Ode To Solitude.

ODE TO SOLITUDE.

BY THE SAME.

THOU, that at deep dead of night Walk'st forth beneath the pale moon's light, In robe of flowing black array'd, While cypress-leaves thy brows o'ershade; Listening to the crowing cock, And the distant sounding clock; Or sitting in thy cavern low, Do'st hear the bleak winds loudly blow, Or the hoarse death-boding owl, Or village maistiff's wakeful howl, While through thy melancholy room A dim lamp casts an awful gloom; Thou, that on the meadow green, Or daisy'd upland art not seen, But wandering by the dusky nooks, And the pensive-falling brooks, Or near some rugged, herbless rock, Where no shepherd keeps his flock! Musing maid, to thee I come, Hating the tradeful city's hum; O let me calmly dwell with thee, From noisy mirth and business free, With meditation seek the skies, This folly-fetter'd world despise!