ply, to his ev'ning thought,
by unfrequeream,
the ways of men are distant brought,
a faint, collected dream;
while praising, and raising
his thoughts to heav'n on high,
as wand&#, meand&#,
he views the solemn sky.
than i, no lonely hermit pc'd
where never human footstep trac'd,
less fit to py the part,
the lucky moment to improve,
and just to stop, and just to move,
with self-respeg art:
but ah! those pleasures, loves, and joys,
which i too keenly taste,
the solitary despise,
want, a be blest!
he needs not,
Despondency: An Ode(3/4)