I sit on wers to wise o'er f

To slowy tre the first's shty sele
Whe e things that own not ma is 1omiu
And rate 1001 bth ge; 9" 750 te bek

P

if ve we nɔt, woati scene to We th

Alatter'd follow I. sought

yone. this, this is sol

TO SOLITUDE.

O Solitude! if I must with thee dwell,

Let it not be among the jumbled heap

Of murky buildings: climb with me the steep,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, Whose words are images of thoughts refined, 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.

JOHN KEATS.

SONNET.

Give me a cottage on some Cambrian wild,
Where, far from cities, I may spend my days;
And, by the beauties of the scene beguiled,
May pity man's pursuits, and shun his ways.
While on the rock I mark the browsing goat,
List to the mountain-torrent's distant noise,
Or the hoarse bittern's solitary note,

I shall not want the world's delusive joys;
But with my little scrip, my book, my lyre,
Shall think my lot complete, nor covet more;