Evening

Evening! as slow thy placid shades descend, Veiling with gentlest hush the landscape still, The lonely battlement, the farthest hill And wood, I think of those who have no friend; Who now, perhaps, by melancholy led, From the broad blaze of day, where pleasure flaunts, Retiring, wander to the ring-dove’s haunts Unseen; and watch the tints that o’er thy bed Hang lovely; oft to musing Fancy’s eye Presenting fairy vales, where the tir’d mind Might rest beyond the murmurs of mankind, Nor hear the hourly moans of misery! Alas for man! that Hope’s fair views the while Should smile like you, and perish as they smile!