The poem
EVENING, as slow thy placid shades descend, Veiling with gentlest hush the landscape still, The lonely battlement, and farthest hill And wood; I think of those that have no friend; Who now perhaps, by melancholy led, From the broad blaze of day, where pleasure flaunts, Retiring, wander 'mid thy lonely haunts Unseen; and mark 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. Ah! beauteous views, that hope's fair gleams the while, Should smile like you, and perish as thy smile!