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THITHER he hied, enamour'd of the scene; For rocks on rocks pil'd, as by magic spell, Here scorch'd with lightning, there with ivy green, Fenc'd from the north and east this savage dell. Southward a mountain rose with easy swell, Whose long, long groves eternal murmur made : And toward the western sun a streamlet fell, Where, through the cliffs, the eye remote survey'd Blue hills, and glittering waves, and skies in gold array'd.
Along this narrow valley you might see
Or mossy stone, or rock with woodbine crown'd.
Of parted fragments tumbling from on high;
One cultivated spot there was, that spread
"Hail, awful scenes, that calm the troubled breast,
Shall never know the source whence real grandeur springs."
WHEN in the crimson cloud of even,
"Ye cliffs, in hoary grandeur pil'd,
Where Melancholy strays forlorn,
And Woe retires to weep,
What time the wan moon's yellow horn Gleams on the western deep:
"To you, ye wastes, whose artless charms Ne'er drew Ambition's eye,
Scap'd a tumultuous world's alarms,
Deep in your most sequester'd bower
Let me at last recline,
Where Solitude, mild, modest Power,
"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?
"Oft let Remembrance sooth his mind
Nor Envy with malignant glare
"'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!
"Thy shades, thy silence, now be mine,
My haunt the hollow cliff, whose pine
"O, while to thee the woodland pours
And balmy, from the bank of flowers,
No ray from Grandeur's gilded car
"But if some pilgrim through the glade
For he of joys divine shall tell,
That wean from earthly woe,
"For me, no more the path invites
No more I climb those toilsome heights,
Leaps my fond fluttering heart no more
For present pleasure soon is o'er,