408 CONSOLATIONS OF SOLITUDE
Lifted above all thought of sorrow,
Or of the strife that comes tomorrow ;
And, when summer heats are nigh,
To some lonelier haunt to fly.
The pensive grove, the solemn wood,
The green hill's breezy solitude,
Or smooth worn beaches, where the sea
Sighs with a soft monotony.
Or lodge forlorn in drowsy dale,
Muffled in mountain shadows pale.
Where, through the cool sequestered glade.
Even noon comes swathed in twilight shade
All these full oft in bygone age
Were dear to wandering saint and sage,
Seeking some wild, secluded place,
To question Nature face to face.
Yet, if the sons of strife even here
With din of discord draw too near,
Then let forest depths invite.
Where songs of birds and brooks delight,
While the cataract in the breeze
Blends with the roaring of the trees ;
Or where the wild deer roams the glen,
Unstartled at the steps of men,
While Echo sleeps her cliffs among.
Ne'er waked by noise of axe or tongue.
Here, sheltered in some snug retreat
From winter's snows and summer's heat,
O Truth ! I'd dwell with Peace and thee,
Wrapped in a blest obscurity.
Here oft thy footsteps would I trace.
Musing along with solemn pace,
Here sometimes meet thee face to face ;
While life, in thoughtful leisure spent,
Longs not to soar beyond content —
The highest bliss of Fate we borrow
That is not minjrled with some sorrow.
�� �
