SOLITUDE.
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The smiles of love, the peace of thought befriend,Cheer my sick couch, and brighten to my end;And o'er the turf spring's earliest blossoms wave,When moonlight slumbers on my tranquil grave.
And thou, fair poesy, whose visions wildMy youth's fond sorrows brightened and beguiled,Thou, who delightest to roam, where twilight reignsIn silent sadness o'er the glimmering plains,Along the moonwitched wave thy lyre to sweep,Calling light phantoms from the shadowy deep;Or, rocked in storms, thy fearful hands to flingWith hurried madness o'er the quivering string,The deepened notes of mystic sorcery swell,And wake strange concord from the demon's yell;If e'er I marked thee, veiled in purple sheen,On clouds of lightning walk the breezy green,Arun's fair banks with sainted Otway tread, (38)Or garland laurels round young Collins' head,
