Or bear me to yon antique wood,
Dim temple of sage Solitude!
But still in Fancy's mirror sees
Some more romantic scene would please,
There within a nook most dark,
Where none my musing mood may mark,
Let me, in many a whisper'd rite,
The Genius old of Greece invite,
With that fair wreath my brows to bind,
Which for his chosen imps he twin'd,
Well nurtur'd in Pierian lore,
On clear Ilissus' laureat shore —
Till high on waving nest reclin'd,
The raven wakes my tranced mind!