O golden Silence, bid our souls be still

Come, blessed Darkness, come and bring thy balm For eyes grown weary of the garish day! Come with thy soft, slow steps, thy garments gray, Thy veiling shadows, bearing in thy palm The poppy-seeds of slumber, deep and calm.

What dost thou bring to me, O fair To-day, That comest o'er the mountains with swift feet?

Aspirations pure and high — Strength to do and to endure — Heir of all the Ages, I — Lo! I am no longer poor!

How pleasant came thy rushing, silver Tweed! Upon my ear when, after roaming long In southern plains, I've reach'd thy lovely bank! How bright, renowned Sark, thy little stream, Like ray of column'd light chasing a shower, Would cross my …

Samuel Warren, though able, yet vainest of men, Could he guide with discretion his tongue and his pen, His course would be clear for—"Ten Thousand a Year," But limited else to a brief—"Now and Then."

I have before proved the nation to be in the possession of a vast income, highly sufficient for all demands, to possess a vigorous agriculture, flourishing manufactures, and an extended commerce, in a word, to be a great industrious …