Poem by Oliver Goldsmith

The Traveller

REMOTE, unfriended, melancholy, slow,
Or by the lazy Scheld 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 I see,
My heart untravelled fondly turns to thee,
Still to my brother turns with ceaseless pain
And drags at each remove a lengthening chain.

1. On Seeing a Lady Perform a Certain Character
2. From the Latin of Vida
3. To G. C. and R. L.
4. The Logicians Refuted
5. Verses in Reply to an Invitation to Dinner at Dr. Baker's

Clarence Dennis The Traveller ("As I rode in to Burrumbeet")

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