When the grey evening spreads a calm around,
Tell me, has thy bewilder'd fancy sought,
Retir'd in some sequestered spot of ground,
Rest, from the labour of eternal thought?

When, wrapt in self, the soul enjoys repose,
The wearied brain resigns its fervent heat,
In dream-like musing every care we lose,
And wind our way with slowly-moving feet.

Oft, to indulge the thought-exploded sig,
When, slowly wandering at the close of day,
Light emanations from th'abstracted eye,
With transient beauty in the sun-beams play,

Thy sister seeks the solitary shade.
Her mind inhaling the aerial gloom,
Sees, not-observing, the fair landscape fade,
And sullen mist usurping day-light's room.

Not her's the feelings which regret inspires,
When sorrows keen have made the spirits low;
Adversity has damp'd the youthful fires,
And all the tears that fall are tears of woe.

Ah no! possessing every social bliss,
I cannot, will not at my fate repine;
Or ask for happiness excelling this,
When such a world of treasures now are mine!