S 0 L I TU DE. HAIL, mildly pleafing Solitude,
Companion of the wise and good; But from whose holy, piercing eye, The herd of fools, and villains fly.
Oh! how I love with thee to walk,
And listen to thy whisper'd talk,
Which innocence, and truth imparts,
And melts the most obdurate hearts.
A thousand shapes you wear with ease,
And still in every shape you please.
Now wrapt in some mysterious dream,
A lone philosopher you seem ;
Now quick from hill to vale you fly,
And now you sweep the vaulted sky.
A shepherd next, you haunt the plain,
And warble forth your oaten strain,
A lover now, with all the grace
Of that sweet passion in your face:
Then, calm'd to friendship, you assume
The gentle-looking HARFORD's bloom,
As, with her MUSIDORA, she
(Her MUSIDORA fond of thee)
Amid the long withdrawing vale,
Awakes the rivald nightingale.
Thine is the balmy breath of morn,
Just as the dew-bent rofe is born;