Solitude at an Inn

Thomas Warton

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 altered 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
Beckoned from the land of Fairy:
’Mid the melancholy void
Not a pensive charm enjoyed!

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.