Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep! The river glideth at his own sweet will; Dear God! the very houses seem asleep; And all that mighty heart is lying still!

A multitude of causes unknown to former times are now acting with a combined force to blunt the discriminating powers of the mind, and unfitting it for all voluntary exertion to reduce it to a state of almost savage torpor.

The weight of sadness was in wonder lost.

Every gift of noble origin Is breathed upon by Hope's perpetual breath.

The clouds that gather round the setting sun, Do take a sober colouring from an eye, That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality.

When from our better selves we have too long been parted by the hurrying world, and droop. Sick of its business, of its pleasures tired, how gracious, how benign is solitude.

Love betters what is best