To some she taught the fabric of the sphere, The changeful moon, the circuit of the stars, The golden zones of heaven; to some she gave To weigh the moment of eternal things, Of time, and space, and fate's unbroken chain, 90 And will's quick impulse; others by the hand She led o'er vales and mountains, to explore What healing virtue swells the tender veins Of herbs and flowers; or what the beams of morn Draw forth, distilling from the Clifted rind In balmy tears.
"Poetical Works of Akenside"
Mark Akenside
Whether by nodding towers you tread, Or haunt the desert's trackless gloom, Or hover o'er the yawning tomb, Or climb the Andes' Clifted side, Or by the Nile's coy source abide, Or starting from your half-year's sleep From Hecla view the thawing deep, Or, at the purple dawn of day, Tadmor's marble wastes survey, You, recluse, again I woo, And again your steps pursue.
"Specimens with Memoirs of the Less-known British Poets, Vol. 3"
George Gilfillan
It must be he was Clifted.
"Further Experiences of an Irish R.M."
E. OEnone Somerville Martin Ross