Explore "The Traveller or a Prospect of Society" by Oliver Goldsmith on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
REMOTE, unfriended, melancholy, slow, / Or by the lazy Scheldt, or wandering Po; / Or onward, where the rude Carinthian boor / Against the houseless stranger shuts the door; / Or where Campania's plain forsaken lies, / A weary waste expanding to the skies: / Where'er I roam, whatever realms to see, / My heart untravell'd fondly turns to thee; / Still to my brother turns with ceaseless pain, / And drags at each remove a lengthening chain.
Eternal blessings crown my earliest friend, / And round his dwelling guardian saints attend: / Bless'd be that spot, where cheerful guests retire / To pause from toil, and trim their ev'ning fire; / Bless'd that abode, where want and pain repair, / And every stranger finds a ready chair; / Bless'd be those feasts with simple plenty crown'd, / Where all the ruddy family around / Laugh at the jests or pranks that never fail, / Or sigh with pity at some mournful tale, / Or press the bashful stranger to his food, / And learn the luxury of doing good.