THE SOLITARY. [A PICTURE.] ALONE! alone! How drear it is Always to be alone! In such a depth of wilderness, The trees together sleep But I have not one silver voice The sun upon the silent hills His mesh of beauty weaves, There's music in the laughing rills And in the whispering leaves. The red deer like the breezes fly To meet the bounding roe, But I have not a human sigh To cheer me as I go. |