A PRACTISER IN PHYSIC.
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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, denyThy praise to merit unrefined. 4 When fainting Nature call'd for aid,And hovering Death prepared the blow,His vigorous remedy display'dThe 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 foundThe 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. * * * * * EPITAPH ON CLAUDE PHILLIPS,[1]
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