Evening

OH ! soothing hour, when glowing day,

Low in the western wave declines,

And village murmurs die away,

And bright the vesper planet shines;

I love to hear the gale of Even Breathing along the new-leaf'd copse,

And feel the freshening dew of Heaven,

Fall silently in limpid drops.   For, like a friend's consoling sighs,

That breeze of night to me appears;

And, as soft dew from Pity's eyes,

Descend those pure celestial tears.

Alas ! for those who long have borne,

Like me, a heart by sorrow riven,

Who, but the plaintive winds, will mourn,

What tears will fall, but those of Heaven ?