Читать книгу The Complete Poetical Works of Oliver Goldsmith - Оливер Голдсмит - Страница 17

page 11

No vernal blooms their torpid rocks array,

But winter ling'ring chills the lap of May;

No Zephyr fondly sues the mountain's breast,

But meteors glare, and stormy glooms invest.

Yet still, e'en here, content can spread a charm, 175

Redress the clime, and all its rage disarm.

Though poor the peasant's hut, his feasts though small,

He sees his little lot the lot of all;

Sees no contiguous palace rear its head

To shame the meanness of his humble shed; 180

No costly lord the sumptuous banquet deal

To make him loathe his vegetable meal;

But calm, and bred in ignorance and toil,

Each wish contracting, fits him to the soil.

Cheerful at morn he wakes from short repose, 185

Breasts the keen air, and carols as he goes;

With patient angle trolls the finny deep,

Or drives his vent'rous plough-share to the steep;

Or seeks the den where snow-tracks mark the way,

And drags the struggling savage into day. 190

At night returning, every labour sped,

He sits him down the monarch of a shed;

Smiles by his cheerful fire, and round surveys

His children's looks, that brighten at the blaze;

While his lov'd partner, boastful of her hoard, 195

Displays her cleanly platter on the board:

And haply too some pilgrim, thither led,

With many a tale repays the nightly bed.

Thus every good his native wilds impart,

Imprints the patriot passion on his heart, 200