Oliver Goldsmith

John Graham, "A Song for the Anniversary of Oliver Goldsmith, celebrated at Mr. Leed's Inn in Ballymahon" Gentleman's Magazine 90 (November 1820) 448.

Near eighty years are pass'd and gone,
The world turn'd upside down,
Since GOLDSMITH, mourning, and alone,
Forsook his fav'rite town;
On INNY'S banks he bade adieu
To scenes of early joy,
And took, in tears, his farewell view

And long and far o'er Europe wide,
The Bard compell'd to roam,
Let weal or woe to him betide,
His heart was still at home;
And from the spot he dearly lov'd,
But ne'er beheld again,
He felt that ev'ry mile he mov'd
"He dragg'd a lengthen'd chain."

When crossing o'er the "lazy SCHELD,"
Or "wand'ring by the PO,"
The thoughts of home his fond heart held,
His bosom fill'd with woe;
And when his charming Muse he found,
The sweetest of the Nine,
And sung of these dear scenes around,
The strain became divine.

"Now buried in another land,
Our tuneful GOLDSMITH lies,
No kinsman grasp'd his stiff'ning hand,
Or clos'd his dying eyes;
Consign'd to Death, that levels all,
He met an early doom,
And BURKE and REYNOLDS wept his fall,
And JOHNSON grav'd his tomb."

But, oh! foul shame on ERIN'S ISLE,
The Isle he priz'd so high,
Where many a monumental pile
For others reach the sky;
No pillar proud proclaims his fame,
Or marks his country's pride;
Nor sculptur'd marble bears his name,
Or tells us where he died.

The Hero well deserves the meed
Of honour and renown,
But, oh, the Bard should be decreed
His lovely laurel crown;
Then let us all join heart and hand,
And time and thought employ,
To wipe the stigma from the land,
And consecrate LISSOY.