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And thought he design'd our religion to alter, When they saw the burnt-offering smoke at the i altar.

The bell's solemn sound, that was heard far and
• near,
And oft roused the chaplain unwilling to prayer,
No more to good sermons now summons the sinner,
But blasphemous rings in the country to dinner.

When my good lord the bishop had heard the

strange story, How the place was profaned that was built to G-r's

glory; Full of zeal he cried out, “ Oh how impious the

deed, To cram Christians with pudding, instead of the

o creed !"

Then away to the grove hied the church's protec

tor,

Resolving to give his lay brother a lecture;
But he scarce had begun, when he saw placed be-

fore 'em, A haunch piping hot from the sanctum sanctorum. «« Truth!" quoth he, “ I find nò great sin in the

plan, What was useless to God to make useful to

man : “ Besides, 'tis a true Christian duty, we read, “ The poor and the hungry with good things to

feed."

Then again on the walls he bestow'd consecration, But reserved the full rights of a free visitation : Thus, 'tis still the Lord's house only varied the

treat, Now, there's meat without grace where was

grace without meat.

OLIVER GOLDSMITH.

Ireland, 1729,–1774.

Goldsmith's career began in misfortunes, and the greater

part of his life was overshadowed by poverty. A simpla, man in the affairs of the world, his imprudences brought with them the meed of vices. But even in indigence he was dear to those who know how to honour talents; and his exquisite good nature attached to him even those who might have hated him for his wit. The Traveller, and DESERTED VILLAGE will to many eyes present serious

truths, to many, the speculations only of a man of genius. He died in 1774, in the possession of such honours as the

friendship of men, high in rank, and abilities could bestow upon him.

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FIRED at the sound, my genius spreads her wing, And flies where Britain courts the western spring;

Where lawns extend that scorn Arcadian pride,
And brighter streams than famed Hydaspes glide,
There all around the gentlest breezes, stray,
There gentle musick melts on every spray;
Creation's mildest charms are there combined,
Extremes are only in the master's mind !
Stern o'er each bosom Reason holds her state,
With daring aims irregularly great ;
Pride in their port, defiance in their eye,
I see the lords of human kind pass by;
Intent on high designs, a thoughtful band,
By forms unfashion'd fresh from naturc's hand;
Fierce in their native hardiness of soul,
True to imagined right above controul,
While even the peasant boasts these rights to scan,
And learns to venerate himself as man.

Thine, Freedom, thine the blessings pictured here,
Thine are those charms that dazzle and endear;
Too blest indeed, were such without alloy ;
But foster'd even by freedom, ills annoy ;

That independence Britons prize too high,
Keeps man from man, and breaks the social tie;
The self-dependent lordling stands alone,
All claims that bind, and sweeten life unknown;

Here by the bonds of nature feebly held,“
Minds combat minds, repelling and repell’d.
Ferments arise, imprison'd factions roar,
Représt ambition struggles round her shore,
Till over-wrought, the general system feels
Its motion stop, or frenzy fire the wheels.

Nor this the worst. As nature's ties decay,
As duty, love, and honour fail to sway,
Fictitious bonds, the bonds of wealth and law,
Still gather strength, and force unwilling awe.
Hence all obedience bows to these alone,
And talent sinks, and merit weeps unknown;
Till time may come, when, stript of all her charms,
The land of scholars, and the nurse of arms,
Where noble stems transmit the patriot flame,
Where kings have toil'd, and poets wrote for fame,
One sink of level avarice shall lie,
And scholars, soldiers, kings, unhonour'd, die.

* * * * * * *

From The Deserted Village."
Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey,
Where wealth accumulates, and men decay,

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