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Updated: May 18, 2025
"In all my wand'rings round this world of care, In all my griefs and God has given my share I still had hopes, my latest hours to crown, Amidst those humble bowers to lay me down; To husband out life's taper at its close, And keep the flame from wasting by repose.
His house was known to all the vagrant train; He chid their wand'rings, but relieved their pain: The long-remember'd beggar was his guest, Whose beard descending swept his aged breast; The ruin'd spendthrift, now no longer proud, Claim'd kindred there, and had his claims allow'd; The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay, Sat by his fire, and talk'd the night away, Wept o'er his wounds, or, tales of sorrow done, Shoulder'd his crutch, and shoed how fields were won.
It seems to us as if the very last accounts received from home, of his "shattered family," and the desolation that seemed to have settled upon the haunts of his childhood, had cut to the roots one feebly cherished hope, and produced the following exquisitely tender and mournful lines: "In all my wand'rings round this world of care, In all my griefs and God has giv'n my share I still had hopes my latest hours to crown, Amid these humble bowers to lay me down; To husband out life's taper at the close, And keep the flame from wasting by repose; I still had hopes, for pride attends us still, Amid the swains to show my book-learn'd skill, Around my fire an ev'ning group to draw, And tell of all I felt and all I saw; And as a hare, whom hounds and horns pursue, Pants to the place from whence at first she flew; I still had hopes, my long vexations past, Here to return and die at home at last."
How this instinct abides, how long and how far it goes with us, is beautifully illustrated in the lines of Goldsmith. "In all my wand'rings round this world of care, In all my griefs and God has giv'n my share, I still had hopes my latest hours to crown, Amidst these humble bow'rs to lay me down; To husband out life's taper at the close, And keep the flame from wasting by repose.
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