children, would they be By though they are money instead of these boys their 10. 6. What does he leave to boys? 8. What does he give to lovers? by giving to young men 66 merry songs and brave choruses to sing with smooth voices" of value? What does he bequeath to grown-ups? Why is the What is given to old people? young women in his will What did he leave to you? Have you taken happy possession of it? Each flower the dews have lightly wet, And in the sky the stars are met, And on the wave is deeper blue, And on the leaf a browner hue, As twilight melts beneath the moon away. GEORGE GORDON, LORD BYRON SELECTIONS FROM "THE DESERTED VILLAGE" OLIVER GOLDSMITH The "Deserted Village" was written by Oliver Goldsmith, one of the strangest and yet one of the most remarkable characters in English literature. He was born in Pallas, Ireland, in 1728. He was the son of the "village preacher" whom he describes in this poem. As a youth he was wild and wayward, but always full of tenderness and affection. Longing to see the great world and to make a name and a fortune, he forsook the quiet country village where he had spent his happy, sheltered boyhood. This desire to see the great world out of doors followed him through the different schools he attended, until he finally left school and set out on a journey through Europe. When his money gave out, he tramped and, by playing his flute in the villages, he earned his food and lodging. He spent a year in traveling this way, and years later he wrote a wonderful poem called " The Traveler," describing some of the scenes he passed through on this journey. He was a strange combination of blundering foolishness in conversation and of inspired genius in writing. As an example of his blundering foolishness in conversation, he once argued fiercely with the great actor, David Garrick, to prove that in chewing food, a person moves his upper jaw and not the lower. But he wrote some of the greatest poems, stories, and plays that have ever been written in the English language. You should read his fine story, "The Vicar of Wakefield." With this sweet story his name became known in castles and cottages the world over. After a century and a half, it is still popular and is read by many thousands every year. He had many loving friends among the great, among whom were Edmund Burke, the noted statesman; Joshua Reynolds, the famous painter; and the celebrated Doctor Samuel Johnson, the great English author. But even when he had become a famous writer in London, he was still careless and generally in debt. At times he was so poor that his friends had to keep him from starving. At other times, when he sold a poem or a story, his publishers gave him large sums of money, but he promptly handed it over to the first beggars that he met. If these hungry people came to him for help when he had money, he gave them money; but if they came when his purse was empty, he either gave them his note or took them to some person with whom he had credit. He was always in trouble. At last when he was very unhappy because of his debts, and while he was trying in vain to find some way to pay them, death closed his career in 1774, at the early age of forty-five. This sad ending of his life was very different from that for which he longed when he wrote the following charming lines wherein he expresses the hope that he may sometime return to "Sweet. Auburn" and end his days there: "In all my wanderings round this world of care, In all my griefs, and God has given my share, — And as a hare whom hounds and horns pursue, He was reckless, careless and thriftless, but we must not forget that he was also merciful, gentle, and generous, and full of love and pity. He was never so friendless that he could not befriend some one. He was never so poor and wretched but that he could give half of his crust and speak a word of sympathy. If he had only his flute left, he could play on it and make the children happy in the dreary London Court. He has passed out of this life; but his song is as fresh and beautiful to-day as when he first charmed with it, and his gentle, loving spirit seems still to be pleading with the fortunate for the unhappy and the poor. PART I In this selection Goldsmith wishes us to see all of the charms of this peaceful, contented little village as he saw them in his youth, when this happy country neighborhood was in its prime. Can you see the sheltered cot"? Can you see the modest little church at the top of the hill? Can you see the seats beneath the shade of the hawthorn bush? He tells you that these seats were made for "talking age and whispering lovers." Age talks and visits, but lovers whisper. You must see the dancing pair trying to tire each other out. Can you see the "smutted face" and hear titters of secret laughter"? By showing us the many charms that have fled does he make us feel that the village is now doubly deserted? summer as it Auburn (ô'burn): the poetical parting summer: name which Goldsmith gives comes to an end, departing. to the village where he spent bowers: places where pleasure his boyhood. It was probably and happiness are to be the village of Lissoy, in Ire- found. land. swain: a young man who lives and works in the country. loitered: wandered idly. sheltered cot: a cottage sheltered by trees or hills. Sweet Auburn! loveliest village of the plain, Where health and plenty cheered the laboring swain, Where smiling spring its earliest visit paid, And parting summer's lingering blooms delayed. 5 Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease, Seats of my youth, when every sport could please, How often have I loitered o'er thy green, Where humble happiness endeared each scene, How often have I paused on every charm, 10 The sheltered cot, the cultivated farm, The never-failing brook, the busy mill, The decent church that topped the neighboring hill, The hawthorn bush with seats beneath the shade, For talking age and whispering lovers made! 15 How often have I blest the coming day When toil remitting lent its turn to play, And all the village train, from labor free, Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree; While many a pastime circled in the shade, 20 The young contending as the old surveyed, And many a gambol frolicked o'er the ground, And sleights of art and feats of strength went round! And still, as each repeated pleasure tired, |