Peaceful the day rolls here! and Friendship’s tongue— 35
That sweetest music!—breathes thy glades among,
Charming life’s harsher discords into peace;
Bidding anxiety’s sad warning cease,—
Twining with wreaths of hope a falling shrine,
Crowning with flowers the pale cold brow of Time. 40
I love thy calm! The storm-beat pinnace, driven
Before the stern breath of the threat’ning heaven,
Lies in some little bay, whose waters sleep,
Cradled by rocks from the surrounding deep: