Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth, A youth to Fortune and to Fame unknown.

Fair Science[19] frowned not on his humble birth, And Melancholy marked him for her own. 120

Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere, Heav'n did a recompense as largely send: He gave to Mis'ry all he had, a tear, He gained from Heaven ('t was all he wished) a friend.

No farther seek his merits to disclose, 125 Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, (There they alike in trembling hope repose,) The bosom of his Father and his G.o.d.

NOTE.--The _Elegy_ was finished at Stoke Poges in 1750, when the poet was thirty-four years old. It was so popular that one edition followed quickly upon another, and it was even translated into foreign languages.

Notice that throughout the poem the lines are of equal length, each consisting of five feet or measures, and that in a stanza the alternate lines rhyme.

[1.] The curfew was an evening bell which originally warned people to cover their fires, put out their lights, and go to bed. It was inst.i.tuted in England after the Norman Conquest. The word comes from the French _couvrir_ (cover) and _feu_ (fire).

[2.] Incense-breathing Morn. The poet regards the morning as a person; that is, he personifies morning. Personification is seldom used now, but the eighteenth-century poets delighted in it. It is frequently employed in this poem.

[3.] Glebe, soil, ground.

[4.] The boast of heraldry, _i.e._ whatever has to do with high rank or pride of birth.

[5.] Where through the long-drawn aisle, etc. It was the custom to bury the poorer people of a village in the churchyard, and the rich or high-born in the church.

[6.] Storied urn. Funeral urns such as were used by the ancients were frequently decorated with scenes from the life of the deceased.

[7.] Animated, _i.e._ life-like.

[8.] Provoke, call forth, call back to life.

[9.] Full many a gem, etc. One of the best-known stanzas in English poetry.

[10.] Village-Hampden. John Hampden was an English patriot who refused to pay taxes levied by the king without the consent of Parliament, and who died in 1643 from a wound received while fighting for the liberties of England.

[11.] Milton. John Milton (1608-1674), the author of _Paradise Lost_, is generally ranked as the greatest English poet after Shakespeare.

[12.] Cromwell. Oliver Cromwell (1599-1658), the famous Protector, is now regarded by historians in general as one of the foremost champions of English liberty.

[13.] Still, always.

[14.] Th' unlettered Muse. In Greek mythology the Muses were nine G.o.ddesses who presided over the arts and sciences, song, and the different kinds of poetry. The true poet was supposed to be inspired by them. Gray imagines a new kind of Muse who inspires the writers of crude epitaphs.

[15.] For thee, who mindful, etc. Gray refers to himself as the writer of this poem.

[16.] Chance, perchance.

[17.] Swain, countryman. By _swain_ the poets usually mean a country gallant or lover.

[18.] Lawn, a cleared place in a wood, not cultivated. Now, of course, the word always means gra.s.sland near a house which is kept closely cut.

[19.] Science, knowledge in general, not natural science only.

OLIVER GOLDSMITH

1728-1774

Goldsmith was born in Pallas, an out-of-the-way hamlet in Longford County, Ireland, where his father, the curate, was looked upon as "pa.s.sing rich, with forty pounds a year." Not long after, the family removed to Lissoy, in the County of Westmeath, where they lived in much comfort. Here Oliver pa.s.sed his childhood and youth, and it is doubtless to Lissoy that his thoughts returned when he wrote of "Sweet Auburn, loveliest village of the plain." As a boy he had his share of troubles. In school he was p.r.o.nounced "a stupid, heavy blockhead," and he was often made sport of by his companions on account of his awkward figure and his homely face, pitted with the smallpox. In his eighteenth year he entered Trinity College, Dublin, as a sizar, that is, a poor student who pays in part for his tuition by doing certain kinds of work. After four years devoted to study--spiced with a good deal of fun--he graduated at the foot of his cla.s.s.

At twenty-one he showed no special bent. For a while he lived with his mother, now a widow, and idled his time away with gay companions.

After being refused a position in the church, he resolved to try teaching; but this occupation proved so little to his taste that he decided to give it up and study medicine. With the help of a generous uncle he entered the medical school at Edinburgh, leaving Ireland never to return. At the end of a year and a half he concluded that foreign travel would do more for him than a longer stay in Scotland. His uncle sent him twenty pounds, and with this he reached Leyden, where, if he possibly attended a few lectures, he certainly a.s.sociated with wild companions who helped him to get rid of his money. Having succeeded in borrowing a small sum, he was about to leave Leyden, when in a florist's garden he saw a rare, high-priced flower which he felt sure would delight his kind uncle, who was an enthusiast in flower culture.

Without a thought of his own needs he ran in, bought a parcel of the roots, and sent them off to Ireland; then, with a guinea in his pocket, he started on his travels. Although his uncle may have sent him small sums occasionally, it is not easy to see how he managed to wander as he did from country to country. It is said that he paid his way among the peasants by flute playing, and that he returned the hospitality of convents by disputing on learned subjects; but these stories are doubtless fict.i.tious. One thing is certain, he arrived in London in February, 1756, having reached the age of twenty-eight, with a medical degree, but with no money in his pocket.

For two years he lived in the great city poor and unknown. He was in turn apothecary's a.s.sistant, poor physician, proof-reader, usher in a "cla.s.sical school," and hack writer. At last, almost discouraged, he decided to obtain if possible the position of factory surgeon on the Coromandel coast, in India. He failed to get the place, and was also unsuccessful in his efforts to pa.s.s the examination at Surgeon's Hall for the humble post of hospital mate.

