OH Solitude! thou visionary power,
If e’er thou hadst a “local habitation,”
This is the place, and here must be thy throne:
The beetle here (of old thy lone companion,
Thy sentinel from immemorial time),
Sounds his deep horn in token of approach.
By thy twin sister Meditation led,
I’ve wander’d o’er yon unfrequented waste;
My guide has brought me to this lonely spot,
Then fearless may I enter the deep gloom
Of this impervious wood,-thy secret haunt!
A wild romantic scene, nature’s rude work,
A murmuring brook, soft trickling at my feet
‘Midst moss-clad rocks, steals slowly on its way;
Its mournful cadence suits the solemn scene.
Wide spreading trees that meet across the stream,
Form o’er my head a leafy canopy.-
The setting sunbeams gild their highest boughs,
While their deep shadows in the dell below
The dusky hue of pensive twilight shed.
Hail venerable shades! long have you stood,
Long have you brav’d time’s slow-consuming power,
The ravages of winds, and winter storms.
Long may you yet remain! nor ruffian hands
Lift the unhallow’d steel to strip the wreaths
Of circling ivy from your aged trunks,
And lay your lofty branches on the earth.-
While thus I mus’d, methought a gentle voice,
Soft whisp’ring, spoke, amid the lonely shade.
Come! live with me, the woodland Genius said,
Bid the tumultuous world a while farewell,
And dwell with me, for peace alone is mine-
Yes, gentle spirit, I would dwell with thee,
While summer reigns in all her beauteous pride;
Thy most conceal’d recesses, would I trace,
Thy loneliest haunts, thy rudest scenes explore;
Whether thou lov’st thro’ shelt’ring woods to stray,
Where Ken or Mint’s pellucid waters roll
With thund’ring sound, steep rugged banks beneath,
Struggling and foaming with th’ impeding rocks;
Or where yon wall of limestone cliffs extends,
The native boundary of the stony waste,
Forming a vast and rugged precipice,
From whose rough heights th’ enraptur’d eye surveys,
At one wide view, three sister counties round;
Or whether lodg’d in some deep cavity,
Of those high mountains, whose stupendous brows
Frown awful o’er the sweet sequester’d vale
Where Conistone’s blue lake embosom’d lies,
Thine eye with penetrative glance explores
The secret treasures of earth’s fruitful womb;
Or marks the mountain riv’let’s sinuous course,
Gliding along its wild declivities,
Like veins of silver sparkling in the sun;
Or forming as it flows the rude cascade-
Then may thy sight on softer scenes repose:
On the green sloping meads, and woods which form
A varied amphitheatre around,
The vast receptacle of mountain streams,
And o’er its surface watch the curling waves
Quick bounding light each other briskly chase.
‘Mid scenes like these, where every charm unites,
The wild, the beautiful, and the sublime,
With thee blest power I’d gladly pass my days,
Drink inspiration thy lov’d haunts among,
And mark each changing season’s varying grace,
Till envious winter on the mountain tops
Erects his tent of snow, portentous sign!
Then to thy mountains, woods, and wilds farewell;-
For who could bear, through the deep joyless gloom
Of four long dreary months, to look on nought
But desert scenes, where every charm defac’d,
What once imprest with wonder and delight,
Would melancholy thoughts alone suggest.
Then would I think that life had other joys,
And that society could boast its charms,
For why should man possess such ardent love
Of human kind, such strong propensities,
To seek delight in social intercourse,
If he could live in constant solitude?
(Isabella Lickbarrow)
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