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Read Ebook: The Deserted Village by Goldsmith Oliver Etching Club London England Illustrator
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Ebook has 246 lines and 4586 words, and 5 pages
His ready smile a parent's warmth express'd,
Their welfare pleased him, and their cares distress'd
To them his heart, his love, his griefs, were given,
But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven.
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.
Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way
With blossom'd furze, unprofitably gay,
There, in his noisy mansion, skill'd to rule,
The village master taught his little school:
A man severe he was, and stern to view;
I knew him well, and every truant knew:
Full well they laugh'd with counterfeited glee At all his jokes, for many a joke had he;
Well had the boding tremblers learn'd to trace
The day's disasters in his morning face:
Full well the busy whisper, circling round,
Convey'd the dismal tidings when he frown'd;
Yet he was kind, or if severe in aught,
The love he bore to learning was in fault:
The village all declared how much he knew;
'Twas certain he could write and cipher too:
Lands he could measure, terms and tides presage,
And e'en the story ran that he could gauge:
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,
Amazed the gazing rustics ranged around;
And still they gazed, and still the wonder grew
That one small head could carry all he knew.
But past is all his fame: the very spot,
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,
Low lies that house where nut-brown draughts inspired,
Where grey-beard mirth and smiling toil retired,
Where village statesmen talk'd with looks profound,
And news much older than their ale went round.
Imagination fondly stoops to trace
The parlour splendours of that festive place;
The white-wash'd wall, the nicely-sanded floor,
The varnish'd clock that click'd behind the door;
The chest contrived a double debt to pay,
A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day;
The pictures placed for ornament and use,
The twelve good rules, the royal game of goose
The hearth, except when winter chill'd the day,
With aspen boughs, and flowers, and fennel gay
While broken tea-cups, wisely kept for show,
Ranged o'er the chimney, glisten'd in a row.
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