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at times as much embarrassed in his circumstances, as when his income was in its lowest and most precarious state.

He had been for some years, at different times, affected with a violent strangury, which contributed to embitter the latter part of his life, and which, united with the vexations he suffered upon other occasions, brought on a kind of habitual despondency. In this condition he was attacked by a nervous fever, which, in spite of the most able medical assistance, terminated in his dissolution on the 4th day of April, 1774, in the forty-third year of his age.

His remains were deposited in the burial-ground belonging to the Temple, and a monument hath since been erected to his memory, in Westminster-Abbey, at the expense of a literary club to which he belonged. It consists of a large medallion, exhibiting a good likeness of the Doctor, embellished with literary ornaments; underneath which is a tablet of white marble, with the following Latin inscription, written by his friend Dr. Samuel Johnson:


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Poetæ, Physici, Historici;
Qui nullum ferè scribendi Genus

Non tetigit,
Nullum quod tetigit non ornavit;
Sive Risus essent movendi,

Sive Lacrimæ:
Affectuum potens, at lenis Dominator;

Ingenio sublimis, vividus, versatilis;
Oratione grandis, nitidus, venustus;
Hoc Monumento Memoriam coluit

Sodalium Amor,
Amicorum Fides,

Lectorum Veneratio.
Natus Hibernia, Forneiæ Lonfordiensis,

In Loco cui Nomen Pallas,

Nov. xxix. MDCCXXXI.
Eblanæ Literis institutus.

Obiit Londini


This Monument is raised

To the Memory of

OLIVER GOLDSMITH, Poet, Natural Philosopher, and Historian, Who left no species of writing untouched,


Unadorned by his pen,
Whether to move laughter,

Or draw tears:
He was a powerful master

Over the affections,
Though at the same time a gentle tyrant;
Of a genius at once sublime, lively, and

Equal to every subject:
In expression at once noble,

Pure, and delicate.

His memory will last
As long as Society retains affection,

Friendship is not void of honour,
And Reading wants not her admirers.
He was born in the kingdom of Ireland,
At Fernes, in the province

Of Leinster,
Where Pallas had set her name,

29th Nov. 1731.
He was educated at Dublin,
And died in London,

4th April, 1774.

We shall conclude this account of the life of Dr. Goldsmith with the two following poems, written on the occasion of his death.





ADIEU, sweet Bard! to each fine feeling true,
Thy virtues many, and thy foibles few;
Those form’d to charm e'en vicious minds,...and these
With harmless mirth the social soul to please,
Another's woe thy heart could always melt;
None gave more free....for none more deeply felt.
Sweet Bard, adieu! thy own harmonious lays
Have sculptur'd out thy monument of praise:
Yes....these survive to time's remotest day;
While drops the bust, and boastful tombs decay.
Reader, if number'd in the Muses' train,
Go, tune the lyre, and imitate his strain;
But, if no poet thou, reverse the plan,
Depart in peace, and imitate the man.




DARK as the night, which now in dunnest robe
Ascends her zenith, o'er the silent globe,
Sad Melancholy wakes, awhile to tread
With solemn step the mansions of the dead:
Led by her hand, o'er this yet recent shrine
I sorrowing bend; and here essay to twine
The tributary wreath of laureat bloom,
With artless hands, to deck a poet's tomb;
The tomb where Goldsmith sleeps. Fond hopes,

adieu !
No more your airy dreams shalymock


Here will I learn ambition to céntrol,
And each aspiring passion of the soul:
Ev'n now, methinks, his well-known vcice I hear,
When late he meditated flight from care,
When as imagination fondly hied
To scenes of sweet retirement, thus he cried;


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