O solitude, romantic maid! Whether by nodding towers you tread, Or haunt the desert's trackless gloom, Or hover o'er the yawning tomb, Or climb the Andes' clifted side, Or by the Nile's coy source abide, Or starting from your half-year's sleep From Hecla view the thawing deep, Or, at the purple dawn of day, Tadmor's marble wastes survey, You, recluse, again I woo, And again your steps pursue. Plumed Conceit himself surveying, Folly with her shadow playing, Purse-proud, elbowing Insolence, Bloated empiric, puffed Pretence, Noise that through a trumpet speaks, Laughter in loud peals that breaks, Intrusion with a fopling's face, Ignorant of time and place, Sparks of fire Dissension blowing, Ductile, court-bred Flattery, bowing, Restraint's stiff neck, Grimace's leer, Squint-eyed Censure's artful sneer, Ambition's buskins, steeped in blood, Fly thy presence, Solitude. Sage Reflection, bent with years, Conscious Virtue, void of fears, Muffled Silence, wood-nymph shy, Meditation's piercing eye, Halcyon Peace on moss reclined, Retrospect that scans the mind, Rapt, earth-gazing Reverie, Blushing, artless Modesty, Health that snuffs the morning air, Full-eyed Truth, with bosom bare, Inspiration, Nature's child, Seek the solitary wild. You, with the tragic muse retired, The wise Euripides inspired, You taught the sadly-pleasing air That Athens saved from ruins bare. You gave the Cean's tears to flow, And unlocked the springs of woe; You penned what exiled Naso thought, And poured the melancholy note. With Petrarch o'er Vaucluse you strayed, When death snatched his long-loved maid; You taught the rocks her loss to mourn, Ye strewed with flowers her virgin urn. And late in Hagley you were seen, With bloodshot eyes, and sombre mien, Hymen his yellow vestment tore, And Dirge a wreath of cypress wore. But chief your own the solemn lay That wept Narcissa young and gay, Darkness clapped her sable wing, While you touched the mournful string, Anguish left the pathless wild, Grim-faced Melancholy smiled, Drowsy Midnight ceased to yawn, The starry host put back the dawn, Aside their harps even seraphs flung To hear thy sweet Complaint, O Young! When all nature's hushed asleep, Nor Love nor Guilt their vigils keep, Soft you leave your caverned den, And wander o'er the works of men; But when Phosphor brings the dawn By her dappled coursers drawn, Again you to the wild retreat And the early huntsman meet, Where as you pensive pace along, You catch the distant shepherd's song, Or brush from herbs the pearly dew, Or the rising primrose view. Devotion lends her heaven-plumed wings, You mount, and nature with you sings. But when mid-day fervours glow, To upland airy shades you go, Where never sunburnt woodman came, Nor sportsman chased the timid game; And there beneath an oak reclined, With drowsy waterfalls behind, You sink to rest. Till the tuneful bird of night From the neighbouring poplar's height Wake you with her solemn strain,