How sad he is! how thin and pallid!

How naked, and how poor and squalid!

How all the wretched man despise!”

WHEN—THEN.

When waves of shadow fret the yellowing fields;

When freshly hum the woods to Zephyr’s play;

When on the garden walls the reddening plums,

Hiding themselves, in leafy ambush sway;

When freshly washed in heavy-scented dews

(While evening red or golden morning glows),