to the passage
now annotated, ‘we cannot help considering as a reflection on the memory
of the late Mr. Churchill, whose talents as a poet were so greatly and so
deservedly admired, that during his short reign, his merit in great
measure eclipsed that of others; and we think it no mean acknowledgment of
the excellencies of this poem [_The Traveller_] to say that,
like the stars, they appear the more brilliant now that the sun of our
poetry is gone down.’ Churchill died on the 4th of November, 1764, some
weeks before the publication of _The Traveller_. His powers, it
may be, were misdirected and misapplied; but his rough vigour and his
manly verse deserved a better fate at Goldsmith’s hands.
tawdry was added in the sixth edition of 1770.
blank verse. Cf. _The Present State of Polite
Learning_, 1759, p. 150—‘From a desire in the critic of
grafting the spirit of ancient languages upon the English, has proceeded
of late several disagreeable instances of pedantry. Among the number, I
think we may reckon _blank verse_. Nothing but the greatest sublimity
of subject can render such a measure pleasing; however, we now see it used
on the most trivial occasions’—by which last remark Goldsmith
probably, as Cunningham thinks, intended to refer to the efforts of
Akenside, Dyer, and Armstrong. His views upon blank verse were shared by
Johnson and Gray. At the date of the present dedication, the latest
offender in this way had been Goldsmith’s old colleague on _The
Monthly Review_, Dr. James Grainger, author of _The Sugar Cane_,
which was published in June, 1764. (Cf. also _The Bee_ for 24th
November, 1759, ‘An account of the Augustan Age of England.’)
and that this principle, etc. In the first edition
this read—‘and that this principle in each state, and in our own in
particular, may be carried to a mischievous excess.’
Remote, unfriended, melancholy, slow. Mitford
(Aldine edition, 1831, p. 7) compares the following lines from Ovid:—
Solus, inops, exspes, leto poenaeque relictus.
_Metamorphoses_, xiv. 217.
Exsul, inops erres, alienaque limina lustres, etc.
_Ibis_. 113.
slow. A well-known passage from Boswell must here be
reproduced:—‘Chamier once asked him [Goldsmith], what he meant by _slow_,
the last word in the first line of _The Traveller_,
Remote, unfriended, melancholy, slow.
Did he mean tardiness of locomotion? Goldsmith, who would say something
without consideration, answered “yes.” I [Johnson] was sitting by, and
said, “No, Sir, you do not mean tardiness of locomotion; you mean, that
sluggishness of mind which comes upon a man in solitude.” Chamier believed
then that I had written the line as much as if he had seen me write it.’
[Birkbeck Hill’s _Boswell_, 1887, iii. 252–3.) It is quite
possible, however, that Goldsmith meant no more than he said.
the rude Carinthian boor. ‘Carinthia,’ says
Cunningham, ‘was visited by Goldsmith in 1755, and still (1853) retains
its character for inhospitality.’
Campania. ‘Intended,’ says Bolton Corney, ‘to denote
_La campagna di Roma_. The portion of it which extends from Rome to
Terracina is scarcely habitable.’
a lengthening chain. Prior compares Letter iii of
_The Citizen of the World_, 1762, i. 5:—‘The farther I
travel I feel the pain of separation with stronger force, those ties that
bind me to my native country, and you, are still unbroken. By every
remove, I only drag a greater length of chain.’ But, as Mitford points
out, Cibber has a similar thought in his _Comical Lovers_,
1707, Act v:—‘When I am with Florimel, it [my heart] is still your
prisoner, _it only draws a longer chain after it_.’ And earlier still
in Dryden’s ‘All for Love’, 1678, Act ii, Sc. 1:—
My life on’t, he still drags a chain along,
That needs must clog his flight.
with simple plenty crown’d. In the first edition
this read ‘where mirth and peace abound.’
the luxury of doing good. Prior compares Garth’s
_Claremont_, 1715, where he speaks of the Druids:—
Hard was their Lodging, homely was their Food,
For all their _Luxury was doing Good_.
my prime of life. He was seven-and-twenty when he
landed at Dover in February, 1756.
That, like the circle bounding, etc. Cf. _Vicar
of Wakefield_, 1766, ii. 160–1 (ch. x):—‘Death, the only
friend of the wretched, for a little while mocks the weary traveller with
the view, and like his horizon, still flies before him.’ [Prior.]
And find no spot of all the world my own. Prior
compares his namesake’s lines _In the Beginning of_ [Jacques] _Robbe’s
Geography_, 1700:—
My destin’d Miles I shall have gone,
By THAMES or MAESE, by PO or RHONE,
And _found no Foot of Earth my own._
above the storm’s career. Cf. 1. 190 of _The
Deserted Village._
should thankless pride repine? First edition,
‘’twere thankless to repine.’
