Part 24 (1/2)

1

When in the crimson cloud of even The lingering light decays, And Hesper on the front of heaven His glittering gem displays; Deep in the silent vale, unseen, Beside a lulling stream, A pensive Youth, of placid mien, Indulged this tender theme:

2

”Ye cliffs, in h.o.a.ry grandeur piled High o'er the glimmering dale; Ye woods, along whose windings wild Murmurs the solemn gale: Where Melancholy strays forlorn, And Woe retires to weep, What time the wan Moon's yellow horn Gleams on the western deep!

3

To you, ye wastes, whose artless charms Ne'er drew ambition's eye, 'Scaped a tumultuous world's alarms, To your retreats I fly.

Deep in your most sequester'd bower Let me at last recline, Where Solitude, mild, modest power, Leans on her ivied shrine.

4

How shall I woo thee, matchless fair?

Thy heavenly smile how win?

Thy smile that smooths the brow of Care, And stills the storm within.

O wilt thou to thy favourite grove Thine ardent votary bring, And bless his hours, and bid them move Serene on silent wing?

5

Oft let Remembrance soothe his mind With dreams of former days, When in the lap of Peace reclined He framed his infant lays; When Fancy roved at large, nor Care Nor cold distrust alarm'd, Nor Envy, with malignant glare, His simple youth had harm'd.

6

Twas then, O Solitude, to thee His early vows were paid, From heart sincere, and warm, and free, Devoted to the shade.

Ah! why did Fate his steps decoy In stormy paths to roam, Remote from all congenial joy?-- O take the wanderer home!

7

Thy shades, thy silence now be mine, Thy charms my only theme; My haunt the hollow cliff, whose pine Waves o'er the gloomy stream.

Whence the scared owl on pinions gray Breaks from the rustling boughs, And down the lone vale sails away To more profound repose.

8

Oh, while to thee the woodland pours Its wildly-warbling song, And balmy from the bank of flowers The Zephyr breathes along; Let no rude sound invade from far, No vagrant foot be nigh, No ray from Grandeur's gilded car Flash on the startled eye.

9

But if some pilgrim through the glade Thy hallow'd bowers explore, O guard from harm his h.o.a.ry head, And listen to his lore; For he of joys divine shall tell, That wean from earthly woe, And triumph o'er the mighty spell That chains his heart below.