WHERE shall I find some desert-scene so rude,
Where loneliness so undisturbed may reign,
That not a step shall ever there intrude
Of roving man, or nature’s savage train?
Some tangled thicket, desolate and drear,
Or deep wild forest, silent as the tomb,
Boasting no verdure bright, no fountain clear,
But darkly suited to my spirit's gloom?
That there, midst frowning rocks, alone with grief
Entombed in life, and hopeless of relief,
In lonely freedom I may breathe my woes—
For oh! since nought my sorrows can allay,
There shall my sadness cloud no festal day,
And days of gloom shall soothe me to repose.