Who left scarcely any style of writing untouched,
And touched nothing that he did not adorn.[367:2]
Epitaph on Goldsmith.
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.
Lines added to Goldsmith's Traveller.