Why, Solitude, why hath the minstrel forsaken
The festive repast of the fair and the free?
Why leaves he the city,
The wise and the witty,
To roam thro' the woods in communion with thee?
'He flies from the hoard of the rich and the lovely,
'He flies from the wiles of the proud and the vain,
'Adown the wood stealing,
'He seeks my far shieling,
'To gain back his peace and his wisdom again.'

Why, Solitude, why hath the maiden forsaken
Her couch for the shore of the desolate sea?
Why leaves she her pillow
To gaze on the billow?
What charms can she find in communion with thee?
'She roams all alone in the silence and darkness,
'To think undisturbed on her lover afar;
'She seeks the lone shingle,
'In sadness to mingle
'Her sighs and her prayers for her absent Hussar.'

Why, Solitude, why do the worn and the weary,
The sad and the sorrowful, fly to thy side?
With thee do they wander,
In sadness to ponder
O'er joys and o'er hopes which the world hath denied?
'Communion with man can but render them cunning,
'Communion with Nature doth render them wise:
'Adown the wood stealing,
'They come to my shieling,
'And find in my bosom the peace which they prize!'