42
POEMS.
Away from "busy haunts of men,"
The ceaseless din,
Behold!—an unfrequented glen,
And rest within.
The ceaseless din,
Behold!—an unfrequented glen,
And rest within.
Thy countless charms, O Solitude!
By sages sung,
Are recognized in this deep wood;
A kindly tongue,
By sages sung,
Are recognized in this deep wood;
A kindly tongue,
In rock, and tree, and flowing brook,
That whispers peace;
A voice from every sheltered nook
Bids sorrow cease.
That whispers peace;
A voice from every sheltered nook
Bids sorrow cease.
Sweet evening breezes fan the face,
And cool the brow,
While day-light wanes, with matchless grace,
Unknown till now.
And cool the brow,
While day-light wanes, with matchless grace,
Unknown till now.
There 's naught, that hinders pure delight,
Can enter here;
And none, but "voices of the night,"
Salute the ear.
Can enter here;
And none, but "voices of the night,"
Salute the ear.
'T is joy to know, as o'er the way
The shadows creep,
There comes, to close the impassioned day,
Forgetting sleep.
The shadows creep,
There comes, to close the impassioned day,
Forgetting sleep.
