With him was sometimes join'd, in silent Walk, (Profoundly silent, for they never spoke) One shyer still, who quite detested Talk: Oft, stung by Spleen, at once away he broke, To Groves of Pine, and broad o'ershadowing Oak; There, inly thrill'd, he wander'd all alone, And on himself his pensive Fury wroke, Ne ever utter'd Word, save when first shone The glittering Star of Eve — "Thank Heaven! the Day is done."
