Silent some call thee: haply it were well
If they who name thee so could earn a fame
For deeds not words as thou hast. 'Twere the same
Wert thou as clamorous as a new-swung bell:
The carping malcontents would still cry blame.
The nation trusted thee when sore beset,
Battling for life against her recreant foes;
She placed thee where thou art, when came repose
And the sheathed sword,—and she will trust thee yet.
Noiseless the mighty stream resistless flows,
Whilst shallow brooklets o'er their pebbles fret.