Or rocks romantic height, I’ll thee implore.
From the grey twilight’s dawn till ev’ning’s close,
In woods sequester’d I will call on thee;
And yet who knows, alas! alas! who knows
If thou wilt e’er bestow one thought on me.
With cadence soft, the circumambient breeze,
Responsive, bursting through the waving trees;
And echo, repercussive from her cell,
Does sweetly vibrate through the neighb’ring dell,
To bid the mind’s tumultuous passion’s tide,