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.