Roll darkling down the torrent of his fate.
London. Line 166.
Of all the griefs that harass the distressed,
Sure the most bitter is a scornful jest.
Line 176.
This mournful truth is everywhere confessed,
Slow rises worth by poverty depressed.
Lines added to Goldsmith's Traveller.
How small, of all that human hearts endure,
That part which laws or kings can cause or cure!
Still to ourselves in every place consigned,
Our own felicity we make or find.
With secret course, which no loud storms annoy,
Glides the smooth current of domestic joy.