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?
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