The Wilmingtonian

SOLITUDE...By Miss C.M. Warren.

Sweet are the still sequester'd groves
Where musing melancholy roves
At eve, unseen;

Where musing melancholy roves
And heavenly contemplation loves
To haunt the green.

The lonely cot, the secret cell,
Where sober sadness loves to dwell
Are dear to me;

Dear is the slow meand'ring brook,
And dear the shade of yon broad oak,
My favourite tree.

There, oft as evening's dusky shade
Envelopes ev'ry silent glade,
I pensive stray;

And while the last faint beams of light,
Retreating, leave the world to night,
I mark their way.

Dear solitude, thou placid queen,
Of sober brow and look serene,
Thy shades I love;

For heaven-born genius marks the way,
And where thy gentle footsteps stray,
The muses rove.

Oh! guide me to thy blest retreat,
The still sequester'd silent seat
Of sacred peace;

Where not a breath of passion rode,
Or blighting envy dare intrude,
To damp my bliss.

The moss-rose seeks the silent glade,
Spreads all her beauties to the shade,
And blooms unknown;

So on thy bosom I would rest
Secure, to be supremely blest
With thee alone.