"Hail, sacred Solitude! from this calm bay I view the world's tempestuous sea; And with wise pride despise All those senseless vanities: With pity moved for others, cast away, On rocks of hopes and fears I see them toss'd, On rocks of folly and of vice I see them lost: Since the prevailing malice of the great Unhappy men, or adverse fate Sunk deep into the gulfs of an afflicted state: But more, far more, a numberless prodigious train, Whilst virtue counts them, but, alas, in vain. Fly from her kind embracing arms, Deaf to her fondest call, blind to her greatest charms, And sunk in pleasures and in brutish ease, They in their shipwrecked state themselves obdurate please. * * * * * Here may I always, on this downy grass, Unknown, unseen, my easy moments pass, Till, with a gentle force, victorious Death My solitude invade, And stopping for a while my breath, With ease convey me to a better shade!" But a sharpened appetite for supper called me away, and I quickly followed my companions, casting a last glance around, and suppressing a faint sigh, fraught with the reflection, "All this--_Deo volente_--will be ours for nearly three months." Why _does_ one so often sigh on such an occasion? You may conceive how we enjoyed our supper to the utmost, and then all of us retired to our respective apartments, which were so brilliantly lit by the moon, as to make our candles pale their ineffectual fires. I stood for a long time gazing at the beautiful scenery visible from my little dressing-room window, and then retired to rest, grateful to the Almighty for our being allowed the prospect of another of these periodical intervals of relaxation and enjoyment. To me they get more precious every year; _they do_, decidedly. But why? Let me, however, return to this question by-and-by: 'tis one which, with kindred subjects, has much occupied my thoughts this autumn, in many a long, solitary stroll over the hills, and along the seashore.