THE
POWER OF SOLITUDE.
O'ER the dim glen when autumn's dewy raySheds the mild lustres of retiring day,While scarce the breeze with whispering murmur flowsTo hymn its dirge at evening's placid close:When awful silence holds her sullen reign,And moonlight sparkles on the dimpled main;Or thro some ancient, solitary towerDisport loose shadows at the midnight hour:Whence flows the charm these hallowed scenes impart,To warm the fancy, and affect the heart?Why swells the breast, alive at every pore,With throbs unknown, with pains unfelt before?