Say, should the philosophic mind, etc. First
edition:—
’Twere affectation all, and school-taught pride,
To spurn the splendid things by heaven supply’d
hoard. ‘Sum’ in the first edition.
Boldly proclaims that happiest spot his own. In the
first version this was—
Boldly asserts that country for his own.
And yet, perhaps, etc. In the first edition, for
this and the following five lines appeared these eight:—
And yet, perhaps, if states with states we scan,
Or estimate their bliss on Reason’s plan,
Though patriots flatter, and though fools contend,
We still shall find uncertainty suspend;
Find that each good, by Art or Nature given,
To these or those, but makes the balance even:
Find that the bliss of all is much the same,
And patriotic boasting reason’s shame!
On Idra’s cliffs. Bolton Corney conjectures that
Goldsmith meant ‘Idria, a town in Carniola, noted for its mines.’
‘Goldsmith in his “History of Animated Nature” makes mention of the mines,
and spells the name in the same way as here.’ (Mr. J. H. Lobban’s _Select
Poems of Goldsmith_, 1900, p. 87). Lines 84–5, it may be added, are
not in the first edition.
And though the rocky-crested summits frown. In the
first edition:—
And though rough rocks or gloomy summits frown.
lines 91–2. are not in the first editions.
peculiar, i.e. ‘proper,’ ‘appropriate.’
winnow, i.e. ‘waft,’ ‘disperse.’ John Evelyn refers
to these ‘sea-born gales’ in the ‘Dedication’ of his _Fumifugium_,
1661:— ‘Those who take notice of the scent of the orange-flowers
from the rivage of Genoa, and St. Pietro dell’ Arena; the blossomes of the
rosemary from the Coasts of Spain, many leagues off at sea; or the
manifest, and odoriferous wafts which flow from Fontenay and Vaugirard,
even to Paris in the season of roses, with the contrary effect of those
less pleasing smells from other accidents, will easily consent to what I
suggest [i.e. the planting of sweet-smelling trees].’ (_Miscellaneous
Writings_, 1825, p. 208.)
Till, more unsteady, etc. In the first edition:—
But, more unsteady than the southern gale,
Soon Commerce turn’d on other shores her sail.
There is a certain resemblance between this passage and one of the later
paradoxes of Smollett’s Lismahago;—‘He affirmed, the nature of
commerce was such, that it could not be fixed or perpetuated, but, having
flowed to a certain height, would immediately begin to ebb, and so
continue till the channels should be left almost dry; but there was no
instance of the tide’s rising a second time to any considerable influx in
the same nation’ (_Humphry Clinker_, 1771, ii. 192. Letter of
Mr. Bramble to Dr. Lewis).
lines 141–2. are not in the first edition.
Its former strength was but plethoric ill. Cf.
_The Citizen of the World_, 1762, i. 98:—‘In short, the
state resembled one of those bodies bloated with disease, whose bulk is
only a symptom of its wretchedness.’ [Mitford.]
Yet still the loss, etc. In the first edition:—
Yet, though to fortune lost, here still abide
Some splendid arts, the wrecks of former pride.
The paste-board triumph and the cavalcade. ‘Happy
Country [he is speaking of Italy], where the pastoral age begins to
revive! Where the wits even of Rome are united into a rural groupe of
nymphs and swains, under the appellation of modern Arcadians [i.e. the
Bolognese Academy of the _Arcadi_]. Where in the midst of porticos,
processions, and cavalcades, abbes turn’d into shepherds, and
shepherdesses without sheep, indulge their innocent _ divertimenti_.’
(_Present State of Polite Learning_, 1759, pp. 50–1.) Some of
the ‘paste-board triumphs’ may be studied in the plates of Jacques Callot.
By sports like these, etc. A pretty and well-known
story is told with regard to this couplet. Calling once on Goldsmith,
Reynolds, having vainly tried to attract attention, entered unannounced.
‘His friend was at his desk, but with hand uplifted, and a look directed
to another part of the room; where a little dog sat with difficulty on his
haunches, looking imploringly at his teacher, whose rebuke for toppling
over he had evidently just received. Reynolds advanced, and looked past
Goldsmith’s shoulder at the writing on his desk. It seemed to be some
portions of a poem; and looking more closely, he was able to read a
couplet which had been that instant written. The ink of the second line
was wet:—
By sports like these are all their cares beguil’d;
The sports of children satisfy the child.
(Forster’s _Life_, 1871, i. pp. 347–8).
The sports of children. This line, in the first
edition, was followed by:—
At sports like these, while foreign arms advance,
In passive ease they leave the world to chance.
