Three Cliffs.


From that cliff Daley fell:
The Muses’ lover,
He cast his line too well
And himself over.
Shrieked all the tuneful Nine!
Fled all the fishes! …
(One basketful divine;
Seventeen dishes.)

From this cliff Lawson fell:
Our Bush reflector,
Losing in hydromel
His poise of Hector.
Were nerves awry his foes?
Did his wrongs rankle? …
(Broken, a noble nose;
Item, an ankle.)

Sometimes, in dreaming dull,
By a cliff ghastly
I see a human hull,
Shroud and rent mast lie;
And humbly meditate:
Here, in this life-hell,
But for the grace of Fate
I, even I fell.

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