The Life and Times of Oliver Goldsmith, Volume 2

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Ward, Lock, 1871
 

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Page 276 - Here lies our good Edmund, whose genius was such, We scarcely can praise it, or blame it too much ; Who, born for the Universe, narrow'd his mind, And to party gave up what was meant for mankind.
Page 210 - 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!
Page 203 - Where many a time he triumph'd, is forgot. Near yonder thorn, that lifts its head on high, Where once the sign-post caught the passing eye...
Page 205 - Tumultuous grandeur crowds the blazing square, The rattling chariots clash, the torches glare. Sure scenes like these no troubles e'er annoy ! Sure these denote one universal joy ! Are these thy serious thoughts?
Page 277 - Though 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. In short, 'twas his fate, unemploy'd, or in place, sir, To eat mutton cold, and cut blocks with a razor.
Page 205 - And, pinched with cold, and shrinking from the shower, With heavy heart deplores that luckless hour, When idly first, ambitious of the town, She left her wheel and robes of country brown.
Page 114 - The reverend champion stood. At his control, Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul ; Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise, And his last, faltering accents whispered praise.
Page 412 - But peace to his spirit, wherever it flies, To act as an angel, and mix with the skies : Those poets, who owe their best fame to his skill, Shall still be his flatterers, go where he will ; Old Shakespeare receive him with praise and with love, And Beaumonts and Bens be his Kellys above.
Page 203 - Yes! let the rich deride, the proud disdain These simple blessings of the lowly train; To me more dear, congenial to my heart, One native charm, than all the gloss of art.
Page 190 - No man was more foolish when he had not a pen in his hand, or more wise when he had.

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