M !  cruel,  sweet,  inexorable  fair,

Oh  must  I  unregarded  seek  the  grave  ?

Must  I  from  all  my  bosom  holds  repair,

When  one  indulgent  smile  from  thee  would  save  ?

Let  mercy  plead  my  cause  ;  and  think,  oh  think  !

A  love  like  mine  but  ill  deserves  thy  hate ;
Remember  I  am  tottering  on  the  brink  ;

Thy  smile  or  censure  seals  my  final  fate.
CLIFTON.
f~*  LIFTON,  sweet  village  !  now  demands  the  lay,

\^     The  loved  retreat  of  all  the  rich  and  gay  ;

The  darling  spot  which  pining  maidens  seek,

To  give  health's  roses  to  the  pallid  cheek.
Warm  from  its  fount  the  holy  water  pours,

And  lures  the  sick  to  Clifton's  neighbouring  bowers  ;

Let  bright  Hygeia  her  glad  reign  resume,

And  o'er  each  sickly  form  renew  her  bloom.
Me,  whom  no  fell  disease  this  hour  compels

To  visit  Bristol's  celebrated  wells,

Far  other  motives  prompt  my  eager  view :

My  heart  can  here  its  favourite  bent  pursue  ;

Here  can  I  gaze,  and  pause,  and  muse  between,

And  draw  some  moral  truth  from  every  scene.
Yon  dusty  rocks,  that  from  the  stream  arise


94  CLIFTON.
In  rude  rough  grandeur,  threat  the  distant  skies,
Seem  as  if  nature,  in  a  painful  throe,
With  dire  convulsions  labouring  to  and  fro
(To  give  the  boiling  waves  a  ready  vent),
At  one  dread  stroke  the  solid  mountain  rent ;
The  huge  cleft  rocks  transmit  to  distant  fame
The  sacred  gilding  of  a  good  saint's  name.
Now  round  the  varied  scene  attention  turns
Her  ready  eye — my  soul  with  ardour  burns ;
For  on  that  spot  my  glowing  fancy  dwells,
Where  cenotaph  its  mournful  story  tells —
How  Briton's  heroes,  true  to  honour's  laws,
Fell,  bravely  fighting  in  their  country's  cause.
