Arthur Quiller-Couch, ed. 1919. The Oxford Book of English Verse: 1250–1900.
Samuel Johnson. 17091784451. On the Death of Mr. Robert Levet, a Practiser in Physic
CONDEMN’D 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, | 5 |
See Levet to the grave descend, | |
Officious, innocent, sincere, | |
Of every friendless name the friend. | |
Yet still he fills affection’s eye, | |
Obscurely wise and coarsely kind; | 10 |
Nor, letter’d Arrogance, deny | |
Thy praise to merit unrefined. | |
When fainting nature call’d for aid, | |
And hov’ring death prepared the blow, | |
His vig’rous remedy display’d | 15 |
The power of art without the show. | |
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. | 20 |
No summons mock’d by chill delay, | |
No petty gain disdained by pride; | |
The modest wants of every day | |
The toil of every day supplied. | |
His virtues walk’d their narrow round, | 25 |
Nor made a pause, nor left a void; | |
And sure th’ Eternal Master found | |
The single talent well employ’d. | |
The busy day, the peaceful night, | |
Unfelt, uncounted, glided by; | 30 |
His frame was firm—his powers were bright, | |
Though now his eightieth year was nigh. | |
Then with no fiery throbbing pain, | |
No cold gradations of decay, | |
Death broke at once the vital chain, | 35 |
And freed his soul the nearest way. |