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On the Death of Mr Robert Levett, a Practiser in Physic

  1 Condemned to Hope's delusive mine,
      As on we toil from day to day,
    By sudden blasts, or slow decline,
      Our social comforts drop away.
  2 Well tried through many a varying year,
      See Levett to the grave descend;
    Officious, innocent, sincere,
      Of every friendless name the friend.
  3 Yet still he fills Affection's eye,
      Obscurely wise and coarsely kind;
    Nor, letter'd Arrogance, deny
      Thy praise to merit unrefined.
  4 When fainting Nature call'd for aid,
      And hovering Death prepared the blow,
    His vigorous remedy display'd
      The power of Art without the show.
  5 In Misery's darkest cavern known,
      His useful care was ever nigh;
    Where hopeless Anguish pour'd his groan,
      And lonely Want retired to die.
  6 No summons, mock'd by chill delay;
      No petty gain, disdain'd by pride;
    The modest wants of every day,
      The toil of every day supplied.
  7 His virtues walk'd their narrow round,
      Nor made a pause, nor left a void;
    And sure the Eternal Master found
      The single talent well employ'd,
  8 The busy day--the peaceful night,
      Unfelt, unclouded, glided by;
    His frame was firm--his powers were bright,
      Though now his eightieth year was nigh.

  9 Then with no fiery, throbbing pain,
      No cold gradations of decay,
    Death broke at once the vital chain,
      And freed his soul the nearest way.

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