While some, on earnest business bent,
Their murmuring labours ply,

'Gainst graver hours that bring constraint
To sweeten liberty,

Some bold adventurers disdain

The limits of their little reign,

And unknown regions dare descry:
Still as they run they look behind,
They hear a voice in every wind,
And snatch a fearful joy.1

Gay hope is theirs, by fancy fed,
Less pleasing when possest;
The tear forgot as soon as shed,
The sunshine of the breast;
Theirs buxom health of rosy hue,
Wild wit, invention ever new,

And lively cheer, of vigour born;
The thoughtless day, the easy night,
The spirits pure, the slumbers light,
That fly the approach of morn.

Alas! regardless of their doom,
The little victims play!
No sense have they of ills to come,
No care beyond to-day;

Yet see how all around them wait

The ministers of human fate,

And black Misfortune's baleful train!

Ah, show them where in ambush stand,
To seize their prey, the murderous band!
Ah! tell them they are men.

(1) Snatch a fearful joy-A happy combination of words. A fearful joy! (2) Buxom-in Old English, boughsome; i.e. easily bent or bowed to one's will; hence, obedient, pliant, easily moved, elastic, merry.

(3) Minister-from the Latin minister, an attendant-an official servant. "The ministers of human fate" are the dangers of human life, appointed by the supreme power, who is here, somewhat heathenishly, called fate.

(4) Ah! tell them, &c.-The conception of the grim ministers of fate-the murderous band-awaiting in ambush the approach of their heedless victim is very striking, whatever opinion may be formed of the view of life which it suggests.

These1 shall the fury Passions2 tear,
The vultures of the mind,
Disdainful Anger, pallid Fear,

And Shame that skulks behind:
Or pining Love shall waste their youth;
Or Jealousy, with rankling tooth,
That inly gnaws the secret heart;
And Envy wan, and faded Care,
Grim-visaged, comfortless Despair,
And Sorrow's piercing dart.3

Ambition this shall tempt to rise,
Then whirl the wretch from high,
To bitter Scorn a sacrifice
And grinning Infamy.

The stings of Falsehood those shall try,
And hard Unkindness' altered eye,

That mocks the tear it forced to flow,
And keen Remorse, with blood defiled,
And moody Madness, laughing wild,
Amid severest woe.

Lo! in the vale of years beneath
A grisly troop are seen,-

The painful family of Death,5

More hideous than their queen :6

(1) These-some of these-in contrast with "this" and "those" in the next stanza.

(2) Fury passions-This stanza presents, in a short compass, a graphic sketch of the passions-those "vultures of the mind." They are mostly characterised by their effects, as "pallid Fear," i. e. fear that makes pale; "faded Care," i. e. care that makes the cheek fade, &c.

(3) Sorrow's piercing dart-An instance of anti-climax, or bathos. A climax is an ascending series of thoughts or illustrations, rising in interest from one step to another. An anti-climax, on the contrary, is a descending series. In the present case, "sorrow" is tame after the bold personification of

"Grim-visaged, comfortless Despair."

(4) Moody Madness, &c.-In contrast with the close of the last stanza, this may be characterised as a very striking climax.

(5) Family of Death-diseases.

(6) Queen-There is a fault here in making Death feminine; and it is believed that no other such instance occurs in our literature. One cannot but be reminded of Milton's grand conception of Death in the "Paradise Lost," book ii. :

This racks the joints, this fires the veins,
That every labouring sinew strains,
Those in the deeper vitals rage;
Lo! Poverty, to fill the band,
That numbs the soul with icy hand,
And slow-consuming Age.

To each his sufferings: all are men,
Condemned alike to groan,
The tender for another's pain,
The unfeeling for his own.

Yet, ah! why should they know their fate,
Since sorrow never comes too late,
And happiness too swiftly flies?
Thought would destroy their paradise:
No more-where ignorance is bliss
"Tis folly to be wise.

Gray.

INSCRIPTIONS.