Each nobler aim, etc. The first edition reads:—
When struggling Virtue sinks by long controul,
She leaves at last, or feebly mans the soul.
This was changed in the second, third, fourth, and fifth editions to:—
When noble aims have suffer’d long controul,
They sink at last, or feebly man the soul.
No product here, etc. The Swiss mercenaries, here
referred to, were long famous in European warfare.
They parted with a thousand kisses,
And fight e’er since for pay, like Swisses.
Gay’s _Aye and No, a Fable_.
breasts This fine use of ‘breasts’—as
Cunningham points out—is given by Johnson as an example in his
Dictionary.
With patient angle, trolls the finny deep. ‘Troll,’
i.e. as for pike. Goldsmith uses ‘finny prey’ in _The Citizen of the
World_, 1762, ii. 99:—‘The best manner to draw up the _finny
prey_.’ Cf. also ‘warbling grove,’ _Deserted Village_, l.
361, as a parallel to ‘finny deep.’
the struggling savage, i.e. wolf or bear. Mitford
compares the following:—‘He is a beast of prey, and the laws should
make use of as many stratagems and as much force to drive the _
reluctant savage_ into the toils, as the Indians when they hunt the
hyena or the rhinoceros.’ (_Citizen of the World_, 1762, i.
112.) See also Pope’s _Iliad_, Bk. xvii:—
But if the _savage_ turns his glaring eye,
They howl aloof, and round the forest fly.
lines 201–2 are not in the first edition.
For every want, etc. Mitford quotes a parallel
passage in _Animated Nature_, 1774, ii. 123:—‘Every want
thus becomes a means of pleasure, in the redressing.’
Their morals, like their pleasures, are but low.
Probably Goldsmith only uses ‘low’ here in its primitive sense, and not in
that which, in his own day, gave so much umbrage to so many
eighteenth-century students of humanity in the rough. Cf. Fielding, _Tom
Jones_, 1749, iii. 6:— ‘Some of the Author’s Friends cry’d—“Look’e,
Gentlemen, the Man is a Villain; but it is Nature for all that.” And all
the young Critics of the Age, the Clerks, Apprentices, etc., called it _Low_
and fell a Groaning.’ See also _Tom Jones_, iv. 94, and 226–30.
‘There’s nothing comes out but the ‘most lowest’ stuff in nature’—says
Lady Blarney in ch. xi of the _ Vicar_, whose author is
eloquent on this topic in _The Present State of Polite Learning_,
1759, pp. 154–6, and in
_She Stoops to Conquer_, 1773 (Act i); while Graves (_Spiritual
Quixote_, 1772, bk. i, ch. vi) gives the fashion the scientific
appellation of _ tapino-phoby,_ which he defines as ‘a dread of
everything that is _low_, either in writing or in conversation.’ To
Goldsmith, if we may trust George Colman’s _Prologue_ to Miss
Lee’s _Chapter of Accidents_, 1780, belongs the credit of
exorcising this particular form of depreciation:—
When Fielding, Humour’s fav’rite child, appear’d,
_Low_ was the word—a word each author fear’d!
Till chas’d at length, by pleasantry’s bright ray,
Nature and mirth resum’d their legal sway;
And Goldsmith’s genius bask’d in open day.
According to Borrow’s _Lavengro_, ch. xli, Lord Chesterfield
considered that the speeches of Homer’s heroes were frequently
‘exceedingly low.’
How often, etc. This and the lines which
immediately follow are autobiographical. Cf. George Primrose’s story in
_The Vicar of Wakefield_, 1766, ii. 24–5 (ch. i):—‘I
passed among the harmless peasants of Flanders, and among such of the
French as were poor enough to be very merry; for I ever found them
sprightly in proportion to their wants. Whenever I approached a peasant’s
house towards night-fall, I played one of my most merry tunes, and that
procured me not only a lodging, but subsistence for the next day.’
gestic lore, i.e. traditional gestures or motions.
Scott uses the word ‘gestic’ in _Peveril of the Peak_, ch. xxx,
where King Charles the Second witnesses the dancing of Fenella:—‘He
bore time to her motions with the movement of his foot—applauded
with head and with hand—and seemed, like herself, carried away by
the enthusiasm of the _gestic_ art.’ [Hales.]
Thus idly busy rolls their world away. Pope has
‘Life’s _idle business_’ (_Unfortunate Lady_, l. 81), and—
The _busy, idle_ blockheads of the ball.
Donne’s _Satires_, iv. l. 203.
And all are taught an avarice of praise. Professor
Hales (_Longer English Poems_) compares Horace of the Greeks:—
Praeter laudem, nullius avaris.
