Samuel Johnson(1709–1784)
On the Death of Dr. Robert Levet
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.
Well tried through many a varying year,
See Levet to the grave descend;
Officious, innocent, sincere,dutiful
Of every friendless name the friend.
Yet still he fills Affection's eye,
Obscurely wise, and coarsely kind;
Nor, lettered Arrogance, deny
Thy praise to merit unrefined.
W h e n fainting Nature called for aid,
And hovering Death prepared the blow,
His vigorous remedy displayed
The power of art without the show.
In Misery's darkest cavern known,
His useful care was ever nigh,
W h e r e hopeless Anguish poured his groan,
And lonely W a n t retired to die.
No s u m m o n s m o c k e d by chill delay,
No petty gain disdained by pride,
T h e modest wants of every day
The toil of every day supplied.
His virtues walked their narrow round,
N o r made a pause, nor left a void;
And sure the Eternal Master found
T h e single talent5 well employed.
T h e busy day, the peaceful night,
Unfelt, uncounted, glided by;
His frame was firm, his powers were bright,
T h o u g h n o w his eightieth year was nigh.
T h e n with no throbbing fiery pain,
No cold gradations of decay,
D e a t h broke at once the vital chain,
And freed his soul the nearest way.