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SILENCE.


        I turn unto the Past
When I have need of comfort; I am vowed
To dear remembrance: most like some proud,
Poor Noble, who, on evil fortunes cast,
Has saved his pictures from the wreck, I muse
Mid these that I have gathered, till I lose
The drearness of the Present!
The drearness of the Present! On the hill
That noon in summer found us; far below
We heard the river in a slumbrous flow
Chide o'er its pebbles, slow and yet more slow;
Beneath our feet the very grasses slept,
Signed by the sliding sunbeam as it crept
From blade to blade, slow-stealing with a still
Admonitory gesture; now a thrill
Ran lightly through the wood, but ere to sound
The shiver grew upon the hush profound,
It died encalmed; methought a Spirit's sigh
Had then been audible, but none came by
To trouble us, and we were silent, fed
With golden musings by our friend that read