_Ars Poetica_, l. 324.
copper lace. ‘St Martin’s lace,’ for which, in
Strype’s day, Blowbladder St. was famous. Cf. the actress’s ‘copper tail’
in _Citizen of the World_, 1762, ii. 60.
To men of other minds, etc. Prior compares with the
description that follows a passage in vol. i. p. 276 of _Animated
Nature_, 1774:—‘But we need scarce mention these, when we find
that the whole kingdom of Holland seems to be a conquest upon the sea, and
in a manner rescued from its bosom. The surface of the earth, in this
country, is below the level of the bed of the sea; and I remember, upon
approaching the coast, to have looked down upon it from the sea, as into a
valley.’
Where the broad ocean leans against the land. Cf.
Dryden in _Annus Mirabilis_, 1666, st. clxiv. l. 654:—
And view the ocean leaning on the sky.
the tall rampire’s, i.e. rampart’s (Old French, _rempart,
rempar_). Cf. _Timon of Athens_, Act v. Sc. 4:—‘Our
rampir’d gates.’
bosom reign in the first edition was ‘breast
obtain.’
Even liberty itself is barter’d here. ‘Slavery,’
says Mitford, ‘was permitted in Holland; children were sold by their
parents for a certain number of years.’
A land of tyrants, and a den of slaves. Goldsmith
uses this very line as prose in Letter xxxiv of _The Citizen of the
World_, 1762, i. 147.
dishonourable graves. _Julius Caesar_,
Act i. Sc. 2.
Heavens! how unlike, etc. Prior compares a passage
from a manuscript _ Introduction to the History of the Seven Years’
War_:—‘How unlike the brave peasants their ancestors, who
spread terror into either India, and always declared themselves the allies
of those who drew the sword in defence of freedom.’*
* J. W. M. Gibbs (_Works_, v. 9) discovered that parts of
this _History_, hitherto supposed to have been written in 1761, were
published in the _Literary Magazine_, 1757–8.
famed Hydaspes, i.e. the _fabulosus Hydaspes_
of Horace, Bk. i. Ode xxii, and the _Medus Hydaspes_ of Virgil,
_ Georg_, iv. 211, of which so many stores were told. It is now
known as the Jhilum, one of the five rivers which give the Punjaub its
name.
Pride in their port, etc. In the first edition
these two lines were inverted.
Here by the bonds of nature feebly held. In the
first edition—
See, though by circling deeps together held.
Nature’s ties was ‘social bonds’ in the first
edition.
Where kings have toil’d, and poets wrote for fame.
In the first edition this line read:—
And monarchs toil, and poets pant for fame.
Yet think not, etc. ‘In the things I have hitherto
written I have neither allured the vanity of the great by flattery, nor
satisfied the malignity of the vulgar by scandal, but I have endeavoured
to get an honest reputation by liberal pursuits.’ (Preface to _
English History._) [Mitford.]
Ye powers of truth, etc. The first version has:—
Perish the wish; for, inly satisfy’d,
Above their pomps I hold my ragged pride.
Mr. Forster thinks (_Life_, 1871, i. 375) that Goldsmith
altered this (i.e. ‘ragged pride’) because, like the omitted _Haud
inexpertus loquor_ of the _ Enquiry_, it involved an
undignified admission.
lines 365–80 are not in the first edition.
Contracting regal power to stretch their own. ‘It
is the interest of the great, therefore, to diminish kingly power as much
as possible; because whatever they take from it is naturally restored to
themselves; and all they have to do in a state, is to undermine the single
tyrant, by which they resume their primaeval authority.’ (_Vicar of
Wakefield_, 1766, i. 202, ch. xix.)
When I behold, etc. Prior compares a passage in
Letter xlix of _ The Citizen of the World_, 1762, i. 218, where
the Roman senators are spoken of as still flattering the people ‘with a
shew of freedom, while themselves only were free.’
Laws grind the poor, and rich men rule the law.
Prior notes a corresponding utterance in _The Vicar of Wakefield_,
1766, i. 206, ch. xix:—‘What they may then expect, may be seen by
turning our eyes to Holland, Genoa, or Venice, where the laws govern the
poor, and the rich govern the law.’
I fly from petty tyrants to the throne. Cf. Dr.
Primrose, _ut supra_, p. 201:—‘The generality of mankind also
are of my
way of thinking, and have unanimously created one king, whose election at
once diminishes the number of tyrants, and puts tyranny at the greatest
distance from the greatest number of people.’ Cf. also Churchill, _The
Farewell_, ll. 363–4 and 369–70:—
Let not a Mob of Tyrants seize the helm,
Nor titled upstarts league to rob the realm...
