THE ADVENTURERS.
[" England was never made by her Statesman. England was made by her dveliturers."—GissEnku Gannon.] THEY sit at home and they dream and daily,
Raking the embers of long-dead years,--. But ye go down to the haunted Valley,
Light-hearted pioneers.
They have forgotten they ever wore young,
They hear your songs as an unknown tongue, .• But the Flame of God through your spirit stirs,
Adventurers,-0 Adventurers !
They weigh, and ponder, and shilly-shally, Wielding the pen, who are past the sword, But ye go down to the mystic Valley, That never was yet explored. They brood over obsolete ways and means, Their eyes confusing the greys and greens, . . But no tradition your vision blurs, Adventurers,-0 Adventurers!
They tithe their herbs and they count their tally, Choosing their words that a phrase may live,–e But ye cast down in the hungry Valley All that a man can give. They prophesy smoothly, with weary smile Fulfilling their feeble appointed while, . . .
But Death himself to your pride defers, Adventurers,-0 Adventurers ! MAY BYRON,
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