At this point there was a turn in the tide of his fortunes. While seeking employment as a physician, he had been engaged upon a work called _Enquiry into the Present State of Polite Learning in Europe_, and with its publication in 1759 his career as an author began. His essays, which appeared in numerous magazines, brought him into further notice, especially a series collected later under the t.i.tle, _The Citizen of the World_. In 1764 he became a member of Dr. Johnson's famous "Literary Club" that met at the "Turk's Head." It was to Johnson that he once said, alluding to his heavy style,--"If you were to make little fishes talk, they would talk like whales." But there was no malice in this remark, for the doctor was one of his stanch friends. Among the other nine original members of the club were Sir Joshua Reynolds, the artist, and Edmund Burke, the noted statesman.

Before long _The Traveller_ and _The Deserted Village_ gave Goldsmith a foremost place among the poets of the time, and _The Vicar of Wakefield_, published in 1776, brought him fame as a novelist. This book remains to-day, after the lapse of nearly a century and a half, one of the most widely read of English novels. Two comedies, _The Good-natured Man_ and _She Stoops to Conquer_, complete the list of his well-known works, while he wrote many others that were enjoyed by his contemporaries. He died of a fever at the age of forty-six, and was buried in the burial ground of the Temple Church. Two years later a monument was erected to his memory in Westminster Abbey.

This short sketch of Goldsmith's life makes it clear that he lacked strength of character and was wanting also in practical wisdom. Even after he became a successful author his extravagance kept him poor, and he died largely in debt. Many stories are told ill.u.s.trating his innocent vanity and the love of gay clothing which made him conspicuous even in an age of ruffled shirts and silver knee-buckles. One of his biographers describes him as arriving at a friend's house where he was to dine, "with his new wig, with his coat of Tyrian bloom and blue silk breeches, with a smart sword at his side, his gold-headed cane in his hand, and his hat under his elbow." But while he had more than his share of weaknesses, it must be granted that "e'en his failings leaned to Virtue's side." He was sensitive, open-hearted, generous, and kindly--always ready to help those less fortunate than himself. If in Parson Primrose and in the "village preacher" of _The Deserted Village_ he has painted portraits of his father, the country curate, there is something of himself as well in these lovable characters. Both in poetry and in prose his style is easy and delightful; his humor has no sting. Everything that comes from his pen has the flavor of his quaint personality. In spite of his failings--or possibly in part because of them--this son of Ireland is one of the most popular of English writers.

THE TRAVELLER;

OR, A PROSPECT OF SOCIETY

Remote, unfriended, melancholy, slow, Or by the lazy Scheld[1] or wandering Po; Or onward, where the rude Carinthian boor[2]

Against the houseless stranger shuts the door; Or where Campania's plain[3] forsaken lies, 5 A weary waste expanding to the skies; Where'er I roam, whatever realms to see, My heart untravelled fondly turns to thee; Still to my brother[4] turns, with ceaseless pain, And drags at each remove a lengthening chain. 10

Eternal blessings crown my earliest friend, And round his dwelling guardian saints attend: Blest be that spot where cheerful guests retire To pause from toil, and trim their ev'ning fire: Blest that abode where want and pain repair, 15 And every stranger finds a ready chair: Blest be those feasts, with simple plenty crowned, Where all the ruddy family around Laugh at the jests or pranks that never fail, Or sigh with pity at some mournful tale; 20 Or press the bashful stranger to his food, And learn the luxury of doing good.

But me, not destined such delights to share, My prime of life in wand'ring spent and care; Impelled, with steps unceasing, to pursue 25 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. 30

Even now, where Alpine solitudes ascend, I sit me down a pensive hour to spend; And placed on high above the storm's career, Look downward where an hundred realms appear; Lakes, forests, cities, plains extending wide, 35 The pomp of kings, the shepherd's humbler pride.

When thus Creation's charms around combine, Amidst the store should thankless pride repine?

Say, should the philosophic mind disdain That good which makes each humbler bosom vain? 40 Let school-taught pride dissemble all it can,[5]

These little things are great to little man; And wiser he, whose sympathetic mind Exults in all the good of all mankind.

Ye glitt'ring towns, with wealth and splendor crowned; 45 Ye fields, where summer spreads profusion round; Ye lakes, whose vessels catch the busy gale; Ye bending swains,[6] that dress the flow'ry vale; For me your tributary stores combine: Creation's heir, the world, the world is mine. 50

As some lone miser, visiting his store, Bends at his treasure, counts, recounts it o'er; h.o.a.rds after h.o.a.rds his rising raptures fill, Yet still he sighs, for h.o.a.rds are wanting still: Thus to my breast alternate pa.s.sions rise, 55 Pleased with each good that Heaven to man supplies: Yet oft a sigh prevails, and sorrows fall, To see the h.o.a.rd of human bliss so small; And oft I wish amidst the scene to find Some spot to real happiness consigned, 60 Where my worn soul, each wand'ring hope at rest, May gather bliss to see my fellows blest.

But where to find that happiest spot below Who can direct, when all pretend to know?

The shudd'ring tenant of the frigid zone 65 Boldly proclaims that happiest spot his own; Extols the treasures of his stormy seas, And his long nights of revelry and ease: The naked negro, panting at the line,[7]

Boasts of his golden sands and palmy wine, 70 Basks in the glare, or stems the tepid wave, And thanks his G.o.ds for all the good they gave.

Such is the patriot's boast where'er we roam; His first, best country ever is at home.

And yet, perhaps, if countries we compare, 75 And estimate the blessings which they share, Though patriots flatter, still shall wisdom find An equal portion dealt to all mankind; As different good, by Art or Nature given, To different nations makes their blessings even. 80

Nature, a mother kind alike to all, Still grants her bliss at Labor's earnest call: With food as well the peasant is supplied On Idra's cliffs[8] as Arno's shelvy side;[9]