Let us, some comfort in our griefs to bring,
Be slaves to one, and be that one a King.
lines 393–4. Goldsmith’s first thought was—
Yes, my lov’d brother, cursed be that hour
When first ambition toil’d for foreign power,—
an entirely different couplet to that in the text, and certainly more
logical. (Dobell’s _Prospect of Society_, 1902, pp. xi, 2, and
Notes, v, vi). Mr. Dobell plausibly suggests that this Tory substitution
is due to Johnson.
Have we not seen, etc. These lines contain the
first idea of the subsequent poem of _The Deserted Village_ (_q.v._).
Where wild Oswego spreads her swamps around. The
Oswego is a river which runs between Lakes Oneida and Ontario. In the
_Threnodia Augustalis_, 1772, Goldsmith writes:—
Oswego’s dreary shores shall be my grave.
The ‘desarts of Oswego’ were familiar to the eighteenth-century reader in
connexion with General Braddock’s ill-fated expedition of 1755, an
account of which Goldsmith had just given in _An History of England,
in a Series of Letters from a Nobleman to his Son_, 1764, ii. 202–4.
marks with murderous aim. In the first edition
‘takes a deadly aim.’
pensive exile. This, in the version mentioned in
the next note, was ‘famish’d exile.’
To stop too fearful, and too faint to go. This
line, upon Boswell’s authority, is claimed for Johnson (Birkbeck Hill’s
_ Boswell_, 1887, ii. 6). Goldsmith’s original ran:—
And faintly fainter, fainter seems to go.
(Dobell’s _Prospect of Society_, 1902, p. 3).
How small, of all, etc. Johnson wrote these
concluding
ten lines with the exception of the penultimate couplet. They and line 420
were all—he told Boswell—of which he could be sure (Birkbeck
Hill’s _Boswell_, _ut supra_). Like Goldsmith, he
sometimes worked his prose ideas into his verse. The first couplet is
apparently a reminiscence of a passage in his own _Rasselas_,
1759, ii. 112, where the astronomer speaks of ‘the task of a king . . .
who has the care only of a few millions, to whom he cannot do much good or
harm.’ (Grant’s _Johnson_, 1887, p. 89.) ‘I would not give half
a guinea to live under one form of government rather than another,’ he
told that ‘vile Whig,’ Sir Adam Fergusson, in 1772. ‘It is of no moment to
the happiness of an individual’ (Birkbeck Hill’s _ Boswell_,
1887, ii. 170).
The lifted axe. Mitford here recalls Blackmore’s
Some the sharp axe, and some the painful wheel.
The ‘lifted axe’ he also traces to Young and Blackmore, with both of whom
Goldsmith seems to have been familiar; but it is surely not necessary to
assume that he borrowed from either in this instance.
Luke’s iron crown. George and Luke Dosa, or Doscha,
headed a rebellion in Hungary in 1513. The former was proclaimed king by
the peasants; and, in consequence suffered, among other things, the
torture of the red-hot iron crown. Such a punishment took place at
Bordeaux when Montaigne was seventeen (Morley’s Florio’s _ Montaigne_,
1886, p. xvi). Much ink has been shed over Goldsmith’s lapse of ‘Luke’ for
George. In the book which he cited as his authority, the family name of
the brothers was given as Zeck,—hence Bolton Corney, in his edition
of the _ Poetical Works_, 1845, p. 36, corrected the line to—
_Zeck’s_ iron crown, etc.,
an alteration which has been adopted by other editors. (See also Forster’s
_Life_, 1871, i. 370.)
Damien’s bed of steel. Robert-Francois Damiens,
1714–57. Goldsmith writes ‘Damien’s.’ In the _Gentlemen’s Magazine_
for 1757, vol. xxvii. pp. 87 and 151, where there is an account of this
poor half-witted wretch’s torture and execution for attempting to
assassinate Louis XV, the name is thus spelled, as also in other
contemporary records and caricatures. The following passage explains the
‘bed of steel’:—‘Being conducted
to the Conciergerie, an ‘iron bed’, which likewise served for a chair, was
prepared for him, and to this he was fastened with chains. The torture was
again applied, and a physician ordered to attend to see what degree of
pain he could support,’ etc. (Smollett’s _History of England_,
1823, bk. iii, ch. 7, § xxv.) Goldsmith’s own explanation—according
to Tom Davies, the bookseller—was that he meant the rack. But Davies
may have misunderstood him, or Goldsmith himself may have forgotten the
facts. (See Forster’s _Life_, 1871, i. 370.) At pp. 57–78 of
the _ Monthly Review_ for July, 1757 (upon which Goldsmith was
at this date employed), is a summary, ‘from our correspondent at Paris,’
of the official record of the Damiens’ Trial, 4 vols. 12 mo.; and his deed
and tragedy make a graphic chapter in the remarkable _Strange
Adventures of Captain Dangerous_, by George Augustus Sala, 1863,
iii. pp. 154–180.
line 438. In the first edition of ‘The Traveller’
there are only 416 lines.
