Ode I. on Solitude

When all the earth was but one grove, And man rang'd through the world alone, Taught but by nature's law to move, And bow to no will but his own;

Then, undisturb'd by care, he stood On flow'ry bank, or sunny hill; At morn, he sung along the wood, At ev'ning, listen'd to the rill.

No offspring wak'd his eyes to woes, No hatred canker'd in his breast, No jealousy forbade repose, But each new day, and night, was blest.

He had not forg'd the hostile sword, Nor seen the bloody face of war; The clang of chains he'd never heard, Nor drawn oppression's iron car.

In dark dissimulation's shroud He wrap'd no wish with guilty fear; His prostrate soul ador'd that God Whose cloud rains plenty round the year.

O Solitude! thy joys, though few, Are sweet as undisturb'd repose; Why did men bid thy shades adieu, And, mingling, swell the tide of woes?