The breezy covert of the warbling grove,
19 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, 20 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!
21 The good old sire the first prepar❜d to go
To new-found worlds, and wept for others' woe;
But for himself, in conscious virtue brave,
He only wish'd for worlds beyond the grave.

6 Thy shady groves

19 That only]
Only relieve the heats, and cover loves,
Sheltering no other thefts or cruelties.'

v. Nicholls' Poems, ii. 80.

• Often in amorous thefts of lawless love!'

v. Nicholls' Poems, ii. 278.

20 Compare Quinctiliani Declam. xiii. p. 272. Quod cives pascebat, nunc divitis unius hortus est. Æquatæ solo villæ, et excisa patria sacra, et cum conjugibus, parvisque liberis, respectantes patrium larem migraverunt veteres coloni,' &c. 21 good old sire] The good old sire!'

.

v. Dryden's Ovid, vol. iii. p. 302. And, The good old sire, unconscious of decay! The modest matron clad in homespun gray.'

v Threnod. August.

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 a father's arms.
With louder plaints the mother spoke her woes,
And bless'd 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 exchang'd are things like these for thee! How do thy potions, with insidious joy, Diffuse their pleasures only to destroy! 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 woe;

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

Even now the devastation is begun,
And half the business of destruction done;
Even 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 plac'd 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 woe,
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,22
Whether where equinoctial fervours glow,
Or winter wraps the polar world in snow,
Still let thy voice, prevailing over time,
Redress the rigours of the 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 possest,
Though very poor, may still be very blest;
That trade's proud empire hastes to swift decay,
As ocean sweeps the labour'd mole away;

22 The river Tornea falls into the Gulf of Bothnia. Pam bamarca is a mountain near Quito.-P. C.

While self-dependent power can time defy,
As rocks resist the billows and the sky.28

23" Dr. Johnson favoured me at the same time by marking the lines which he furnished to Goldsmith's Deserted Village, which are only the last four." Boswell, by Croker, p. 174.— P. C.

EDWIN AND ANGELINA.

(THE HERMIT.)

A BALLAD.

'for

"Written 1764, and privately printed the same year, the amusement of the Countess of Northumberland,'-and first, published in 1766, in The Vicar of Wakefield, vol. i. pp. 70-77. The text here given is that of The Vicar of Wakefield, compared with the poem as printed by Goldsmith in 1767, in his Poems for Young Ladies, and the edition of Goldsmith's Miscellaneous Works, published in 1801, under the unacknowledged superintendence of Bishop Perry."-CUNNING

HAM.