The
GROTTO
:
An
ODE
to
SILENCE
.
By
the
Same
.
COME
,
musing
Silence
,
nor
refuse
to
shed
Thy
sober
influence
o'er
this
darkling
cell
;
Thy
desart
waste
and
lonely
plain
,
Could
ne'er
confine
thy
peaceful
reign
;
Nor
dost
thou
only
love
to
dwell
Mid
the
dark
mansions
of
the
vaulted
dead
:
For
still
at
eve's
serenest
hour
,
All
Nature
owns
thy
soothing
pow'r
:
Oft
hast
thou
deign'd
with
me
to
rove
,
Beneath
the
calm
sequester'd
grove
;
Oft
deign'd
my
secret
steps
to
lead
Along
the
dewy
pathless
mead
;
Or
up
the
dusky
lawn
,
to
spy
The
last
faint
gleamings
of
the
twilight
sky
.
Then
wilt
thou
still
thy
pensive
vot'ry
meet
,
Oft
as
he
calls
thee
to
this
gloomy
seat
:
For
here
,
with
many
a
solemn
mystic
rite
,
Wert
thou
invok'd
to
consecrate
the
ground
,
Ere
these
rude
walls
were
rear'd
remote
from
sight
,
Or
ere
with
moss
this
shaggy
roof
was
crown'd
Hail
!
blessed
parent
of
each
purer
thought
,
That
doth
at
once
the
heart
exalt
and
mend
!
Here
wilt
thou
never
fail
to
find
My
vacant
solitude
inclin'd
Thy
serious
lessons
to
attend
.
For
they
I
ween
shall
be
with
goodness
fraught
,
Whether
thou
bid
me
meditate
On
man
,
in
untaught
nature's
state
;
How
far
this
life
he
ought
to
prize
;
How
far
its
transient
scenes
despise
:
What
heights
his
reason
may
attain
,
And
where
its
proud
attempts
are
vain
:
What
toils
his
virtue
ought
to
brave
,
For
Hope's
rewarding
joys
beyond
the
grave
:
Or
if
in
man
redeem'd
you
bid
me
trace
Each
wond'rous
proof
of
heav'n's
transcendent
grace
;
Then
breathe
some
sparks
of
that
celestial
fire
,
Which
in
the
raptur'd
seraph
glows
above
,
Where
sainted
myriads
crowd
the
joyful
choir
,
And
harp
their
praises
round
the
throne
of
love
.
The
trifling
sons
of
Levity
and
Pride
Hence
shall
thy
aweful
seriousness
exclude
;
Nor
shall
loud
Riot's
thoughtless
train
With
frantic
mirth
this
grott
profane
.
No
foe
to
peace
shall
here
intrude
.
For
thou
wilt
kindly
bid
each
sound
subside
,
Save
such
as
soothes
the
list'ning
sense
,
And
serves
to
aid
thy
influence
:
Save
where
,
soft-breathing
o'er
the
plain
,
Mild
Zephyr
waves
the
rustling
grain
:
Or
where
some
stream
,
from
rocky
source
,
Slow
trickles
down
its
ceaseless
course
:
Or
where
the
sea's
imperfect
roar
Comes
gently
murm'ring
from
the
distant
shore
.
But
most
in
Philomel
,
sweet
bird
of
night
,
In
plaintive
Philomel
,
is
thy
delight
:
For
she
,
or
studious
to
prolong
her
grief
,
Or
oft
to
vary
her
exhaustless
lay
,
With
frequent
pause
,
from
thee
shall
seek
relief
,
Nor
close
her
strain
,
till
dawns
the
noisy
day
.
Without
thy
aid
,
to
happier
tasteful
art
,
No
deep
instructive
science
could
prevail
:
For
only
where
thou
dost
preside
,
Can
wit's
inventive
pow'rs
be
tried
:
And
reason's
better
task
would
fail
,
Did
not
thy
haunts
the
serious
theme
impart
.
The
critic
,
that
with
plodding
head
Toils
o'er
the
learning
of
the
dead
;
The
cloister'd
hermit
that
explores
,
By
midnight
lamp
,
religion's
stores
;
Each
sage
that
marks
,
with
thoughtful
gaze
,
The
lunar
orb
,
or
planet's
maze
;
And
ev'ry
bard
,
that
strays
along
The
sylvan
shade
,
intent
on
sacred
song
;
Shall
all
to
thee
those
various
praises
give
,
Which
,
through
thy
friendly
aid
,
themselves
receive
:
For
tho'
thou
mayst
from
glory's
seats
retire
,
Where
loud
applause
proclaims
the
honour'd
name
;
Yet
doth
thy
modest
wisdom
still
inspire
Each
nobler
work
that
swells
the
voice
of
Fame
.