Hymn on Solitude
Hail, mildly-pleasing Solitude,
Companion of the wise and good;
But from whose holy, piercing eye
The herd of fools and villains Hy.
Oh! how I love with thee to walk
And listen to thy whisper'd talk,
Thine is the balmy breath of morn,
Just as the dew-bent rose is born;
And while meridian fervors beat,
Thine is the woodland dumb retreat;10
But chief when evening scenes decay
And the faint landscape swims away,
Thine is the doubtful soft decline,
And that best hour of musing thine.
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