LVIII.

Meanwhile, whate'er of beautiful, or new, Sublime, or dreadful, in earth, sea, or sky, By chance, or search was offered to his view, He scann'd with curious and romantic eye. Whate'er of lore tradition could supply From gothic tale, or song, or fable old, Rous'd him, still keen to listen and to pry. At last, though long by penury control'd, And solitude, his soul her graces 'gan unfold.