The Poetical Works of Oliver Goldsmith

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Little, Brown, 1853 - 176 strani

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Stran 25 - How small of all that human hearts endure, That part which laws or kings can cause or cure.
Stran 34 - Sweet smiling village, loveliest of the lawn, Thy sports are fled, and all thy charms withdrawn; Amidst thy bowers the tyrant's hand is seen, And desolation saddens all thy green : One only master grasps the whole domain, And half a tillage stints thy smiling plain.
Stran 37 - In all my wanderings round this world of care, In all my griefs — and God has given my share — I still had hopes, my latest hours to crown, Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down ; To husband out life's taper at the close, And keep the flame from wasting by repose...
Stran 79 - Turn, gentle hermit of the dale, And guide my lonely way, To where yon taper cheers the vale, With hospitable ray. " For here forlorn and lost I tread, With fainting steps and slow ; Where wilds immeasurably spread Seem lengthening as I go." " Forbear, my son," the hermit cries, " To tempt the dangerous gloom ; For yonder faithless phantom flies To lure thee to thy doom.
Stran 36 - A time there was, ere England's griefs began, When every rood of ground maintain'd its man; For him light labour spread her wholesome store, Just gave what life required, but gave no more : His best companions, innocence and health; And his best riches, ignorance of wealth.
Stran 37 - tis hard to combat, learns to fly ! For him no wretches, born to work and weep, Explore the mine, or tempt the dangerous deep ; No surly porter stands in guilty state, To spurn imploring famine from the gate...
Stran 46 - While, scourged by famine from the smiling land, The mournful peasant leads his humble band ; And while he sinks, without one arm to save, The country blooms — a garden, and a grave.
Stran 40 - Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride. And e'en his failings leaned to virtue's side ; But in his duty prompt at every call, He watched and wept, he prayed and felt for all...
Stran 25 - E'en now, perhaps, as there some pilgrim strays Through tangled forests, and through dangerous ways, [23] Where beasts with man divided empire claim, And the brown Indian marks with murderous aim; There, while above the giddy tempest flies, And all around distressful yells arise, The pensive exile, bending with his woe, To stop too fearful, and too faint to go, Casts a long look where England's glories shine, And bids his bosom sympathize with mine. Vain, very vain, my weary search to find That bliss...
Stran 82 - Alas! the joys that fortune brings Are trifling, and decay; And those who prize the paltry things, More trifling still than they. " And what is friendship but a name, A charm that lulls to sleep; A shade that follows wealth or fame, But leaves the wretch to weep?

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