Upon The Breezy Cliff'S Impending Brow, With Trembling Step, The Hectic Paus'D Awhile; As Round His Wasted Form The Sea-Breeze Blew, His Flush'D Cheek Brighten'D With A Transient Smile: Refresh'D And Cherish'D By Its Balmy Breath, He Dreamt Of Future Bliss, Of Years To Come; Whilst, With A Look Of Woe, The Spectre, Death, Oft Shook His Head, And Pointed To His Tomb. Such Sounds As These Escap'D His Lab'Ring Breast: - "Sweet Health! Thou Wilt Revisit This Sad Frame; Slumber Shall Bid These Aching Eyelids Rest, And I Shall Live For Love, Perchance For Fame." Ah! Poor Enthusiast! - In The Day'S Decline A Mournful Knell Was Heard, And It Was Thine!