The
Long hast thou borne the burden of the day,
Thy task is ended, venerable Grey!
No more shall art thy dexterous hand require,
To break the sleep of elemental fire:
To rouse the powers that actuate Nature's frame,
The momentaneous shock, th' electric flame;
The flame, which at first, weak pupil of thy lore,
I saw, condemn'd, alas! to see no more.
Now, hoary sage, pursue thy happy
With swifter motion, haste to purer light.
Where Bacon waits with Newton and with Boyle,
To hail thy genius and applaud thy toil,
Where intuition breathes through time and space,
And mocks experiment's successive race;
See tardy science toil at Nature's laws,
And wonders how th' effect obscures the cause.
Yet not to deep research or happy
Is view'd the life of hope, the death of peace;
Unbless'd the man, whom philosophic
Shall tempt to lose the Christian in the sage;
Not art but goodness pour'd the sacred
That cheer'd the parting hours of humble Grey.
The sketch of this poem was written by Miss Williams, but Johnson wrote it all over again except two lines. ~
Electricity in the 18th century was a novelty - it had no real purpose, other than to amuse.
Some thought it did have healing powers, though, and had regular treatments of it; thinking so probably due to the vibration of the volts travelling through their bodies, etc.