THE DESERTED VILLAGE.
After having been for some time announced as in preparation, _The
Deserted Village_ made its first appearance on May 26, 1770.* It was
received with great enthusiasm. In June a second, third, and fourth
edition followed, and in August a fifth was published. The text here given
is that of the fourth edition, which was considerably revised. Johnson, we
are told, thought _The Deserted Village_ inferior to _The
Traveller_: but ‘time,’ to use Mr. Forster’s words, ‘has not
confirmed _that_ judgment.’ Its germ is perhaps to be found in ll.
397–402 of the earlier poem.
* In the American _Bookman_ for February, 1901, pp.
563–7, Mr. Luther S. Livingston gives an account (with facsimile
title-pages) of three _octavo_ (or rather duodecimo) editions all
dated 1770; and ostensibly printed for ‘W. Griffin, at Garrick’s Head, in
Catherine-street, Strand.’ He rightly describes their existence as ‘a
bibliographical puzzle.’ They afford no important variations; are not
mentioned by the early editors; and are certainly not in the form in which
the poem was first advertised and reviewed, as this was a quarto. But they
are naturally of interest to the collector; and the late Colonel Francis
Grant, a good Goldsmith scholar, described one of them in the _Athenaeum_
for June 20, 1896 (No. 3582).
Much research has been expended in the endeavour to identify the scene
with Lissoy, the home of the poet’s youth (see _Introduction_, p.
ix); but the result has only been partially successful. The truth seems
that Goldsmith, living in England, recalled in a poem that was English in
its conception many of the memories and accessories of his early life in
Ireland, without intending or even caring to draw an exact picture. Hence,
as Lord Macaulay has observed, in a much criticized and characteristic
passage, ‘it is made up of incongruous parts. The village in its happy
days is a true English village. The village in its decay is an Irish
village. The felicity and the misery which Goldsmith has brought close
together belong to two different countries, and to two different stages in
the progress of society. He had assuredly never seen in his native island
such a rural paradise, such a seat of plenty, content, and tranquillity,
as his “Auburn.” He had assuredly never seen in England all the
inhabitants of such a paradise turned out of their homes in one day and
forced to emigrate in a body to America. The hamlet he had probably seen
in Kent; the ejectment he had probably seen in Munster; but, by joining
the two, he has produced something which never was and never will be seen
in any part of the world.’ (_Encyclop. Britannica_, 1856.) It
is obvious also that in some of his theories—the depopulation of the
kingdom, for example—Goldsmith was mistaken. But it was not for its
didactic qualities then, nor is it for them now, that _The Deserted
Village_’ delighted and delights. It maintains its popularity by its
charming _genre_-pictures, its sweet and tender passages, its
simplicity, its sympathetic hold upon the enduring in human nature. To
test it solely with a view to establish its topographical accuracy, or to
insist too much upon the value of its ethical teaching, is to mistake its
real mission as a work of art.
Dedication. I am ignorant of that art in which you are
said to excel. This modest confession did not prevent Goldsmith from
making fun of the contemporary connoisseur. See the letter from the young
virtuoso in _The Citizen of the World_, 1762, i. 145,
announcing that a famous ‘torse’ has been discovered to be not ‘a
Cleopatra bathing’ but ‘a Hercules spinning’; and Charles Primrose’s
experiences at Paris (_Vicar of Wakefield_, 1766, ii. 27–8).
He is since dead. Henry Goldsmith died in May,
1768, at the age of forty-five, being then curate of Kilkenny West. (See
note, p. 164.)
a long poem. ‘I might dwell upon such thoughts . .
. were I not afraid of making this preface too tedious; especially since I
shall want all the patience of the reader, for having enlarged it with the
following verses.’ (Tickell’s Preface to Addison’s _ Works_, at
end.)
the increase of our luxuries. The evil of luxury
was a ‘common topick’ with Goldsmith. (Birkbeck Hill’s _Boswell_,
1887, ii. 217–8.) Smollett also, speaking with the voice of Lismahago, and
continuing the quotation on p. 169, was of the opinion that ‘the sudden
affluence occasioned by trade, forced open all the sluices of luxury, and
overflowed the land with every species of profligacy and corruption.’ (_Humphry
Clinker_, 1771, ii. 192.—Letter of Mr. Bramble to Dr. Lewis.)
Sweet AUBURN. Forster, _Life_, 1871, ii.
206, says that Goldsmith obtained this name from Bennet Langton. There is
an Aldbourn or Auburn in Wiltshire, not far from Marlborough, which Prior
thinks may have furnished the suggestion.
