WHEN in the crimson cloud at even And Hesper on the front of heaven A pensive youth, of placid mien, "Ye cliffs, in hoary grandeur pil'd, Where Melancholy strays forlorn, And Woe retires to weep, What time the wan moon's yellow horn "To you, ye wastes, whose artless charms Ne'er 'drew Ambition's eye, 'Scap'd 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. "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 soothe his mind He fram'd his infant lays; Nor cold Distrust alarm'd, Nor Envy with malignant glare His simple youth had harm'd. ""T was 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, Thy charms my only theme; My haunt the hollow cliff, whose pine "O, 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. "But if some pilgrim through the glade Thy hallow'd bowers explore, O, guard from harm his hoary head, For he of joys divine shall tell, "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." |