I. FOR THE ENTRANCE TO A WOOD.'

STRANGER, if thou hast learned a truth which needs
No school of long experience, that the world
Is full of guilt and misery; and hast known
Enough of all its sorrows, crimes, and cares,
To tire thee of it-enter this wild wood

And view the haunts of Nature. The calm shade
Shall bring a kindred calm, and the sweet breeze
That makes the green leaves dance, shall waft a balm
To thy sick heart. Thou wilt find nothing here
Of all that pained thee in the haunts of men

"The other shape,

If shape it might be call'd that shape had none
Distinguishable in member, joint, or limb;

Or substance might be call'd that shadow seem'd,
For each seem'd either; black it stood as Night,

Fierce as ten Furies, terrible as hell,

And shook a dreadful dart; what seem'd his head,

The likeness of a kingly crown had on."

(1) An inscription should be simple, short, and eminently suggestive. That given above is simple and suggestive, but its length is somewhat inconsistent with the imaginary purpose for which such a composition is written, and yet we could hardly wish to lose any part of what is so graceful and beautiful.

And made thee loathe their life. The primal curse
Fell, it is true, upon the unsinning earth,

But not in vengeance. God hath yoked to guilt1
Her pale tormenter, misery. Hence, these shades
Are still the abodes of gladness; the thick roof
Of green and stirring branches is alive
And musical with birds, that sing and sport
In wantonness of spirit; while below,

The squirrel, with raised paws and form erect,
Chirps merrily. Throngs of insects in the shade3
Try their thin wings, and dance in the warm beam
That waked them into life. Even the
green trees
Partake the deep contentment; as they bend
To the soft winds, the sun from the blue sky
Looks in, and sheds a blessing on the scene.
Scarce less the cleft-born wild-flower seems to enjoy
Existence, than the winged plunderer

That sucks its sweets. The massy rocks themselves,
And the old and ponderous trunks of prostrate trees,
That lead from knoll to knoll a causey rude,
Or bridge the sunken brook, and their dark roots
With all their earth upon them twisting high,
Breathe fixed tranquillity. The rivulet

Sends forth glad sounds, and tripping o'er its bed
Of pebbly sands, or leaping down the rocks,
Seems, with continuous laughter, to rejoice
In its own being. Softly tread the marge,
Lest from her midway perch thou scare the wren
That dips her bill in water. The cool wind,
That stirs the stream in play, shall come to thee,
Like one that loves thee, nor will let thee pass
Ungreeted, and shall give its light embrace.

Bryant.

(1) To guilt-i. e. to guilt only. The inseparable connection between guilt and misery is vividly denoted by the imagery of the text.

(2) Hence-i.e. because guilt haunts not these shades, they are still, &c. (3) Shade-i. e. not among the branches, but below; a somewhat unfortunate word, since, if taken strictly, it contradicts the next line.

(4) Cleft-born-springing from a cleft, or fissure in the rock.

(5) Knoll-from the Anglo-Saxon cnoll, a head or top-a little round hill. (6) Causey or causeway from the French chaussée, which is either from the Latin calcata, trodden down, or calceata, shod or protected by a hard covering of wood or stone. See Philological Society's Journal, vol. v. p. 39.

II. FOR A COLUMN AT TRUXILLO.1

PIZARRO here was born: a greater name
The list of glory boasts not. Toil and pain,
Famine and hostile elements, and hosts
Embattled, failed to check him in his course ;-
Not to be wearied, not to be deterred,
Not to be overcome. A mighty realm
He overran, and with relentless arm
Slew or enslaved its unoffending sons,

And wealth, and power, and fame, were his rewards.
There is another world beyond the grave,
According to their deeds where men are judged.
O reader! if thy daily bread be earned
By daily labour-yea, however low,
However wretched be thy lot assigned,
Thank thou, with deepest gratitude, the God
Who made thee, that thou art not such as he.

III. FOR A COLUMN AT RUNNIMEDE 2

Southey.

THOU who the verdant plain dost traverse here,
While Thames among his willows from thy view
Retires, O stranger, stay thou, and the scene
Around contemplate well. This is the place
Where England's ancient barons, clad in arms,
And stern with conquest, from their tyrant king-
Then rendered tame-did challenge and secure
The charter of thy freedom. Pass not on
Till thou hast blest their memory, and paid
Those thanks which God appointed the reward
Of public virtue. And if chance thy home
Salute thee with a father's honoured
Go call thy sons, instruct them what a debt

name,

They owe their ancestors, and make them swear
To pay it, by transmitting down entire

Those sacred rights to which themselves were born.

(1) A town of Estramadura, in Spain.

Akenside.

(2) The pure, classical, and severely simple tone of these lines is admirable.

K