Oft upon the twilight plain, 
Circled with thy shadowy train, 
While the dove at distance coo'd, 
Have I met thee, Solitude! 
Then was loneliness to me 
Best and true society, 
But ah! how alter'd is thy mien 
In this sad deserted scene! 
Here all thy classic pleasures cease, 
Musing mild, and thoughtful peace; 
Here thou com'st in sullen mood, 
Not with thy fantastic brood 
Of magic shapes and visions airy 
Beckon'd from the land of Fairy: 
'Mid the melancholy void 
Not a pensive charm enjoy'd! 
No poetic being here 
Strikes with airy sounds mine ear; 
No converse here to fancy cold 
With many a fleeting form I hold, 
Here all inelegant and rude 
Thy presence is, sweet Solitude.