CONDEMN'D to Hope's delusive mine, <br /> As on we toil from day to day, <br />By sudden blasts or slow decline <br /> Our social comforts drop away. <br /> <br />Well tried through many a varying year, <br /> See Levet to the grave descend, <br />Officious, innocent, sincere, <br /> Of every friendless name the friend. <br /> <br />Yet still he fills affection's eye, <br /> Obscurely wise and coarsely kind; <br />Nor, letter'd Arrogance, deny <br /> Thy praise to merit unrefined. <br /> <br />When fainting nature call'd for aid, <br /> And hov'ring death prepared the blow, <br />His vig'rous remedy display'd <br /> The power of art without the show. <br /> <br />In Misery's darkest cavern known, <br /> His useful care was ever nigh, <br />Where hopeless Anguish pour'd his groan, <br /> And lonely Want retired to die. <br /> <br />No summons mock'd by chill delay, <br /> No petty gain disdained by pride; <br />The modest wants of every day <br /> The toil of every day supplied. <br /> <br />His virtues walk'd their narrow round, <br /> Nor made a pause, nor left a void; <br />And sure th' Eternal Master found <br /> The single talent well employ'd. <br /> <br />The busy day, the peaceful night, <br /> Unfelt, uncounted, glided by; <br />His frame was firm--his powers were bright, <br /> Though now his eightieth year was nigh. <br /> <br />Then with no fiery throbbing pain, <br /> No cold gradations of decay, <br />Death broke at once the vital chain, <br /> And freed his soul the nearest way.<br /><br />Samuel Johnson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-the-death-of-mr-robert-levet-a-practiser-in-p/
