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."