Ode To Silence

O! friend of Solitude, appear,
O! nymph to Contemplation dear,
Who oft invokes thy aid;
Amid the busy cares of day,
No moment owns thy peaceful sway,
O soothing, pensive maid.
Thou in some deep untrodden dell,
Or in th' impervious rock-built cell,
Hast fix'd thy noon-tide seat:
Or with slow footsteps shall we tread
The mansions of the mould'ring dead,
To find thy dear retreat?
When twilight evening spreads her veil,
Oft mid our path thy form we hail,
As o'er wide fields we rove;
E'en there some distant mingling noise,
Some buzzing tale thy charm destroys,
Which Echo tells the grove.
When Midnight mounts her ebon throne,
Sage Contemplation joys to own
Thy unmolested sway;
Rapt Fancy paints some lonely scene,
Where Luna, silver-beaming queen,
Sheds round a shadowy day.
No more the evening warblers pour,
Their pensive strains from yonder bow'r,
Yet now to mem'ry dear;
E'en the hoarse night-bird's grating throat,
No longer darts her jarring note,
Discordant thro' the ear.
All sunk in temporary death,
By magic Sleep's despotic breath,
This hour to thee resign;
Now on the mountain's verge to stand,
The prospect round sublimely grand,
Impels to thoughts divine.
Let Folly's train thy charms despise,
Wisdom shall still those moments prize,
To thee, O Silence, giv'n;
With thee she owns her chosen friend,
The peaceful hour shall gladly spend,
And wing the mind to heav'n.