Vida's Game of Chess / Oliver Goldsmith

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

Translation / Oliver Goldsmith

CHASTE are their instincts, faithful is their fire,

No foreign beauty tempts to false desire;

The snow-white vesture, and the glittering crown,

The simple plumage, or the glossy down

Prompt not their loves:-- the patriot bird pursues 5

His well acquainted tints, and kindred hues.

Hence through their tribes no mix'd polluted flame,

No monster-breed to mark the groves with shame;

But the chaste blackbird, to its partner true,

Thinks black alone is beauty's favourite hue. 10

Threnodia Augustalis / Oliver Goldsmith

ARISE, ye sons of worth, arise,

And waken every note of woe;

When truth and virtue reach the skies,

'Tis ours to weep the want below!

CHORUS.

When truth and virtue, etc. 5

MAN SPEAKER.

The praise attending pomp and power,

The incense given to kings,

Are but the trappings of an hour --

Mere transitory things!

The base bestow them: but the good agree 10

The Traveller ( A PROSPECT OF SOCIETY ) / Oliver Goldsmith

REMOTE, unfriended, melancholy, slow,

Or by the lazy Scheldt, or wandering Po;

Or onward, where the rude Carinthian boor

Against the houseless stranger shuts the door;

Or where Campania's plain forsaken lies, 5

A weary waste expanding to the skies:

Where'er I roam, whatever realms to see,

My heart untravell'd fondly turns to thee;

Still to my brother turns with ceaseless pain,

And drags at each remove a lengthening chain. 10

The Taking of Quebec / Oliver Goldsmith

STANZAS ON THE TAKING OF QUEBEC, AND DEATH OF

GENERAL WOLFE

AMIDST the clamour of exulting joys,

Which triumph forces from the patriot heart,

Grief dares to mingle her soul-piercing voice,

And quells the raptures which from pleasures start.

The Poet Laberius / Oliver Goldsmith

PRESERVED BY MACROBIUS.

WHAT! no way left to shun th' inglorious stage,

And save from infamy my sinking age!

Scarce half alive, oppress'd with many a year,

What in the name of dotage drives me here?

A time there was, when glory was my guide, 5

Nor force nor fraud could turn my steps aside;

Unaw'd by pow'r, and unappall'd by fear,

With honest thrift I held my honour dear;

But this vile hour disperses all my store,

And all my hoard of honour is no more. 10

The Logicians Refuted / Oliver Goldsmith

IN IMITATION OF DEAN SWIFT

LOGICIANS have but ill defin'd

As rational, the human kind;

Reason, they say, belongs to man,

But let them prove it if they can.

Wise Aristotle and Smiglecius, 5

By ratiocinations specious,

Have strove to prove with great precision,

With definition and division,

'Homo est ratione praeditum',--

But for my soul I cannot credit 'em; 10

The Haunch of Venison / Oliver Goldsmith

A POETICAL EPISTLE TO LORD CLARE

THANKS, my Lord, for your venison, for finer or fatter

Never rang'd in a forest, or smok'd in a platter;

The haunch was a picture for painters to study,

The fat was so white, and the lean was so ruddy.

Though my stomach was sharp, I could scarce help regretting 5

To spoil such a delicate picture by eating;

I had thoughts, in my chambers, to place it in view,

To be shown to my friends as a piece of 'virtu';

As in some Irish houses, where things are so so,

One gammon of bacon hangs up for a show: 10

The Gift / Oliver Goldsmith

SAY, cruel IRIS, pretty rake,

Dear mercenary beauty,

What annual offering shall I make,

Expressive of my duty?

My heart, a victim to thine eyes, 5

Should I at once deliver,

Say, would the angry fair one prize

The gift, who slights the giver?

The Double Transformation / Oliver Goldsmith

A TALE

SECLUDED from domestic strife,

Jack Book-worm led a college life;

A fellowship at twenty-five

Made him the happiest man alive;

He drank his glass and crack'd his joke, 5

And freshmen wonder'd as he spoke.

Such pleasures, unalloy'd with care,

Could any accident impair?

