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I love at evening's silent tide,
When busy care has flown,
In some sequestered dell to hide,
And pensive, muse alone.


'Tis then in solitude refined,
Reflection feels its zest;
'Tis then the contemplative mind
With reason's charm is blest.


'Tis then the expanding soul ascends
And roves in fields above,
And the mysterious Essence blends
With Uncreated Love.


O Solitude! thy soothing charm
Can conquer fell despair;
Can sad affliction's sting disarm,
And banish every care.


While folly's votary hates thy shrine,
And grandeur fears thy power--
Still be thy rich enjoyments mine,
To bless life's fleeting hour.