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The Deserted Village. a Poem. by Oliver Goldsmith

the deserted village by oliver goldsmith sparknotes

The very spot Where many a time he triumphed is forgot. There, as I pass’d with careless steps and slow, The mingled notes came soften’d from below; The swain responsive as the milk-maid sung, The sober herd that low’d to meet their young, The noisy geese that gabbled o’er the pool, The playful children just let loose from school; The watch dog’s voice that bay’d the whispering wind, And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind;— These all in sweet confusion sought the shade, And fill’d each pause the nightingale had made. To distant climes, a dreary scene, Where half the convex world intrudes between, Through torrid tracts with fainting steps they go, Where wild Altama murmurs to their woe. Obscure it sinks, nor shall it more impartAn hour's importance to the poor man's heart;Thither no more the peasant shall repairTo sweet oblivion of his daily care;No more the farmer's news, the barber's tale,No more the woodman's ballad shall prevail;No more the smith his dusky brow shall clear,Relax his ponderous strength, and lean to hear;The host himself no longer shall be foundCareful to see the mantling bliss go round;Nor the coy maid, half willing to be pressed,Shall kiss the cup to pass it to the rest. Sunk are thy bowers, in shapeless ruin all, And the long grass o'ertops the mouldering wall; And, trembling, shrinking from the spoiler's hand, Far, far away, thy children leave the land.

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Summary of deserted village by oliver goldsmith

the deserted village by oliver goldsmith sparknotes

But being poor means I cannot afford the teaching of an expert. If to the city sped--What waits him there? 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. While thus the land adorned for pleasure all In barren splendour feebly waits the fall. A man he was to all the country dear, And passing rich with forty pounds a year; Remote from towns he ran his godly race, Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change, his place; Unpractised he to fawn, or seek for power, By doctrines fashioned to the varying hour; Far other aims his heart had learned to prize, More skilled to raise the wretched than to rise. First blank leaf is nearly detached. Sure scenes like these no troubles e'er annoy! The dome where Pleasure holds her midnight reign Here, richly deck'd, admits the gorgeous train; Tumultuous grandeur crowds the blazing square, The rattling chariots clash, the torches glare.

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Oliver Goldsmith The Deserted Village vs. George C

the deserted village by oliver goldsmith sparknotes

I still had hopes, for pride attends us still, Amidst the swains to show my book-learned skill, Around my fire an evening group to draw, And tell of all I felt and all I saw; And, as a hare, whom hounds and horns pursue, Pants to the place from whence at first she flew, I still had hopes, my long vexations passed, Here to return—and die at home at last. Sure these denote one universal joy! A time there was, ere England's griefs began, When every rood of ground maintained its man; For him light labour spread her wholesome store, Just gave what life required, but gave no more: His best companions, innocence and health; And his best riches, ignorance of wealth. Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way,With blossomed furze unprofitably gay,There, in his noisy mansion, skilled 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;Well had the boding tremblers learned to traceThe day's disasters in his morning face;Full well they laughed, with counterfeited glee,At all his jokes, for many a joke had he;Full well the busy whisper, circling round,Conveyed the dismal tidings when he frowned;Yet he was kind; or if severe in aught,The love he bore to learning was in fault. Obscure it sinks, nor shall it more impart An hour's importance to the poor man's heart; 240 Thither no more the peasant shall repair To sweet oblivion of his daily care; No more the farmer's news, the barber's tale, No more the wood-man's ballad shall prevail; No more the smith his dusky brown shall clear, 245 Relax his pond'rous strength, and lean to hear; The host himself no longer shall be found Careful to see the mantling bliss go round; Nor the coy maid, half willing to be press'd, Shall kiss the cup to pass it to the rest. Could not all Reprieve the tottering mansion from its fall! Using images pertaining to the land in his poem, he gives to his readers a sense of what it was like to live in the countryside during modernization and how it has destroyed the land the former inhabitants worked so hard to maintain. A time there was, ere England’s griefs began, When every rood of ground maintain’d its man; For him light Labour spread her wholesome store, Just gave what life required, but gave no more: His best companions, Innocence and Health; And his best riches, ignorance of wealth. Proud swells the tide with loads of freighted ore, And shouting Folly hails them from her shore; Hoards even beyond the miser's wish abound, And rich men flock from all the world around.


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The Deserted Village by Oliver Goldsmith

the deserted village by oliver goldsmith sparknotes

Could not all Reprieve the tottering mansion from its fall? Here, while the courtier glitters in brocade, 315 There the pale artist plies the sickly trade; Here, while the proud their long-drawn pomps display, There the black gibbet glooms beside the way. When the poet left the village and joint the world of the city he could get some knowledge some experience, now he is well educated so sometimes has a desire to show that knowledge to his friends villagers so he hopes he would get back to the village one day and meet the old friends and show his pride in his knowledge and wisdom and he has the right Paragraph 1 I am very eager to be applying for the Director of Services, here at Yellow Rose Village. With louder plaints the mother spoke her woes, And blessed the cot where every pleasure rose; And kissed her thoughtless babes with many a tear, And clasped them close, in sorrow doubly dear; Whilst her fond husband strove to lend relief In all the silent manliness of grief. For him no wretches, born to work and weep, Explore the mine, or tempt the dangerous deep; No surly porter stands, in guilty state, To spurn imploring famine from the gate; But on he moves to meet his latter end, Angels around befriending virtue’s friend; Sinks to the grave with unperceived decay, While resignation gently slopes the way; And, all his prospects brightening to the last, His heaven commences ere the world be past! Sure scenes like these no troubles e’er annoy! But the long pomp, the midnight masquerade, With all the freaks of wanton wealth arrayed, In these, ere triflers half their wish obtain, The toiling pleasure sickens into pain; And, even while fashion's brightest arts decoy, The heart distrusting asks, if this be joy. Far different these from every former scene, The cooling brook, the grassy-vested green, The breezy covert of the warbling grove, That only sheltered thefts of harmless love. The service passed, around the pious man, With steady zeal, each honest rustic ran; Even children followed with endearing wile, And plucked his gown, to share the good man's smile.


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Summary of deserted village by oliver goldsmith

the deserted village by oliver goldsmith sparknotes

Adorned with a small engraved vignette to the title page. No more thy glassy brook reflects the day, But, choked with sedges, works its weedy way; Along thy glades, a solitary guest, The hollow-sounding bittern guards its nest; Amidst thy desert walks the lapwing flies, And tires their echoes with unvaried cries: Sunk are thy bowers in shapeless ruin all, And the long grass o’ertops the mouldering wall; And, trembling, shrinking from the spoiler’s hand, Far, far away thy children leave the land. As some tall cliff, that lifts its awful form, 189 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 blossomed 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 stem to view; I knew him well, and every truant knew; Well had the boding tremblers learned to trace The day's disasters in his morning face; Full well they laugh'd with counterfeited glee, At all his jokes, for many a joke had he; Full well the busy whisper, circling round, Conveyed the dismal tidings when he frowned; Yet he was kind, or if severe in aught, The love he bore to learning was in fault; The village all declar'd how much he knew; 'Twas certain he could write, and cypher too; Lands he could measure, terms and tides presage, And even the story ran that he could gauge. 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. A man he was to all the country dear,And passing rich with forty pounds a year;Remote from towns he ran his godly race,Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change, his place;Unpractised he to fawn, or seek for power,By doctrines fashioned to the varying hour;Far other aims his heart had learned to prize,More skilled to raise the wretched than to rise. But times are alter'd; trade's unfeeling train Usurp the land and dispossess the swain; Along the lawn, where scatter'd hamlets rose, 65 Unwieldy wealth, and cumbrous pomp repose; And every want to opulence allied, And every pang that folly pays to pride.

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The Deserted Village by Oliver Goldsmith

the deserted village by oliver goldsmith sparknotes

Common property was becoming private property. Yet he was kind, or if severe in aught, The love he bore to learning was in fault. If to the city sped—what waits him there? What has doomed rural life, Goldsmith contends, is the rise of trade that has brought unprecedented wealth to some few at the expense of the many: Proud swells the tide with loads of freighted ore, And shouting Folly hails them from her shore; Hoards, even beyond the miser's wish abound, And rich men flock from all the world around. Goldsmith's case was not helped by the fact that his views of depopulation were found to be inaccurate, for it turned out that while enclosure lessened the number of farms, it increased the quantity of food that was produced and so led to an increase in population Barfoot 1982: 213. Thus fares the land, by luxury betrayed, In nature's simplest charms at first arrayed; But verging to decline, its splendours rise, Its vistas strike, its palaces surprise; While, scourged by famine, from the smiling land The mournful peasant leads his humble band; And while he sinks, without one arm to save, The country blooms-a garden, and a grave. Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way, With blossomed furze unprofitably gay, There, in his noisy mansion, skilled 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; Well had the boding tremblers learned to trace The day's disasters in his morning face; Full well they laughed, with counterfeited glee, At all his jokes, for many a joke had he; Full well the busy whisper, circling round, Conveyed the dismal tidings when he frowned; Yet he was kind; or if severe in aught, The love he bore to learning was in fault. His ready smile a parent's warmth expressed, Their welfare pleased him, and their cares distressed; To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given, But all his serious thoughts had rest in Heaven.

