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