I love to walk where none had walk’d before,
About the rocks that ran along the shore;
Or far beyond the sight of men to stray,
And take my pleasure when I lost my way,
For then ’twas mine to trace the hilly heath.
And all the mossy moor that lies beneath.
Here had I favorite stations, where I stood
And heard the murmurs of the ocean flood,
With not a sound beside.
George Crabbe (1754-1832)