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!