The paths of glory lead but to the grave.

Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault The pealing anthem swells the note of praise.

Hands that the rod of empire might have swayed, Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre.

Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
And waste its sweetness on the desert air.

Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest.

And read their history in a nation's eyes.

Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne,
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind.

Along the cool sequestered vale of life,
They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.

Implores the passing tribute of a sigh.

a

And many a holy text around she strews,
That teach the rustic moralist to die.

Nor cast one longing lingering look behind.

E'en from the tomb the voice of nature cries,
E’en in our ashes, live their wonted fires.

A youth, to fortune and to fame unknown;
Fair science frowned not on his humble birth,
And melancholy marked him for her own.

Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere.

He gave to misery. (all he had) a tear.

No farther seek his merits to disclose,

Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, (There they alike in trembling hope repose,)

The bosom of his Father and his God.

Ode on the Pleasure arising from Vicissitude.
The meanest floweret of the vale,
The simplest note that swells the gale,
The common sun, the air, the skies,
To him are opening paradise.

On his own Character.
Too poor for a bribe, and too proud to importune ;
He had not the method of making a fortune.

To Mr. West. 3d Series. Letter iv. Now as the Paradisaical pleasures of the Mahometans consist in playing upon the flute and lying with Houris, be mine to read eternal new romances of Marivaux and Crebillon.

Line 308.

Superfluous lags the veteran on the stage.

Line 317. From Marlborough's eyes the tears of dotage flow, And Swift expires, a driveller and a show.

Line 346.
Roll darkling down the torrent of his fate.

London.

Line 166.
Of all the griefs that harass the distressed,
Sure the most bitter is a scornful jest.

Line 176.
This mournful truth is everywhere confessed,
Slow rises worth by poverty depressed.

Lines added to Goldsmith's Traveller. How small, of all that human hearts endure, That part which laws or kings can cause or cure! Still to ourselves in every place consigned, Our own felicity we make or find. With secret course, which no loud storms annoy, Glides the smooth current of domestic joy.

· Line added to Goldsmith's Deserted Village. Trade's proud empire hastes to swift decay.

From Dr. Madden's “Boulter's Monument.” Supposed

to have been inserted by Dr. Johnson. 1745. Words are men's daughters, but God's sons are things.*

Rasselas. Chapter i. Ye who listen with credulity to the whispers of fancy, and pursue with eagerness the phantoms of hope; who expect that age will perform the promises of youth, and that the deficiencies of the present day will be supplied by the morrow; attend to the history of Rasselas, Prince of Abyssinia.

Epitaph on Robert Levett.
In Misery's darkest cavern known,

His useful care was ever nigh,
Where hopeless Anguish poured his groan,

And lonely Want retired to die.

Epitaph on Claudius Phillips, the Musician.
Phillips, whose touch harmonious could remove
The pangs of guilty power or hapless love;
Rest here, distressed by poverty no more,
Here find that calm thou gav’st so oft before;
Sleep, undisturbed, within this peaceful shrine,
Till angels wake thee with a note like thine.

* Words are women, deeds are men.

Jacula Prudentum. HERBERT.

Epitaph on Goldsmith.
A Poet, Naturalist, and Historian,
Who left scarcely any style of writing untouched,
And touched nothing that he did not adorn.*

Boswell's Life of Johnson.

Chapter xlix. Hell is paved with good intentions.†

Chapter lxxx.
Who drives fat oxen should himself be fat.

Johnsoniana.

Piozzi 30.

If the man who turnips cries
Cry not when his father dies,
"T is a proof that he had rather
Have a turnip than his father.

Piozzi 39.
A good hater.

*“Nullum quod tetigit non ornavit.”
He adorns whatever he attempts.

Eulogy on Cicero. FENELON. † Hell is full of good meanings and wishings.

Jacula Prudentum. GEORGE HERBERT.