Seats of my youth. This alone would imply that
Goldsmith had in mind the environment of his Irish home.
The decent church that topp’d the neighbouring hill.
This corresponds with the church of Kilkenny West as seen from the house
at Lissoy.
[Illustration: ]
KILKENNY WEST CHURCH
(R. H. Newell)
The hawthorn bush. The Rev. Annesley Strean, Henry
Goldsmith’s successor at Kilkenny West, well remembered the hawthorn bush
in front of the village ale-house. It had originally three trunks; but
when he wrote in 1807 only one remained, ‘the other two having been cut,
from time to time, by persons carrying pieces of it away to be made into
toys, etc., in honour of the bard, and of the celebrity of his poem.’ (_Essay
on Light Reading_, by the Rev. Edward Mangin, M.A., 1808, 142–3.)
Its remains were enclosed by a Captain Hogan previously to 1819; but
nevertheless when Prior visited the place in 1830, nothing was apparent
but ‘a very tender shoot [which] had again forced its way to the surface.’
(Prior, _ Life_, 1837, ii. 264.) An engraving of the tree by S.
Alken, from a sketch made in 1806–9, is to be
found at p. 41 of Goldsmith’s _Poetical Works_, R. H. Newell’s
edition, 1811, and is reproduced in the present volume.
[Illustration: ]
HAWTHORN TREE
(R. H. Newell)
How often have I bless’d the coming day. Prior,
_Life_, 1837, ii. 261, finds in this an allusion ‘to the
Sundays or numerous holidays, usually kept in Roman Catholic countries.’
Amidst thy bowers the tyrant’s hand is seen.
Strean’s explanation (Mangin, _ut supra_, pp. 140–1) of this is as
follows:—‘The poem of _The Deserted Village_, took its
origin from the circumstance of general Robert Napper [Napier or Naper],
(the grandfather of the gentleman who now [1807] lives in the house,
within half a mile of Lissoy, and built by the general) having purchased
an extensive tract of the country surrounding Lissoy, or _Auburn_; in
consequence of which many families, here called _cottiers_, were
removed, to make room for the intended improvements of what was now to
become the wide domain of a rich man, warm with the idea of changing the
face of his new acquisition; and were forced, “_with fainting steps,_”
to go in search of “_torrid tracts_” and “_distant climes._”’
Prior (_Life_, 1837, i. 40–3) points out that Goldsmith was not
the first to give poetical expression to the wrongs of the dispossessed
Irish peasantry; and he quotes a long extract from the _Works_
(1741) of a Westmeath poet, Lawrence Whyte, which contains such passages
as these:—
Their native soil were forced to quit,
So Irish landlords thought it fit;
Who without ceremony or rout,
For their improvements turn’d them out ...
How many villages they razed,
How many parishes laid waste ...
Whole colonies, to shun the fate
Of being oppress’d at such a rate,
By tyrants who still raise their rent,
Sail’d to the Western Continent.
The hollow-sounding bittern guards its nest. ‘Of
all those sounds,’ says Goldsmith, speaking of the cries of waterfowl,
‘there is none so dismally hollow as the booming of the bittern.’ . . . ‘I
remember in the place where I was a boy with what terror this bird’s note
affected the whole village; they
considered it as the presage of some sad event; and generally found or
made one to succeed it.’ (_Animated Nature_, 1774, vi. 1–2, 4.)
Bewick, who may be trusted to speak of a bird which he has drawn with such
exquisite fidelity, refers (_Water Birds_, 1847, p. 49) to ‘the
hollow booming noise which the bittern makes during the night, in the
breeding season, from its swampy retreats.’ Cf. also that close observer
Crabbe (_The Borough_, Letter xxii, ll. 197–8):—
And the loud bittern, from the bull-rush home,
Gave from the salt-ditch side the bellowing boom.
Princes and lords may flourish, or may fade;
A breath can make them, as a breath has made.
Mitford compares _Confessio Amantis_, fol. 152:—
A kynge may make a lorde a knave,
And of a knave a lord also;
and Professor Hales recalls Burns’s later line in the _Cotter’s
Saturday Night_, 1785:—
Princes and lords are but the breath of kings.
But Prior finds the exact equivalent of the second line in the verses of
an old French poet, De. Caux, upon an hour-glass:—
C’est un verre qui luit,
Qu’un souffle peut détruire, et qu’un souffle a
produit.
A time there was, ere England’s griefs began. Here
wherever the locality of Auburn, the author had clearly England in mind. A
caustic commentator has observed that the ‘time’ indicated must have been
a long while ago.
opulence. In the first edition the word is
‘luxury.’
