THE SOLITARY.

Alone! alone! How drear it is

Always to be alone!

In such a depth of wilderness,

The only thinking one!

The waters in their path rejoice,

The trees together sleep —

But I have not one silver voice

Upon my ear to creep!

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.

I've hated men — I hate them now —

But, since they are not here,

I thirst for the familiar brow —

Thirst for the stealing tear.

And I should love to see the one,

And feel the other creep,

And then again I'd be alone

Amid the forest deep.

I thought that I should love my hound,

And hear my cracking gun

Till I forgot the thrilling sound

Of voices — one by one.

I thought that in the leafy hush

Of nature, they would die;

But, as the hindered waters rush,

Resisted feelings fly

I'm weary of my lonely hut

And of its blasted tree,

The very lake is like my lot,

So silent constantly.

I've lived amid the forest gloom

Until I almost fear —

When will the thrilling voices come

My spirit thirsts to hear?