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Intrusion with a fopling's face
(Ignorant of time and place),
Sparks of fire Dissention blowing,
Ductile, court-bred Flattery, bowing,
Restraint's stiff neck, Grimace's leer,
Squint-ey'd Censure's artful sneer,
Ambition's buskins steep'd' in blood,
Fly thy presence, Solitude.

Sage Reflection bent with years,
Conscious Virtue void of fears,
Muffled Silence, wood-nymph shy,
Meditation's piercing eye,
Halcyon Peace on moss reclin’d,
Retrospect that scans the mind,
Rapt earth-gazing Resvery,
Blushing artless Modesty,
Health that snuffs the morning air,
Full-ey'd Truth with bosom bare,
Inspiration, Nature's child,
Seek the solitary wild.

You with the tragic Muse retir'd
The wise Euripides inspir'd;
You taught the sadly-pleasing air
That Athens say'd from ruins bare.
You gave the Cean's tears to flow,
And unlock'd the springs of woe;
You penn'd what exil'd Naso thought,
And pour'd the melancholy note.

With Petrarch o'er Valcluse you stray'd,
When Death snatch'd his long-lov'd maid ;
You taught the rocks her loss to mourn,
You strew'd with flow'rs her virgin urn.
And late in Hagley you were seen,
With blood-shed eyes, and sombre mien,
Hymen his yellow vestment tore,
And Dirge a wreath of cypress wore.
But chief your own the solemn lay
That wept Narcissa young


gay, Darkness clapp'd her sable wing, While touch'd the mournful string, Anguish left the pathless wild, Grim-fac'd Melancholy smild, Drowsy Midnight ceas'd to yawn, The starry host put back the dawn, Aside their harps ev'n Seraphs flung To hear the sweet Complaint, O Young.


leave your

When all Nature's hush'd asleep,
Nor Love nor Guilt their vigils keep,

cavern'd den,
And wander o'er the works of men.
But when Phosphor brings the dawn,
By her dappled coursers drawn,
Again you to the wild retreat,
And the early huntsman meet,
Where, as you pensive pace along,
You catch the distant shepherd's song,

Or brush from herbs the pearly dew,
Or the rising primrose view.
Devotion lends her heav'n-plum'd wings,
You mount, and Nature with you sings.
But when mid-day fervors glow,
To upland airy shades you go,
Where never sun-burnt woodman came,
Nor sportsman chas'd the timid game;
And there, beneath an oak reclin'd,
With drowsy waterfalls behind,
You sink to rest.
'Till the tuneful bird of night
From the neighb'ring poplar's height,


with her solemn strain, And teach pleas’d Echo to complain.

With you roses brighter bloom,
Sweeter every sweet perfume,
Purer every fountain flows,
Stronger every wilding grows.

Let those toil for gold who please,
Or for fame renounce their ease.
What is fame? an empty bubble ;
Gold? a transient, shining trouble.
Let them for their country bleed,
What was Sydney's, Raleigh's meed a
Man's not worth a moment's pain,
Base, ungrateful, fickle, vain.

Then let me, sequester'd fair,
To your Sibyl grot repair,
On yon hanging cliff it stands
Scoop'd by Nature's salvage hands,
Bosom'd in the gloomy shade
Of cypress, not with age decay'd.
Where the owl still hooting Aits,
Where the bat incessant sits,
There in loftier strains I'll sing
Whence the changing seasons spring,
Tell how storms deform the skies,
Whence the waves subside and rise,
Trace the comet's blazing tail,
Weigh the planets in a scale;
Bend, great God, before thy shrine,
The bournless microcosm's thine.

Save me I what's yon shrouded shade,
That wanders in the dark-brown glade ?
It beckons me!-- vain fears, adieu,
Mysterious ghost, I follow you.
Ah me! too well that gait I know,
My youth's first friend, my manhood's woe!
Its breast it bares! What I stain'd with blood ?
Quick let me staunch the vital food.
O spirit, whither art thou flown?
Why left me comfortless alone?
O Solitude, on me bestow

The heart-felt harmony of woe,
Vol. XIII.


Such, such, as on th’Ausonian shore,
Sweet Dorian Moschus trill’d of yore:
No time should cancel thy desert,
More, more, than Bion was, thou wert.

O goddess of the tearful eye The never-ceasing stream supply. Let us with Retirement go To charnels, and the house of woe, O’er Friendship’s herse low-drooping mourng Where the sickly tapers burn, Where Death and nun-clad Sorrow dwell, And nightly ring the solemn knell. The gloom dispels, the charnel smiles, Light flashes through the vaulted isles. Blow silky soft, thou western gale, O goddess of the desert, hail ! She bursts from yon cliff-riven cave, Insulted by the wintry wave; Her brow an ivy-garland binds, Her tresses wanton with the winds, A lion's spoils, without a zone, Around her limbs are careless thrown; Her right-hand wields a knotted mace ; Her roll wild, a stride her pace ; Her left a magic mirror holds, In which she oft herself beholds. O goddess of the desert, hail ! And softer blow thou western gale!


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