And, many a year elapsed, return to view. ‘It is
strongly contended at Lishoy, that “_the Poet_,” as he is usually
called there, after his pedestrian tour upon the Continent of Europe,
returned to and resided in the village some time. . . . It is moreover
believed, that the havock which had been made in his absence among those
favourite scenes of his youth, affected his mind so deeply, that he
actually composed great part of the Deserted Village ‘at’ Lishoy.’ (_Poetical
Works, with Remarks_, etc., by the Rev. R. H. Newell, 1811, p. 74.)
Notwithstanding the above, there is no evidence that Goldsmith ever
returned to his native island. In a letter to his brother-in-law, Daniel
Hodson, written in 1758, he spoke of hoping to do so ‘in five or six
years.’ (_Percy Memoir_, 1801, i. 49). But in another letter,
written towards the close of his life, it is still a thing to come. ‘I am
again,’ he says, ‘just setting out for Bath, and I honestly say I had much
rather it had been for Ireland with my nephew, but that pleasure I hope to
have before I die.’ (Letter to Daniel Hodson, no date, in possession of
the late Frederick Locker Lampson.)
Where once the cottage stood, the hawthorn grew.
Here followed, in the first edition:—
Here, as with doubtful, pensive steps I range,
Trace every scene, and wonder at the change,
Remembrance, etc.
In all my griefs—and God has given my share.
Prior notes a slight similarity here to a line of Collins:—
Ye mute companions of my toils, that bear,
_In all my griefs_, a more than equal share!
_Hassan; or, The Camel Driver._
In _The Present State of Polite Learning_, 1759, p. 143,
Goldsmith refers feelingly to ‘the neglected author of the Persian
eclogues, which, however inaccurate, excel any in our language.’ He
included four of them in _The Beauties of English Poesy_, 1767,
i. pp. 239–53.
To husband out, etc. In the first edition this ran:—
My anxious day to husband near the close,
And keep life’s flame from wasting by repose.
Here to return—and die at home at last.
Forster compares a passage in _The Citizen of the World_, 1762,
ii. 153:—‘There is something so seducing in that spot in which we
first had existence, that nothing but it can please; whatever vicissitudes
we experience in life, however we toil, or wheresoever we wander, our
fatigued wishes still recur to home for tranquillity, we long to die in
that spot which gave us birth, and in that pleasing expectation opiate
every calamity.’ The poet Waller too—he adds—wished to die
‘like the stag where he was roused.’ (_Life_, 1871, ii. 202.)
[Illustration: ]
South View from Goldsmith’s Mount
(R.H. Newell)
How happy he. ‘How blest is he’ in the first
edition.
And, since ’tis hard to combat, learns to fly.
Mitford compares _The Bee_ for October 13, 1759, p. 56:—‘By
struggling with misfortunes, we are sure to receive some wounds in the
conflict. The only method to come off victorious, is by running away.’
surly porter. Mr. J. M. Lobban compares the _Citizen
of the World_, 1762, i. 123:—‘I never see a nobleman’s door
half opened that some surly porter or footman does not stand full in the
breach.’ (_Select Poems of Goldsmith_, 1900, p. 98.)
Bends. ‘Sinks’ in the first edition. _unperceived
decay_. Cf. Johnson, _Vanity of Human Wishes_, 1749, l. 292:—
An age that melts with unperceiv’d decay,
And glides in modest innocence away;
and _Irene_, Act ii, Sc. 7:—
And varied life steal unperceiv’d away.
While Resignation, etc. In 1771 Sir Joshua
exhibited a picture of ‘An Old Man,’ studied from the beggar who was his
model for Ugolino. When it was engraved by Thomas Watson in 1772, he
called it ‘Resignation,’ and inscribed the print to Goldsmith in the
following words:—‘This attempt to express a Character in _The
Deserted Village_, is dedicated to Dr. Goldsmith, by his sincere
Friend and admirer, JOSHUA REYNOLDS.’
Up yonder hill. It has been suggested that
Goldsmith was here thinking of the little hill of Knockaruadh (Red Hill)
in front of Lissoy parsonage, of which there is a sketch in Newell’s _Poetical
Works_, 1811. When Newell wrote, it was already known as
‘Goldsmith’s mount’; and the poet himself refers to it in a letter to his
brother-in-law Hodson, dated Dec. 27, 1757:—‘I had rather be placed
on the little mount before Lishoy gate, and there take in, to me, the most
pleasing horizon in nature.’ (_Percy Memoir_, 1801, p. 43.)
And fill’d each pause the nightingale had made. In
_Animated Nature_, 1774, v. 328, Goldsmith says:—‘The
nightingale’s pausing song would be the proper epithet for this bird’s
music.’ [Mitford.]