"Thou also madest the night,
Maker Omnipotent! and Thou the day,
Which we, in our appointed work employ'd,
Have finish'd; happy in our mutual help
And mutual love, the crown of all our bliss
Ordain'd by thee, and this delicious place,
For us too large, where thy abundance wants
Partakers, and uncropt, falls to the ground.
But Thou hast promised from us two a race
To fill the earth, who shall with us extol
Thy goodness infinite, both when we wake,
And when we seek, as now, thy gift of sleep."
MILTON.
* * * * *
OLIVER GOLDSMITH.
[Illustration: Letter G.]
Goldsmith's poetry enjoys a calm and steady popularity. It inspires us,
indeed, with no admiration of daring design or of fertile invention; but
it presents within its narrow limits a distinct and unbroken view of
poetical delightfulness. His descriptions and sentiments have the pure
zest of nature. He is refined without false delicacy, and correct
without insipidity. Perhaps there is an intellectual composure in his
manner, which may, in some passages, be said to approach to the reserved
and prosaic; but he unbends from this graver strain of reflection to
tenderness, and even to playfulness, with an ease and grace almost
exclusively his own; and connects extensive views of the happiness and
interests of society with pictures of life that touch the heart by their
familiarity.
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