THE LOTOS-EATERS. I. "COURAGE!" he said, and pointed toward the land, "This mounting wave will roll us shoreward soon." In the afternoon they came unto a land, In which it seemed always afternoon. All round the coast the languid air did swoon, 11. A land of streams! some, like a downward smoke, Slow-dropping veils of thinnest lawn, did go; And some thro' wavering lights and shadows broke, Rolling a slumbrous sheet of foam below. They saw the gleaming river seaward flow From the inner land: far off, three mountain-tops, Stood sunset-flush'd: and, dew'd with showery drops, DLE III. The charmed sunset linger'd low adown โยเย In the red West: thro' mountain clefts the dale A land where all things always seem'd the same! Dark faces pale against that rosy flame, The mild-eyed melancholy Lotos-eaters came. IV. Branches they bore of that enchanted stem, To each, but whoso did receive of them, Far far away did seem to mourn and rave On alien shores; and if his fellow spake, His voice was thin, as voices from the grave; And deep-asleep he seem'd, yet all awake, And music in his ears his beating heart did make. V. They sat them down upon the yellow sand, Is far beyond the wave; we will no longer roam." CHORIC SONG. 1. There is sweet music here that softer falls Music that brings sweet sleep down from the blissful skies. Here are cool mosses deep, And thro' the moss the ivies creep, And in the stream the long-leaved flowers weep, And from the craggy ledge the poppy hangs in sleep. 2. Why are we weigh'd upon with heaviness, Still from one sorrow to another thrown: Nor ever fold our wings, And cease from wanderings Nor steep our brows in slumber's holy balm; Nor harken what the inner spirit sings, Why should we only toil, the roof and crown of things? 3. Lo! in the middle of the wood, The folded leaf is woo'd from out the bud With winds upon the branch, and there Nightly dew-fed; and turning yellow Lo! sweeten'd with the summer light, The full-juiced apple, waxing over-mellow, Drops in a silent autumn night. All its allotted length of days, The flower ripens in its place, Ripens and fades, and falls, and hath no toil, Fast-rooted in the fruitful soil. |