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Shvoong Home>Books>Poetry>Review on “the Village Preacher” by Oliver Goldsmith Review

Review on “the Village Preacher” by Oliver Goldsmith

Book Review   by:akso6o175     Original Author: Andy Kester Sawian
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‘The Deserted Village’ (a descriptive poem) is one of the best known English poems that describes the sad decline of the Irish country-side following the large scale emigration of villagers to the towns. Somewhere out there in the copse; a small group of trees; there once was a garden which smiled its beauty to glory with wild growing flowers and in a few corners of this garden disclosed a few torn shrubs. The modest mansion of the village preacher rose to fame for he was a man who was dear to all the folks in the country. His total income was a sum of forty pounds a year and he ran his godly race to all the remote towns in this region. He never changed his designation as the village preacher nor did any folks wished to change his place. He did not change his opinion according to the prevailing fashions and never sought to curry favour with the authorities.
Besides other aims, his heart had learnt to be more skilful in raising the wretched souls rather than raising his house, was known to all the vagrant train; homeless wanderers. He chid; scold or rebuke; their wanderings and relieved their pain. The long remembered beggar, whose descending beard swept his aged breast, was his honoured guest. The ruined spendthrift who is now no longer proud of himself, allowed his claim and kindred there, while the broken soldier sat by the fire, kindly bade to stay and talked the night away. He wept over his wounds and tales of sorrow that he had experienced. He shouldered his crutch and showed how battlefields were won. The village preacher was pleased with his guests as he learnt to glow and forgot their vices in their woe. He was either careless in their merits or to scan their faults and his pity gave before charity began.
The village preacher took pride in relieving the wretched and even his failings leaned to the side of virtue. In his duty, he was prompt in every call. He watched and wept for he prayed and felt for all. Just like each and every bird that is fond of endearment, tries to tempt its new-fledged offspring to fly to the skies, so did the village preacher tried each art to reprove each dull delay to be allured to the brighter worlds and to be led in the divine way. The reverend champion stood beside the bed where parting life was laid with sorrow, guilt and pain were dismayed by turns. At his control, the despair and anguish led the struggling soul into divine peace, then comfort came down to raise the trembling wretch and his last faltering accents whispered praise.
At the church service, the looks of the village preacher adorned the venerable place with meek and unaffected grace. The truth of his sermon prevailed from his lips with double sway, whiles the fools who came to scoff, and remained in there to pray. Each honest rustic; often derogatory an unsophisticated country person; ran the service past around the pious man with a steady zeal. Even the little children followed with endearing wile; a devious or cunning stratagem; and plucked the gown to share the good man’s smile. The preacher’s ever-ready smile brings forth the warmth expression in the parents’ faces. Their welfare pleased him with their distressed cares. His heart, his love and his grief were given to them; rest assured that all his serious thoughts were laid to rest in Heaven. Just like some tall cliffs that lifts their awful form, swelling from the valley and midway leaves the storm, and round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, this eternal sunshine settles on his head.


Published: October 18, 2010   
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