HEATH. 
83 
HEAT H. 
SOLITUDE. 
The meadows are covered with flowers, the 
plains with waving corn, and the hills with dark¬ 
some woods. Happy swains !—ye can dance in 
the meadows; ye can crown your brows with 
the golden wreaths of Ceres ; ye can rest your¬ 
selves in the shade of the woods—for to the 
happy, life is one scene of joy. 
As for me, with Melancholy for my guide, 
I will stroll to those sequestered spots where 
the humble Heath, which delights in solitude, 
maintains its ground against advancing culti¬ 
vation. There, seated beneath the drooping 
Broom, I will indulge my gloomy thoughts: 
whilst creatures, unfortunate, harassed, and 
afflicted, like myself, will collect around me from 
all sides. The partridge, chased by our dogs, 
after losing her whole family; the doe, pursued 
by the hounds; the skulking hare, the timid 
rabbit, at first alarmed at sight of me, will by 
