Whilst the cold drug was struggling hard with life,
And sense awhile maintain'd the doubtful strife;
With much of gratitude and sorrow mix'd,
On me his scarce-perceiving eyes he fixt:
Then to these arms with stagg'ring steps did haste,
There, where he oft had slept, to sleep his last.
The tear was vain; nor will I blush to own
A heart of softer workmanship than stone:
Yet lest the wise my weakness should reprove,
The tear I dropt to gratitude, and love.