COTTON 9 



"Where sleeps the poet who shall fitly sing 

 The source wherefrom doth spring 

 That mighty commerce which, confined 

 To the mean channels of no selfish mart, 

 Goes out to every shore 



Of this broad earth, and throngs the sea with shipi 

 That bear no thunders; hushes hungry lips 

 In alien lands; 



Joins with a delicate web remotest strands; 

 And gladdening rich and poor, 

 Doth gild Parisian domes, 

 Or feed the cottage smoke of English homes, 

 And only bounds its blessings by mankind 1" 



