WHEN in the crimson cloud at 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,
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,

'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
With dreams of former days,
When, in the lap of Peace reclin'd,

He fram'd his infant lays;
When Fancy rov'd at large, nor Care

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
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,

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,
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.

"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."