ENGLISH POETRY 1579-1830: SPENSER AND THE TRADITION
William Henry Ireland
, "Oliver Goldsmith" Neglected Genius (1812) 43-46.
1759: William Shenstone
1766: Rev. Joseph Warton
1768: Frances Burney
1768: William Kenrick
1770: Corbyn Morris
1770 ca.: D. G.
1770: W. Willis
1773: T. S.
1773: Richard Fenton
1773: S. J.
1773: A. B.
1773: P. H. M. D.
1773: Rev. Percival Stockdale
1773: B. G.
1774: Horace Walpole
1774: William Woty
1774: John Tait
1774: Samuel Jackson Pratt
1774: Miss L.
1774: Richard Cumberland
1774: David Garrick
1775: Robert Hill
1775: W. P.
1776 ca.: Joshua Reynolds
1778: M. Macgreggor, Esq.
1780: Thomas Davies
1787: A Clergyman of Ireland
1788: James Beattie
1790: Robert Burns
1791: James Boswell
1795: Dr. Robert Anderson
1796: A Gentleman of Canada
1800: Thomas Dermody
1805: Charles Brockden Brown
1806: Dr. John Aikin
1807: Robert Southey
1807: Sir Samuel Egerton Brydges
1809: Dr. Nathan Drake
1811: Richard Cumberland
1812: William Henry Ireland
1813: Rev. William Cameron
1818: Rev. Francis Hodgson
1820: Lord Byron
1820: Rev. John Graham
1821: Thomas Stott
1822: William Cook
1822: Tobias Oldschool
1824: William Hazlitt
1824: Bryan Waller Procter
1825 ca.: Joseph Cradock
1826: Richard Ryan
1827: William Goodhugh
1829: Anna Brownell Jameson
1830 ca.: William Roscoe
1830: Rev. George Barrell Cheever
1831: John Wilson Croker
1832: John Taylor Esq.
1850: Leigh Hunt
1880: Edward Dowden
1882: Epes Sargent
William Henry Ireland:
1812: Samuel Butler
1812: Thomas Chatterton
1812: Thomas Chatterton
1812: John Dryden
1812: Oliver Goldsmith
1812: John Milton
1812: Richard Savage
1812: Richard Savage
1812: Nahum Tate
1812: Edmund Waller
1815: Sir Samuel Egerton Brydges
1815: Robert Burns
1815: Thomas Campbell
1815: Thomas James Mathias
1815: Hannah More
1815: Samuel Jackson Pratt
1815: Clara Reeve
1815: William Roscoe
1815: Edward Thurlow
1815: Mary Tighe
1815: Horace Walpole
1815: Dr. John Wolcot
Child of simplicity, thy strains subdue,
To feeling's voice pathetically true;
'Tis thine to wake the sympathizing sigh,
And call forth tears from mercy's glist'ning eye;
Thy touch controuls with sterling nature's glow,
And stamps as true each fancied scene of woe;
Thy page (reflective mirror) paints mankind,
And shows each secret working of the mind;
Unvarnish'd makes man play his earthly part,
Recording as it is the human heart.
No thought indecorous the mind assails,
There pure morality with sense prevails;
Vice for a season holds unrivall'd sway,
That virtue may emit a brighter ray,
And scare foul sin with its all radiant light,
Hurling the wicked to the realms of night.
Thou wast thyself upon life's rugged way
The traveller of fancy's beamy day;
Human society inspir'd the strain,
A prospect ample for thy teeming brain;
By thee life's checker'd page was understood,
The wise, the great, the innocent, and good;
Feeling's full range a master's hand design'd,
The spirit noble, or the lowly hind;
Want and experience, the preceptors stern,
Whose rigid tenets taught thee to discern.
Still worldly knowledge never cou'd controul
The tender impulse that imbu'd the soul;
Thine heart still melting at another's grief,
Thy hand yet open to dispense relief;
Too good thyself to dread another's art,
The specious knave wou'd oft subdue thine heart,
Draw from thy scanty store soft pity's fee,
The heav'nly boon of true philanthropy.
So mov'd sweet Goldsmith thro' life's shadowy vale,
Thus sang the Bard of Feeling — Feeling's Tale.
Auburn, dear village, thy deserted state
Waken'd true pathos to lament thy fate;
There reigns the poet, there his soul we scan,
His numbers blazon'd forth the living man.
Yet what avails the mind's perception true,
That fathoms man with comprehensive view?
What is pure sensibility of heart,
That plays on earth commiseration's part?
Since human nature sterling sense disdains,
And, selfish, feels not for another's pains.
'Twas thine, O Goldsmith! this sad truth to know,
Few felt for thee with thine inherent glow;
Early thy poet race stern want subdu'd,
While oft fell penury thy course pursu'd,
Clipp'd the wide wings of fancy's soaring flight,
As if the muses spurn'd thee from their sight.
What tho' a failing tainted thy career,
Do not the sons of frailty sojourn here?
And if one fault alone subdu'd the breast,
Thy sum of goodness shou'd have purchas'd rest:
But worldly peace by man is rarely won,
Virtue oft toiling till life's sand is run;
And genius, least of all the goal can claim,
Distress, sure meed of ev'ry poet's fame.
Hallow'd thou sleep'st with the illustrious dead,
The verdant crown still blooming round thine head;
For while the human heart owns pity's sway,
Thy pages must dispense the soothing ray;
In prose as metre feeling rears the throne,
Thy soul engirdled by no frigid zone;
A Goldsmith's Vicar paints religion's store,
And lures the heart obdurate to adore;
Link'd with simplicity truth shines serene,
For virtue, heav'nly virtue, rules the scene.