Damp fell the dew, the wind blew cold, All bleak the barren moor; Across they toil'd, when Love, grown bold, Knock'd loud at Labour's door. Awhile within the reed-roof'd cot The Twain proposed next morn to part, And travel different ways; Quoth Love, I soon shall find a heart, Wit went to look for Praise. But Reputation, sighing, spoke, ""Tis better we agree, Though Love may laugh, and Wit may joke, 66 Yet, friends, take care of me. "Without me, Beauty wins no heart, "Without me, Wit is vain; "If head-strong here, with me you part, "We ne'er can meet again. "Of me, you both should take great care, "And shun the rambling plan, "No calling back, my friends, I'll bear, "So keep me while you can.” Love stopt among the village youth, She sought in vain, for Love was blind, Tis said, since Truth she cannot find, That Love herself is lost. SAMUEL JOHNSON, Litchfield.-1709.—1784. ON THE DEATH OF MR. ROBERT LEVETT. A Practiser in Physic. CONDEMN'D to hope's delusive mine, As on we toil from day to day, By sudden blast, or slow decline, Our social comforts'drop away." Well tried through many a varying year, Of every friendless name the friend. Yet still he fills affections' eye, Nor, letter'd ignorance deny Thy praise to merit unrefin'd. When fainting nature call'd for aid, The power of art, without the show. In mis'ry's darkest caverns known, No summons mock'd by chill delay; His virtues walk'd their narrow round, The single talent well employ'd. The busy day, the peaceful night, His frame was firm, his powers were bright, Then with no throb of fiery pain, Death broke at once the vital chain, FRIENDSHIP. FRIENDSHIP, peculiar boon of Heaven, The noble minds' delight and pride, To men and Angels only given, To all the lower world denied. While Love, unknown among the blest, With bright, but of destructive gleam, Thy gentle flows of guileless joys On fools and villains ne'er descend: In vain fort hee the tyrant sighs, And hugs a flatterer for a friend |