In regretting the depopulation of the country, I inveigh against the increase of our luxuries; and here also I expect the shout of modern politicians against me. For twenty or thirty years past, it has been the fashion to consider luxury as one of the greatest national advantages; and all the wisdom of antiquity, in that particular, as erroneous. Still, however, I must remain a professed ancient on that head, and continue to think those luxuries prejudicial to states by which so many vices are introduced, and so many kingdoms have been undone. Indeed so much has been poured out of late on the other side of the question, that, merely for the sake of novelty and variety, one would sometimes wish to be in the right.

I am, Dear Sir,

Your sincere Friend,

And ardent Admirer,

OLIVER GOLDSMITH.

1

THE DESERTED VILLAGE.

SWEET AUBURN! loveliest village of the plain,

Where health and plenty cheer'd the lab'ring swain,

Where smiling spring its earliest visit paid,

And parting summer's ling'ring blooms delay'd:

Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease,

Seats of my youth, when every sport could please: How often have I loiter'd o'er thy green,

Where humble happiness endear'd each scene!

How often have I paus'd on every charm,

The shelter'd cot, the cultivated farm,

The never-failing brook, the busy mill,

The decent church that topt the neighb'ring hill, The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade, For talking age and whisp'ring lovers made!

How often have I bless'd the coming day,

When toil remitting, lent its turn to play,

And all the village train, from labour free,
Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree;
While many a pastime circled in the shade,

The young contending as the old survey'd ;

And many a gambol frolick'd o'er the ground,

And sleights of art and feats of strength went round. And still as each repeated pleasure tir'd,

Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspir'd;

The dancing pair that simply sought renown,
By holding out to tire each other down;

The swain mistrustless of his smutted face,

While secret laughter titter'd round the place;

The bashful virgin's side-long looks of love,

The matron's glance that would those looks reprove. These were thy charms, sweet village! sports like these, With sweet succession, taught e'en toil to please; These round thy bowers their cheerful influence shed, These were thy charms...But all these charms are fied.

Sweet smiling village, loveliest of the lawn,

Thy sports are fled, and all thy charms withdrawn;

Amidst thy bowers the tyrant's hand is seen,
And desolation saddens all thy green:

One only master grasps the whole domain,

And half a tillage stints thy smiling plain;

No more thy glassy brook reflects the day,
But, chok'd 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 unvary'd cries.
Sunk are thy bowers in shapeless ruin all,

And the long grass o'ertops the mould'ring wall,
And trembling, shrinking from the spoiler's hand,

Far, far away thy children leave the land.

Ill fares the land, to hastʼning 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:

K