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The Poetical Works of Oliver Goldsmith, M. B.: With an Account of His Life ...
Affichage du livre entier - 1803
The Poetical Works of Oliver Goldsmith: With an Account of His Life and Writings
Affichage du livre entier - 1796
The Poetical Works of Oliver Goldsmith: With an Account of His Life
John Aikin Oliver Goldsmith
Aucun aperçu disponible - 2022
Amidst ballad Bard blessings blest bliss blooms boast bosom bowers breast Burke charms cheerful climes cry'd David Garrick dear decay e'en eyes fame flies fond forlorn Freedom heart heaven Hermit hoard honour hour humble JAMES BOSWELL James Macpherson John Ridge keep a corner labour land learning lord luxury maid mansion mind mirth native nature's never o'er OLIVER GOLDSMITH pain pasty patriot pity plain pleas'd pleasure Poem poet pomp poor praise pride proud rage reign Represt retributive justice Richard Burke Richard Cumberland rise round scene Scotsman shore sigh sinks Sir Joshua Reynolds skies skill'd smiling solitary sorrow soul splendour spread Stoops to Conquer stranger supply'd swain sweet SWEET AUBURN sweet oblivion thee thine thou toil tripe turn twas tyrant ven'son Vide page 74 village virtue's wealth weep Whitefoord wish'd Woodfall wretched
Page 118 - Good people all of every sort, Give ear unto my song, And if you find it wondrous short It cannot hold you long. In Islington there was a man, Of whom the world might say, That still a godly race he ran Whene'er he went to pray. A kind and gentle heart he had, To comfort friends and foes ; The naked every day he clad, When he put on his clothes.
Page 38 - The dancing pair that simply sought renown By holding out to tire each other down; The swain mistrustless of his smutted face, While secret laughter tittered round the place; The bashful virgin's sidelong looks of love, The matron's glance that would those looks reprove.
Page 74 - Who, too deep for his hearers, still went on refining, And thought of convincing, while they thought of dining ; Tho' equal to all things, for all things unfit, Too nice for a statesman, too proud for a wit; For a patriot too cool; for a drudge disobedient ; And too fond of the right to pursue the expedient.
Page 51 - The man of wealth and pride Takes up a space that many poor supplied; Space for his lake, his park's extended bounds, Space for his horses, equipage, and hounds: The robe that wraps his limbs in silken sloth Has robbed the neighbouring fields of half their growth; His seat, where solitary sports are seen, Indignant spurns the cottage from the green...
Page 56 - To new-found worlds, and wept for others' woe ; But for himself, in conscious virtue brave, He only wished 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.
Page 78 - As an actor, confess'd without rival to shine; As a wit, if not first, in the very first line; Yet, with talents like these, and an excellent heart, The man had his failings — a dupe to his art. Like an ill-judging beauty, his colours he spread, And beplaster'd with rouge his own natural red. On the stage he was natural, simple, affecting; 'Twas only that when he was off he was acting.
Page 12 - But me, not destined such delights to share, My prime of life in wandering spent and care ; Impell'd, with steps unceasing, to pursue Some fleeting good, that mocks me with the view ; That, like the circle bounding earth and skies, Allures from far, yet, as I follow, flies ; My fortune leads to traverse realms alone, And find no spot of all the world my own.
Page 50 - To me more dear, congenial to my heart, One native charm than all the gloss of art. Spontaneous joys, where nature has its play, The soul adopts, and owns their first-born sway ; Lightly they frolic o'er the vacant mind, Unenvied, unmolested...
Page 73 - Hickey's a capon, and by the same rule, Magnanimous Goldsmith a gooseberry fool. At a dinner so various, at such a repast, Who'd not be a glutton, and stick to the last? Here, waiter ! more wine, let me sit while I'm able, Till all my companions sink under the table; Then, with chaos and blunders encircling my head, Let me ponder, and tell what I think of the dead.