lirik lagu oliver goldsmith: the deserted village - cecil trouncer
sweet was the sound, when oft at evening’s close
up yonder hill the village murmur rose;
there, as i past with careless steps and slow
the mingling notes came soften’d from below;
the swain responsive as the milk~maid sung
the sober herd that lowed 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 bayed the whispering wind
and thе loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind
thesе all in sweet confusion sought the shade
and filled each pause the nightingale had made
but now the sounds of population fail
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
all but yon widowed, solitary thing
that feebly bends beside the plashy spring;
she, wretched matron, forced in age, for bread
to strip the brook with mantling cresses spread
to pick her wintry f~ggot from the th~rn
to seek her nightly shed, and weep till morn;
she only left of all the harmless train
the sad historian of the pensive plain
near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled
and still where many a garden~flower grows wild;
there, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose
the village preacher’s modest mansion rose
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 sk!lled to raise the wretched than to rise
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
claim’d kindred there, and had his claims allowed;
the broken soldier, kindly bade to stay
sate by his fire, and talked the night away;
wept o’er his wounds, or, tales of sorrow done
shouldered his crutch, and shewed how fields were won
pleased with his guests, the good man learned to glow
and quite forgot their vices in their woe;
careless their merits, or their faults to scan
his pity gave ere charity began
thus to relieve the wretched was his pride
and even his failings leaned to virtue’s side;
but in his duty prompt at every call
he watched and wept, he prayed and felt, for all
and, as a bird each fond endearment tries
to tempt its new~fledged offspring to the skies;
he tried each art, reproved each dull delay
allured to brighter worlds, and led the way
beside the bed where parting life was layed
and sorrow, guilt, and pain, by turns, dismayed
the reverend champion stood. at his control
despair and anguish fled the struggling soul;
comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise
and his last faltering accents whispered praise
at church, with meek and unaffected grace
his looks adorned the venerable place;
truth from his lips prevailed with double sway
and fools, who came to scoff, remained to pray
the service past, 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
his ready smile a parent’s warmth exprest
their welfare pleased him, and their cares distrest:
to them his heart, his love, his griefs were given
but all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven
as some tall cliff that lifts its awful form
swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm
tho’ 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, sk!ll’d 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;
the village all declared how much he knew;
’twas certain he could write, and cypher too;
lands he could measure, terms and tides presage
and ev’n the story ran that he could gauge
in arguing too, the parson owned his sk!ll
for even tho’ vanquished, he could argue still;
while words of learned length and thundering sound
amazed the gazing rustics ranged around;
and still they gazed, and still the wonder grew
that one small head could carry all he knew
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