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THITHER he hied, enamour'd of the scene;
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
The piercing eagle oft was heard to cry,
One cultivated spot there was, that spread
Nor heard from far the twilight curfew toll;
“ Hail, awful scenes, that calm the troubled breast,
And woo the weary to profound repose !
When lucre lures him, or ambition stings,
WHEN in the crimson cloud of even,
The lingering light decays,
His glittering gem displays ;
Beside a lulling stream,
Indulg'd this tender theme:
“Ye cliffs, in hoary grandeur pil'd,
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:
“ To you, ye wastes, whose artless charms
Ne'er drew Ambition's eye,
To your retreats I fly.
Let me at last recline,
Leans on her ivied shrine.
6. How shall I woo thee, matchless Fair?
Thy heavenly smile how win?
And stills the storm within ?
Thine ardent votary bring,
Serene, on silent wing ?
“ Oft let Remembrance sooth his mind
With dreams of former days,
He fram'd his infant lays;
Nor cold Distrust alarm’d,
His simple youth had harm’d.
“ 'Twas then, O Solitude! to thee
His early vows were paid,
Devoted to the shade.
In stormy paths to roam,
** Thy shades, thy silence, now be mine,
Thy charms my only theme;
Waves o'er the gloomy stream ;Whence the scar'd owl on pinions gray
Breaks from the rustling boughs, And down the lone vale sails away
To more profound repose.
“O, while to thee the woodland pours
Its wildly warbling song,
The zephyr breathes along ;
No vagrant foot be nigh,
Flash on the startled eye.
“But if some pilgrim through the glade
Thy hallow'd bowers explore,
And listen to his lore;
That wean from earthly woe,
That chains his heart below.
“For me, no more the path invites
Ambition loves to tread ; No more I climb those toilsome heights,
By guileful Hope misled : Leaps my fond fluttering heart no more
To Mirth's enlivening strain ; For present pleasure soon is o'er, And all the past is vain.”