Well tried through many a varying year, See Levett 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;
Nor lettered arrogance deny
Thy praise to merit unrefined.

When 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,
Where hopeless anguish poured his groan,
And lonely want retired to die.

No summons, mocked by chill delay,

No petty gain, disdained by pride;
The modest wants of every day
The toil of every day supplied.

His virtues walked their narrow round,
Nor made a pause, nor left a void;
And sure the eternal Master found
The single talent well employed.

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.

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,

An itinerant Musician.

PHILLIPS, whose touch harmonious could remove,
The pangs of guilty power and hapless love-
Rest here-distrest by poverty no more,
Find here that calm thou gavest so oft before;
Sleep undisturbed within this peaceful shrine,
Till angels wake thee with a note like thine.

EPITAPH

ON SIR THOMAS HANMER, BART.

THOU, who surveyest these walls with curious eye, Pause at this tomb where Hanmer's ashes lie; His various worth through various life attend, And learn his virtues while thou mourn'st his end.

His force of genius burned in early youth, With thirst of knowledge, and with love of truth; His learning joined with each endearing art, Charmed every ear, and gained on every heart.

Thus early wise, the endangered realm to aid, His country called him from the studious shade; In life's first bloom his publick toils began, At once commenced the senator and man.

In business dexterous, weighty in debate, Thrice ten long years he laboured for the state; In every speech persuasive wisdom flowed, In every act refulgent virtue glowed:

Suspended faction ceased from rage and strife, To hear his eloquence and praise his life. Resistless merit fixed the senate's choice, Who hailed him Speaker with united voice. Illustrious age! how bright thy glories shone, While Hanmer filled the chair, and Anne the throne!

Then when dark arts obscured each fierce de

bate,

When mutual frauds perplexed the maze of state, The moderator, firmly mild, appeared;

Beheld with love, with veneration heard.

This task performed; he sought no gainful post, Nor wished to glitter at his country's cost;

Strict on the right he fixed his steadfast eye,
With temperate zeal and wise anxiety;

Nor e'er from virtue's paths was lured aside,
To pluck the flowers of pleasure, or of pride,
Her gifts despised, corruption blushed and fled,
And fame pursued him where conviction led.

Age called, at length, his active mind to rest, With honour sated, and with cares opprest: To lettered ease retired, and honest mirth, To rural grandeur, and domestick worth: Delighted still to please mankind or mend, The patriot's fire yet sparkled in the friend. Calm conscience then, his former life surveyed, And recollected toils endeared the shade, Till nature called him to her general doom, And virtue's sorrow dignified his tomb.

ON THE DEATH OF

STEPHEN GREY, F.R.S.

The Electrician.

Love hast thou borne the burden of the day,
Thy task is ended, venerable Grey!

No more shall art thy dextrous hand require,
To break the sleep of elemental fire:

To rouse the power that actuates nature's frame,
The momentaneous shock, the electrick flame;
The flame which first, weak pupil to thy lore,
I saw, condemned, alas! to see no more.

Now, hoary sage, pursue thy happy flight, With swifter motion haste to purer light, Where Bacon waits, with Newton and and with Boyle,

To hail thy genius and applaud thy toil,
Where intuition breathes through time and

space,

And mocks experiment's successive race;
Sees tardy Science toil at nature's laws,
And wonders how the effect obscures the cause.
Yet not to deep research or happy guess,
Is viewed the life of hope, the death of peace;
Unblest the man whom philosophick rage
Shall tempt to lose the Christian in the sage;
Not art but goodness poured the sacred ray,
That cheered the parting hours of humble Grey.

TO MISS HICKMAN,

PLAYING ON THE SPINNET.

BRIGHT Stella, formed for universal reign,
Too well you know to keep the slaves your gain: