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AD I a man's fair form, then might my sighs
Whose lips have trembled with a maiden's eyes.
And when the moon her pallid face discloses,
SOLITUDE! if I must with thee dwell,
Nature's observatory whence the dell, In flowery slopes, its river's crystal swell, May seem a span; let me thy vigils keep 'Mongst boughs pavilion'd, where the deer's swift leap
Startles the wild bee from the foxglove bell.
But though I'll gladly trace these scenes with thee,
Yet the sweet converse of an innocent mind,
Is my soul's pleasure; and it sure must be Almost the highest bliss of human-kind,
When to thy haunts two kindred spirits flee.
OW many bards gild the lapses of time!
These will in throngs before my mind intrude:
So the unnumber'd sounds that evening store; The songs of birds the whispering of the leaves The voice of waters the great bell that heaves With solemn sound, and thousand others
That distance of recognizance bereaves,
TO G. A. W.
YMPH of the downward smile and sidelong
In what diviner moments of the day
Of sober thought? Or when starting away,
I shall as soon pronounce which Grace more neatly Trips it before Apollo than the rest.
WRITTEN ON THE DAY THAT MR. LEIGH HUNT LEFT PRISON.
HAT though, for showing truth to flatter'd state,
Kind Hunt was shut in prison, yet has he, In his immortal spirit, been as free As the sky-searching lark, and as elate. Minion of grandeur! think you he did wait? Think you he nought but prison-walls did see, Till, so unwilling, thou unturn'dst the key? Ah, no! far happier, nobler was his fate! In Spenser's halls he stray'd, and bowers fair, Culling enchanted flowers; and he flew With daring Milton through the fields of air : To regions of his own his genius true Took happy flights. Who shall his fame impair When thou art dead, and all thy wretched crew?