THE
POWER OF SOLITUDE.
AËRIAL ELVES, who fondly hovering round,On silver sandals print historic ground,Who oft with witching music charmed his ears,Danced in his;miles, and ambushed in his tears,As grief or joy their tints alternate spred,In floating visions round your Darwin's head; (1)Aërial elves, at Oberon's golden lance,Who form in mystic rings the fairy dance,Or, carred on meteors, thro the mazy nightIn frolic circles wheel your amorous flight,O'er the soft lips of artless beauty creep,And paint strange fancies on the lover's sleep:
