written by

« Reload image

Stranger! if from the crowded walks of life
 Thou lovest to stray, and woo fair Solitude
 Amid her woodland bowers;—silent to brood,
 Apart from world's vanities and strife,
 O'er nature's charms, her fairest haunts behold,
Let this sweet spot thy roving steps arrest!
 Say, dwells the canker Care within thy breast?
 Yon streamlet, murmuring o'er its sands of gold,
 Shall soothe thee with soft music; and thine eye,—
 Albeit unused to glisten with delight,—
Survey the scene here opening on thy sight,
With 'raptured gaze!—Oh, if beneath the sky,
Stranger, to mortal man such home be given
What may he hope, whose eye is fixed on Heaven!

© Alaric Alexander Watts