Quotes
Quotes - Goldsmith
The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade,
For talking age and whispering lovers made.
The bashful virgin's sidelong looks of love.
Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey,
Where wealth accumulates, and men decay.
Princes and lords may flourish or may fade,--
A breath can make them, as a breath has made;
But a bold peasantry, their country's pride,
When once destroy'd, can never be supplied.
His best companions, innocence and health;
And his best riches, ignorance of wealth.
How blest is he who crowns in shades like these
A youth of labour with an age of ease!
While Resignation gently slopes away,
And all his prospects brightening to the last,
His heaven commences ere the world be past.
The watch-dog's voice that bay'd the whispering wind,
And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind.
A man he was to all the country dear,
And passing rich with forty pounds a year.
Wept o'er his wounds, or tales of sorrow done,
Shoulder'd his crutch, and shew'd how fields were won.
Careless their merits or their faults to scan,
His pity gave ere charity began.
Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride,
And even his failings lean'd to Virtue's side.
And as a bird each fond endearment tries
To tempt its new-fledg'd offspring to the skies,
He tried each art, reprov'd each dull delay,
Allur'd to brighter worlds, and led the way.
Truth from his lips prevail'd with double sway,
And fools who came to scoff, remain'd to pray.
Even children follow'd with endearing wile,
And pluck'd his gown, to share the good man's smile.
As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form,
Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm,--
Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread,
Eternal sunshine settles on its head.
Well had the boding tremblers learn'd to trace
The day's disasters in his morning face;
Full well they laugh'd with counterfeited glee
At all his jokes, for many a joke had he;
Full well the busy whisper circling round
Convey'd the dismal tidings when he frown'd.
Yet was he kind, or if severe in aught,
The love he bore to learning was in fault;
The village all declar'd how much he knew,
'T was certain he could write and cipher too.
In arguing too, the parson own'd his skill,
For e'en though vanquish'd he could argue still;
While words of learned length and thundering sound
Amaz'd the gazing rustics rang'd around;
And still they gaz'd, and still the wonder grew
That one small head could carry all he knew.
Where village statesmen talk'd with looks profound,
And news much older than their ale went round.
The whitewash'd wall, the nicely sanded floor,
The varnish'd clock that click'd behind the door;
The chest, contriv'd a double debt to pay,--
A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day.
The twelve good rules, the royal game of goose.
To me more dear, congenial to my heart,
One native charm, than all the gloss of art.
And e'en while fashion's brightest arts decoy,
The heart distrusting asks if this be joy.
Her modest looks the cottage might adorn,
Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn.
Through torrid tracts with fainting steps they go,
Where wild Altama murmurs to their woe.
In all the silent manliness of grief.
O Luxury! thou curst by Heaven's decree!
