Soft hour of peace; without a trace
⁠Of Man, where rise these heights uphurl’d,
⁠I sit abandoned of the world.

⁠How Nature's quietude august
Delights the feeling mind,
⁠That heeds her voice, and learns to trust
Its joys with her to find!
Sweet silence! here I rest reclined,
⁠With but the river's murmurings heard,
⁠Or leaves by gentle breezes stirr'd.

⁠Now its repose on languid wings,
Its freshness Night supplies;
⁠To shaded heaven which faithful clings,
And blaze of daylight flies:
Unseen by that, mysterious lies
⁠On mount and plain, to please though sad,
⁠Still beauteous ev'n in horrors clad.

⁠How is the ecstatic soul impressed
With melancholy thought!
⁠The lovely picture here possess'd
Sublime with sadness fraught!
How more its music to be sought,
⁠And peace, than all that may entrance