R. Those matted woods where birds forget to sing,
But silent bats in drowsy clusters cling;

R

Those poisonous fields with rank luxuriance crown'`d,
Where the dark scorpion gathers death around;
Where at each step the stranger fears to wake
The rattling terrors of the vengeful snake;
Where crouching tigers wait their hapless prey,
And savage men, more murd'rous still than they;
While oft in whirls the mad tornado flies,
Mingling the ravaged landscape with the skies.
Far different these from every former scene,
The cooling brook, the grassy-vested green,
The breezy covert of the warbling grove,
That only shelter'd thefts of harmless love.

Good Heaven! what sorrows gloom'd that parting day
That call'd them from their native walks away;
When the poor exiles, every pleasure past,

Hung round the bowers, and fondly look'd their last,
And took a long farewell, and wish'd in vain
For seats like these beyond the western main;
And, shuddering still to face the distant deep.
Return'd and wept, and still return'd to weep!
The good old sire the first prepared to go
To new-found worlds, and wept for other's wo;
But for himself, in conscious virtue brave,
He only wish'd for worlds beyond the grave:
His lovely daughter, lovelier in her tears,
The fond companion of his helpless years,
Silent went next, neglectful of her charms,
And left a lover's for her father's arms:
With louder plaints the mother spoke her woes,
And blest the cot where every pleasure rose.
And kiss'd her thoughtless babes with many a tear
And clasp'd them close, in sorrow doubly dear;
Whilst her fond husband strove to lend relief
In all the silent manliness of grief.

*

O luxury! thou curst by Heaven's decree,
How ill exchanged are things like these for thee!
How do thy potions, with insidious joy,
Diffuse their pleasures only to destroy!

* Var. In all the decent manliness, &c.

-

Kingdoms by thee, to sickly greatness grown,
Boast of a florid vigour not their own:

At every draught more large and large they grow,
A bloated mass of rank unwieldy wo;

Till, sapp'd their strength, and every part unsound,
Down, down they sink, and spread a ruin round.

RE'en now the devastation is begun,

?

And half the business of destruction done;
E'en now, methinks as pondering here I stand,
I see the rural virtues leave the land.

Down where yon anchoring vessel spreads the sail
That idly waiting flaps with every gale,
Downward they move, a melancholy band,
Pass from the shore, and darken all the strand :
Contented toil, and hospitable care,

And kind connubial tenderness are there,
And piety with wishes placed above,
And steady loyalty, and faithful love.
And thou, sweet Poetry, thou loveliest maid,
Still first to fly where sensual joys invade;
Unfit, in these degenerate times of shame,
To catch the heart, or strike for honest fame:
Dear charming nymph, neglected and decried,
My shame in crowds, my solitary pride;
Thou source of all my bliss, and all my wo,
That found'st me poor at first, and keep'st me so;
Thou guide, by which the nobler arts excel,
Thou nurse of every virtue, fare thee well!
Farewell; and oh! where'er thy voice be tried,
On Torno's cliffs, or Pambamarca's side,
Whether where equinoctial fervours glow,
Or winter wraps the polar world in snow,
Still let thy voice, prevailing over time,
Redress the rigours of th' inclement clime;
Aid slighted truth with thy persuasive strain;
Teach erring man to spurn the rage of gain;
Teach him, that states of native strength possess'd,
Though very poor, may still be very bless'd;
*That trade's proud empire hastes to swift decay,
*As ocean sweeps the labour'd mole away;
*While self-dependent power can time defy,
*As rocks resist the billows and the sky.

* These four concluding lines, with an asterisk prefixed, were written by Dr Johnson.-B.

THE HERMIT;

A BALLAD.

THE FOLLOWING LETTER, ADDRESSED TO THE PRINTER OF THE ST JAMES'S CHRONICLE, APPEARED IN THAT PAPER IN JUNE, 1767.

SIR,- As there is nothing I dislike so much as newspaper controversy, particularly upon trifles, permit me to be as concise as possible in informing a correspondent of yours, that I recommended Blainville's Travels, because I thought the book was a good one, and I think so still. I said I was told by the bookseller that it was then first published; but in that, it seems, I was misinformed, and my reading was not extensive enough to set me right.

Another correspondent of yours accuses me of having taken a ballad I published some time ago, from one by the ingenious Mr Percy. I do not think there is any great resemblance between the two pieces in question. If there be any, his ballad is taken from mine. I read it to Mr Percy some years ago; and he (as we both considered these things as trifles at best) told me with his usual good humour, the next time I saw him, that he had taken my plan to form the fragments of Shakespeare into a ballad of his own. He then read me his little Cento, if I may so call it, and I highly approved it. Such petty anecdotes as these are scarcely worth printing; and, were it not for the busy disposition of some of your correspondents, the public should never have known that he owes me the hint of his ballad, or that I am obliged to his friendship and learning for communications of a much more important nature. - I am, Sir, yours, &c. OLIVER GOLDSMITH.

[Dr Percy, in the Life of Goldsmith which is prefixed to the octavo edition of his Miscellaneous Works published in 1801, denies the statement in this letter, so far as regards his having adopted the plan of his ballad from that of our author. The truth is, the idea which is common to both

*The Friar of Orders Gray. Reliques of Ancient Poetry, vol. i. book 2, No. 17.

pieces was suggested by an old ballad published in Percy's Ancient Reliques, and there entitled " A Dialogue between a Pilgrim and Herdsman;" Percy, however, appears to have been indebted to Goldsmith for the idea of making the lady confess to the lover himself.

Goldsmith's imitation of the old ballad is in some parts so close, that the reader may not be displeased to have an opportunity of comparing the two in this place. The following is a short abstract of the story:

A young pilgrim inquires of a gentle herdsman the way to Walsingham, where was, in popish times, a famous image of the Virgin Mary. The herdsman, by way of discouraging him, urges the difficulty and uncertainty of the path; but the young pilgrim replies that these are a very inadequate penance for his offence. This leads to a confession of the penitent's sex, who turns out to be a young female in male attire; and her crime is no less than having treated a beautiful and amiable youth, her lover, with so much caprice and scorn, as to drive him to a secret retreat, where he died. She soon repents of her cruelty, and is resolved, first, to do penance for her fault, and then to die for her lover's sake. Compare the following stanzas with the thirty-third and three following stanzas of the Hermit, beginning, "For still I tried," &c.

And grew so coy and nice to please,
As women's lookes are often soe;
He might not kises, nor hand forsoothe,
Unlesse I willed him soe to doe.

Thus, being wearyed with delaye,
To see I pityed not his greefe,
He gott him to a secrette place,

And there hee dyed without releefe.

And for his sake these weedes I weare,
And sacriffice my tender age;
And every day I'le begge my bread,
To undergoe this pilgrimage.

Thus every day I fast and praye,
And ever will doe till I dye;
And gett me to some secrette place,
For soe did hee, and soe will I, &c.

Reliques of Ancient Poetry, vol. ii.

p.

72.-B.]

UNIVERST

Library.

Of California.