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The Deserted Village

the deserted village by oliver goldsmith sparknotes

O blest retirement, friend to life's decline,Retreats from care, that never must be mine,How happy he who crowns in shades like theseA youth of labour with an age of ease;Who quits a world where strong temptations try,And, since 'tis hard to combat, learns to fly! The Deserted Village condemns rural depopulation, the enclosure of common land, the creation of landscape gardens and the pursuit of excessive wealth. However, he did indicate it was about 50 miles 80 km from London and it is widely believed to have been Nuneham Courtenay in Oxfordshire, which Simon Harcourt, 1st Earl Harcourt had demolished and moved 1 mile 1. E'en now, perhaps, by cold and hunger led, At proud men's doors they ask a little bread! Here as I take my solitary rounds, Amidst thy tangling walks and ruined grounds, And, many a year elapsed, return to view Where once the cottage stood, the hawthorn grew, Remembrance wakes with all her busy train, Swells at my breast, and turns the past to pain. Just be sure to laugh at his jokes. Far different these from every former scene, The cooling brook, the grassy-vested green, The breezy covert of the warbling grove, That only sheltered thefts of harmless love. The service passed, around the pious man, With steady zeal, each honest rustic ran; Even children followed with endearing wile, And plucked his gown, to share the good man's smile. Are these thy serious thoughts? But now the sounds of population fail, 125 No cheerful murmurs fluctuate in the gale, No busy steps the grass-grown foot-way tread, For all the bloomy flush of life is fled.

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The Deserted Village by Oliver Goldsmith

the deserted village by oliver goldsmith sparknotes

Night Shyamalan in 2004, was influenced by the attacks, and although it seems to be set in the late 19 th century, is actually a present day story. The man of wealth and pride Takes up a space that many poor supplied; Space for his lake, his park's extended bounds, Space for his horses, equipage, and hounds; The robe that wraps his limbs in silken sloth, Has robbed the neighbouring fields of half their growth; His seat, where solitary sports are seen, Indignant spurns the cottage from the green; Around the world each needful product flies, For all the luxuries the world supplies. 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. The association of words at the ends of lines sets up comparisons that poets use rhetorically to assert and create attitudes of pathos. In earlier eras, the rich who held title to the land needed peasants to tend it. 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 even the story ran that he could gauge.

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Summary of deserted village by oliver goldsmith

the deserted village by oliver goldsmith sparknotes

This wealth is but a name That leaves our useful products still the same. How do thy potions, with insidious joy, Diffuse thy pleasures only to destroy! The only dedication I ever made was to my brother, because I loved him better than most other men. But times are altered; trade's unfeeling trainUsurp the land and dispossess the swain;Along the lawn, where scattered hamlet's rose,Unwieldy wealth and cumbrous pomp repose,And every want to opulence allied,And every pang that folly pays to pride. These were thy charms, sweet village! A man severe he was, and stern to view; I knew him well, and every truant knew: Well had the boding tremblers learn’d to trace The day’s disasters in his morning face; Full well they laugh’d with counterfeited glee At all his jokes, for many a joke had he; Full well the busy whisper, circling round, Convey’d the dismal tidings when he frown’d. Todd's 'K' edition; published in 1784. The Rising Village was published in 1825.

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The Deserted Village Poem by Oliver Goldsmith

the deserted village by oliver goldsmith sparknotes

His house was known to all the vagrant train, He chid their wanderings, but relieved their pain; The long remembered beggar was his guest, Whose beard descending swept his aged breast; The ruined spendthrift, now no longer proud, Claimed kindred there, and had his claims allowed; The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay, Sat by his fire, and talked the night away; Wept o'er his wounds, or, tales of sorrow done, Shouldered his crutch, and showed how fields were won. Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey, Where wealth accumulates, and men decay: Princes and lords may flourish, or may fade; A breath can make them, as a breath has made; But a bold peasantry, their country's pride, When once destroyed can never be supplied. I still had hopes, for pride attends us still, Amidst the swains to show my book-learned skill, Around my fire an evening group to draw, And tell of all I felt and all I saw; And, as a hare, whom hounds and horns pursue, Pants to the place from whence at first she flew, I still had hopes, my long vexations passed, Here to return-and die at home at last. Those gentle hours that plenty bade to bloom, Those calm desires that asked but little room, Those healthful sports that graced the peaceful scene, Lived in each look, and brightened all the green; These, far departing, seek a kinder shore, And rural mirth and manners are no more. Far different there from all that charmed before,The various terrors of that horrid shore;Those blazing suns that dart a downward rayAnd fiercely shed intolerable day;Those matted woods where birds forget to sing,But silent bats in drowsy clusters cling;Those poisonous fields with rank luxuriance crowned,Where the dark scorpion gathers death around;Where at each step the stranger fears to wakeThe rattling terrors of the vengeful snake;Where crouching tigers wait their hapless prey,And savage men more murderous still than they;While oft in whirls the mad tornado flies,Mingling the ravaged landscape with the skies. Half title soiled and toned, with tiny closed tear to center, very occasional faint spotting, final leaf with old neat patch repair to verso and tiny hole obliterating page number, else contents clean and bright.

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