Beautiful isles! beneath the sunset skies tall, silver-shafted palm-trees rise, between full orange-trees that shade the living colonade.

To him who in the love of Nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language.

Beautiful isles! beneath the sunset skies tall, silver-shafted palm-trees rise, between full orange-trees that shade the living colonade.

The journalist should be on his guard against publishing what is false in taste or exceptionable in morals.

And suns grow meek, and the meek suns grow brief, and the year smiles as it draws near its death.

The stormy March has come at last, With winds and clouds and changing skies; I hear the rushing of the blast That through the snowy valley flies.

Follow thou thy choice.