Could Cupid's shaft at length transfix

Our swain, arriv'd at thirty-six? 10

The Deserted Village / Oliver Goldsmith

SWEET AUBURN! loveliest village of the plain,

Where health and plenty cheer'd the labouring swain,

Where smiling spring its earliest visit paid,

And parting summer's lingering blooms delay'd:

Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease, 5

Seats of my youth, when every sport could please,

How often have I loiter'd o'er thy green,

Where humble happiness endear'd each scene;

How often have I paus'd on every charm,

The shelter'd cot, the cultivated farm, 10

Retaliation / Oliver Goldsmith

OF old, when Scarron his companions invited,

Each guest brought his dish, and the feast was united;

If our landlord supplies us with beef, and with fish,

Let each guest bring himself, and he brings the best dish:

Our Dean shall be venison, just fresh from the plains; 5

Our Burke shall be tongue, with a garnish of brains;

Our Will shall be wild-fowl, of excellent flavour,

And Dick with his pepper shall heighten their savour:

Our Cumberland's sweet-bread its place shall obtain,

And Douglas is pudding, substantial and plain: 10

Prologue to `Zobeide' / Oliver Goldsmith

IN these bold times, when Learning's sons explore

The distant climate and the savage shore;

When wise Astronomers to India steer,

And quit for Venus, many a brighter here;

While Botanists, all cold to smiles and dimpling, 5

Forsake the fair, and patiently -- go simpling;

When every bosom swells with wond'rous scenes,

Priests, cannibals, and hoity-toity queens:

Our bard into the general spirit enters,

And fits his little frigate for adventures: 10

Epitaph on Thomas Parnell / Oliver Goldsmith

THIS tomb, inscrib'd to gentle Parnell's name,

May speak our gratitude, but not his fame.

What heart but feels his sweetly-moral lay,

That leads to truth through pleasure's flowery way!

Celestial themes confess'd his tuneful aid; 5

And Heaven, that lent him genius, was repaid.

Needless to him the tribute we bestow --

The transitory breath of fame below:

More lasting rapture from his works shall rise,

While Converts thank their poet in the skies. 10

Epilogue to `The Sister' / Oliver Goldsmith

WHAT! five long acts -- and all to make us wiser!

Our authoress sure has wanted an adviser.

Had she consulted 'me', she should have made

Her moral play a speaking masquerade;

Warm'd up each bustling scene, and in her rage 5

Have emptied all the green-room on the stage.

My life on't, this had kept her play from sinking;

Have pleas'd our eyes, and sav'd the pain of thinking.

Well! since she thus has shown her want of skill,

What if I give a masquerade? -- I will. 10

Epilogue to the Good Natur'd Man / Oliver Goldsmith

As puffing quacks some caitiff wretch procure

To swear the pill, or drop, has wrought a cure;

Thus on the stage, our play-wrights still depend

For Epilogues and Prologues on some friend,

Who knows each art of coaxing up the town, 5

And make full many a bitter pill go down.

Conscious of this, our bard has gone about,

And teas'd each rhyming friend to help him out.

'An Epilogue -- things can't go on without it;

It could not fail, would you but set about it.' 10

Epilogue for Mr. Lee Lewes / Oliver Goldsmith

HOLD! Prompter, hold! a word before your nonsense;

I'd speak a word or two, to ease my conscience.

My pride forbids it ever should be said,

My heels eclips'd the honours of my head;

That I found humour in a piebald vest, 5

Or ever thought that jumping was a jest.

('Takes off his mask.')

Whence, and what art thou, visionary birth?

Nature disowns, and reason scorns thy mirth,

In thy black aspect every passion sleeps,

The joy that dimples, and the woe that weeps. 10

Edwin and Angela / Oliver Goldsmith

A BALLAD

'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, 5

With fainting steps and slow;

Where wilds immeasurably spread,

Seem length'ning as I go.'

An Elegy on the Glory of Her Sex, Mrs. Mary Blaize / Oliver Goldsmith

Good people all, with one accord

Lament for Madam Blaize,

Who never wanted a good word,—

From those who spoke her praise.

The needy seldom passed her door,

And always found her kind;

She freely lent to all the poor,—

Who left a pledge behind.

An Elegy On The Death Of A Mad Dog / Oliver Goldsmith

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.