1 3 But small the bliss that sense alone bestows, In florid beauty groves and fields appear, That opulence departed leaves behind; For wealth was theirs, not far remov'd the date, Yet, still the loss of wealth is here supplied A mistress or a saint in every grove. "But more unsteady than the southern gale, "Yet, though to fortune lost, here still abide Some splendid arts, the wrecks of former pride." First edition, altered in second. By sports like these are all their cares beguil'd,' sway, My soul, turn from them; turn we to survey 1 "Either Sir Joshua Reynolds, or a mutual friend who immediately communicated the story to him, calling at Goldsmith's lodgings, opened the door without ceremony, and discovered him not in meditation, or in the throes of poetic birth, but in the boyish office of teaching a favourite dog to sit upright upon its haunches, or as it is commonly said, to beg. Occasionally he glanced his eyes over his desk, and occasionally shook his finger at the unwilling pupil, in order to make him retain his position; while on the page before him was written that couplet, with the ink of the second line still wet, from the description of Italy : 'By sports like these are all their cares beguiled, The sports of children satisfy the child.' The sentiment seemed so appropriate to the employment, that the visitor could not refrain from giving vent to his surprise in a strain of banter, which was received with characteristic good humour, and the admission at once made, that the amusement in which he had been engaged had given birth to the idea."-PRIOR, ii. 33. 2 Here followed in the first, second, and third editions : "At sports like these while foreign arms advance, In passive ease they leave the world to chance." 3 "When struggling Virtue sinks by long control, 4 She leaves at last, or feebly mans the soul."-First edition. "When noble aims have suffer'd long control, They sink at last or feebly man the soul."-Second and third editions. "Amidst the ruin, heedless of the dead." First, second, and third editions. No product here the barren hills afford, Yet still, even here, content can spread a charm, Though poor the peasant's hut, his feast though small, Sees no contiguous palace rear its head, To shame the meanness of his humble shed; Or drives his vent'rous ploughshare to the steep; Thus every good his native wilds impart, This fine use of the word breasts is given by Johnson as an example in his Dictionary. 3 Dear is that shed to which his soul conforms, Such are the charms to barren states assign'd; Their wants but few, their wishes all confin'd. Yet let them only share the praises due; If few their wants, their pleasures are but few: For every want that stimulates the breast Becomes a source of pleasure when redrest. Whence from such lands each pleasing science flies, That first excites desire, and then supplies; Unknown to them, when sensual pleasures cloy, To fill the languid pause with finer joy; Unknown those powers that raise the soul to flame, Catch every nerve, and vibrate through the frame. Their level life is but a smouldering fire, Unquench'd by want, unfann'd by strong desire;' Unfit for raptures, or, if raptures cheer On some high festival of once a-year, In wild excess the vulgar breast takes fire, Till, buried in debauch, the bliss expire. But not their joys alone thus coarsely flow; 3 "And as a babe, when scaring sounds molest," &c. 2 "Their level life is but a smould'ring fire, First, second, and third editions. First, second, and third editions. First, second, and third editions. "Unalter'd, unimproved their manners run." Some sterner virtues o'er the mountain's breast May sit, like falcons cowering on the nest; But all the gentler morals, such as play Through life's more cultur'd walks, and charm the way, To sport and flutter in a kinder sky. To kinder skies, where gentler manners reign, With tuneless pipe, beside the murmuring Loire ? Alike all ages. Dames of ancient days. Have led their children through the mirthful maze, So blest a life these thoughtless realms display, 1 "I had some knowledge of music with a tolerable voice, and now turned what was once my amusement into a present means of subsistence. 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."--The Vicar of Wakefield, chap. xx. |