Читать книгу The Complete Poetical Works of Oliver Goldsmith - Оливер Голдсмит - Страница 18

page 12

And e'en those ills, that round his mansion rise,

Enhance the bliss his scanty fund supplies.

Dear is that shed to which his soul conforms,

And dear that hill which lifts him to the storms;

And as a child, when scaring sounds molest, 205

Clings close and closer to the mother's breast,

So the loud torrent, and the whirlwind's roar,

But bind him to his native mountains more.

Such are the charms to barren states assign'd;

Their wants but few, their wishes all confin'd. 210

Yet let them only share the praises due,

If few their wants, their pleasures are but few;

For every want that stimulates the breast,

Becomes a source of pleasure when redrest.

Whence from such lands each pleasing science flies, 215

That first excites desire, and then supplies;

Unknown to them, when sensual pleasures cloy,

To fill the languid pause with finer joy;

Unknown those powers that raise the soul to flame,

Catch every nerve, and vibrate through the frame. 220

Their level life is but a smould'ring fire,

Unquench'd by want, unfann'd by strong desire;

Unfit for raptures, or, if raptures cheer

On some high festival of once a year,

In wild excess the vulgar breast takes fire, 225

Till, buried in debauch, the bliss expire.

But not their joys alone thus coarsely flow:

Their morals, like their pleasures, are but low;

For, as refinement stops, from sire to son

Unalter'd, unimprov'd the manners run; 230