254 3Lit\)tn. 
Lichen. .. . Solitude. 
How use doth breed a habit in a man ! 
The shadowy desert, unfrequented wooda, 
I better brook than flourishing peopled towns : 
There can I sit alone, unseen of any, 
And to the nightingale's complaining notes 
Tune my distresses, and record my woes. 
Shakspeare. 
Full many a dreary hour have I past. 
My brain bewildered, and my mind o'ercast 
With heaviness ; in seasons when I've thought 
No sphery strains by me could e'er be caught 
From the blue dome, though I to dimness gaze 
On the far depth where sheeted lightning plays ; 
Or, on the wavy grass outstretched supinely, 
Pry 'mong the stars, to strive to think divinely : 
That I should never hear Apollo's song, 
Though feathery clouds were floating all along 
Tlie purple west, and, two bright streaks between, 
The golden lyre itself were dimly seen : 
That the still murmur of the honey-bee 
Would never teach a rural song to me : 
That the bright glance from beauty's eyelids slanting 
AVould never make a lay of mine enchanting. 
Or warm my breast with ardour to unfold 
Some tale of love and arms in time of old. 
Keats, 
