| I AM monarch of all I survey; | |
| My right there is none to dispute; | |
| From the centre all round to the sea | |
| I am lord of the fowl and the brute | |
| O Solitude! where are the charms | 5 |
| That sages have seen in thy face? | |
| Better dwell in the midst of alarms, | |
| Than reign in this horrible place. | |
| |
| I am out of humanity's reach; | |
| I must finish my journey alone; | 10 |
| Never hear the sweet music of speech— | |
| I start at the sound of my own; | |
| The beasts that roam over the plain | |
| My form with indifference see— | |
| They are so unacquainted with man, | 15 |
| Their tameness is shocking to me. | |
| |
| Society, Friendship, and Love | |
| Divinely bestow'd upon man, | |
| Oh had I the wings of a dove | |
| How soon would I taste you again! | 20 |
| My sorrows I then might assuage | |
| In the ways of religion and truth, | |
| Might learn from the wisdom of age, | |
| And be cheer'd by the sallies of youth. | |
| |
| Ye winds that have made me your sport, | 25 |
| Convey to this desolate shore | |
| Some cordial endearing report | |
| Of a land I shall visit no more. | |
| My friends, do they now and then send | |
| A wish or a thought after me? | 30 |
| O tell me I yet have a friend, | |
| Though a friend I am never to see. | |
| |
| How fleet is a glance of the mind! | |
| Compared with the speed of its flight, | |
| The tempest itself lags behind, | 35 |
| And the swift-wingèd arrows of light. | |
| When I think of my own native land, | |
| In a moment I seem to be there; | |
| But, alas! recollection at hand | |
| Soon hurries me back to despair. | 40 |
| |
| But the sea-fowl is gone to her nest, | |
| The beast is laid down in his lair; | |
| Even here is a season of rest, | |
| And I to my cabin repair. | |
| There's mercy in every place; | 45 |
| And mercy—encouraging thought!— | |
| Gives even affliction a grace, | |
| And reconciles man to his lot. | |
| |
