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🗓️ 26 March 2025
⏱️ 4 minutes
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Oliver Goldsmith (born Nov. 10, 1730, Kilkenny West, County Westmeath, Ire.—died April 4, 1774, London) was an Anglo-Irish essayist, poet, novelist, dramatist, and eccentric, made famous by such works as the series of essays The Citizen of the World, or, Letters from a Chinese Philosopher (1762), the poem The Deserted Village (1770), the novel The Vicar of Wakefield (1766), and the play She Stoops to Conquer (1773).
Goldsmith was the son of an Anglo-Irish clergyman, the Rev. Charles Goldsmith, curate in charge of Kilkenny West, County Westmeath. At about the time of his birth, the family moved into a substantial house at nearby Lissoy, where Oliver spent his childhood. Much has been recorded concerning his youth, his unhappy years as an undergraduate at Trinity College, Dublin, where he received the B.A. degree in February 1749, and his many misadventures before he left Ireland in the autumn of 1752 to study in the medical school at Edinburgh. His father was now dead, but several of his relations had undertaken to support him in his pursuit of a medical degree. Later on, in London, he came to be known as Dr. Goldsmith—Doctor being the courtesy title for one who held the Bachelor of Medicine—but he took no degree while at Edinburgh nor, so far as anyone knows, during the two-year period when, despite his meagre funds, which were eventually exhausted, he somehow managed to make his way through Europe. The first period of his life ended with his arrival in London, bedraggled and penniless, early in 1756.
Goldsmith’s rise from total obscurity was a matter of only a few years. He worked as an apothecary’s assistant, school usher, physician, and as a hack writer—reviewing, translating, and compiling. Much of his work was for Ralph Griffiths’s Monthly Review. It remains amazing that this young Irish vagabond, unknown, uncouth, unlearned, and unreliable, was yet able within a few years to climb from obscurity to mix with aristocrats and the intellectual elite of London. Such a rise was possible because Goldsmith had one quality, soon noticed by booksellers and the public, that his fellow literary hacks did not possess—the gift of a graceful, lively, and readable style. His rise began with the Enquiry into the Present State of Polite Learning in Europe (1759), a minor work. Soon he emerged as an essayist, in The Bee and other periodicals, and above all in his Chinese Letters. These essays were first published in the journal The Public Ledger and were collected as The Citizen of the World in 1762. The same year brought his Life of Richard Nash, of Bath, Esq. Already Goldsmith was acquiring those distinguished and often helpful friends whom he alternately annoyed and amused, shocked and charmed—Samuel Johnson, Sir Joshua Reynolds, Thomas Percy, David Garrick, Edmund Burke, and James Boswell. The obscure drudge of 1759 became in 1764 one of the nine founder-members of the famous Club, a select body, including Reynolds, Johnson, and Burke, which met weekly for supper and talk. Goldsmith could now afford to live more comfortably, but his extravagance continually ran him into debt, and he was forced to undertake more hack work. He thus produced histories of England and of ancient Rome and Greece, biographies, verse anthologies, translations, and works of popular science. These were mainly compilations of works by other authors, which Goldsmith then distilled and enlivened by his own gift for fine writing. Some of these makeshift compilations went on being reprinted well into the 19th century, however.
By 1762 Goldsmith had established himself as an essayist with his Citizen of the World, in which he used the device of satirizing Western society through the eyes of an Oriental visitor to London. By 1764 he had won a reputation as a poet with The Traveller, the first work to which he put his name. It embodied both his memories of tramping through Europe and his political ideas. In 1770 he confirmed that reputation with the more famous Deserted Village, which contains charming vignettes of rural life while denouncing the evictions of the country poor at the hands of wealthy landowners. In 1766 Goldsmith revealed himself as a novelist with The Vicar of Wakefield (written in 1762), a portrait of village life whose idealization of the countryside, sentimental moralizing, and melodramatic incidents are underlain by a sharp but good-natured irony. In 1768 Goldsmith turned to the theatre with The Good Natur’d Man, which was followed in 1773 by the much more effective She Stoops to Conquer, which was immediately successful. This play has outlived almost all other English-language comedies from the early 18th to the late 19th century by virtue of its broadly farcical horseplay and vivid, humorous characterizations.
During his last decade Goldsmith’s conversational encounters with Johnson and others, his foolishness, and his wit were preserved in Boswell’s Life of Samuel Johnson. Goldsmith eventually became deeply embroiled in mounting debts despite his considerable earnings as an author, though, and after a short illness in the spring of 1774 he died.
-bio via Britannica
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0:00.0 | Welcome back to The Daily Poem, a podcast from Goldberry Studios. |
0:08.4 | I'm Sean Johnson, and today is Wednesday, March 26, 2025. |
0:13.7 | And today's poem comes from 18th century poet and novelist Oliver Goldsmith, |
0:19.9 | and it's called an elegy on the death of a mad dog. |
0:24.5 | This poem represents a subgenre of poetry, maybe of literature generally, that has almost vanished |
0:34.0 | from the earth. It's fallen out of favor, certainly. And that is the incidental lyric |
0:40.0 | written for a novel. This used to be a fairly common feature in novels of the 19th century |
0:49.6 | and even the early 20th. But again, you don't see many songs, versified songs, |
0:57.4 | written and dropped into contemporary novels very often. |
1:02.1 | This one is a piece of light verse meant as an occasional entertainment |
1:06.2 | in the midst of Goldsmith's novel, The Vicar of Wakefield. |
1:10.6 | And though this kind of verse is never terribly profound, it can rise to those heights. |
1:18.3 | I think of someone like J.R.R. Tolkien is maybe one of the last great 20th century practitioners of this subart. |
1:32.9 | But often they are simply a showcase of wit and a touch of lightness to brighten the mood or a scene in a novel. Here is Elogy on the death of a mad dog. |
1:43.5 | Good people all of every sort, give ear unto my song, and if you find it wondrous short, |
1:49.8 | it cannot hold you long. In Eilington there was a man of whom the world might say, |
1:55.6 | that still a godly race he ran wheneer he went to pray, and kind and gentle heart he had to comfort friends and foes, |
2:04.7 | the naked every day he clad when he put on his clothes. And in that town a dog was found. As many |
2:11.7 | dogs there be, both mongrel, puppy, whelp and hound, and c curs of low degree. This dog and man at first were friends, |
2:20.1 | but when a peak began, the dog, to gain some private ends, went mad and bit the man. Around from |
2:27.4 | all the neighboring streets the wondering neighbors ran, and swore the dog had lost his wits to |
2:32.6 | bite so good a man. |
... |
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