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,
Breathing like one that hath a weary dream.
Above the valley burned the golden moon;
And like a downward smoke, the slender stream
Along the cliff to fall and pause and fall did seem.

II.

A land of streams! some, like a downward smoke, Slowdropping 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's seaward flow

From the inner land: far off, three mountaintops,

Three thundercloven thrones of oldest snow,

Stood sunsetflushed: and, dewed with showery drops, Upclomb the shadowy pine above the woven copse.

III.

The charmed sunset lingered low adown

In the red West: thro' mountain clefts the dale

Was seen far inland, and the yellow down
Bordered with palm, and many a winding vale
And meadow, set with slender galingale;

A land where all things always seemed the same !
And round about the keel with faces pale,
Dark faces pale against that rosy flame,

The mildeyed melancholy Lotos-eaters came.

IV.

Branches they bore of that enchanted stem,
Laden with flower and fruit, whereof they gave
To each, but whoso did receive of them,

And taste, to him the gushing of the wave
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 seemed, yet all awake,

And music in his ears his beating heart did make.

V.

They sat them down upon the yellow sand,
Between the sun and moon upon the shore;
And sweet it was to dream of Fatherland,
Of child, and wife, and slave; but evermore
Most weary seemed the sea, weary the oar,
Weary the wandering fields of barren foam.
Then some one said, "We will return no more ;"
And all at once they sang, "Our island home

Is far beyond the wave; we will no longer roam."

CHORIC SONG.

I.

There is sweet music here that softer falls,
Than petals from blown roses on the grass,
Or nightdews on still waters between walls
Of shadowy granite, in a gleaming pass.
Music that gentlier on the spirit lies,
Than tir'd eyelids upon tir'd eyes;

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 longleaved flowers weep,

And from the craggy ledge the poppy hangs in sleep.

II.

Why are we weighed upon with heaviness,

And utterly consumed with sharp distress,

While all things else have rest from weariness?

IV.

Branches they bore of that enchanted stem,
Laden with flower and fruit, whereof they gave
To each, but whoso did receive of them,

And taste, to him the gushing of the wave
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 seemed, yet all awake,

And music in his ears his beating heart did make.

V.

They sat them down upon the yellow sand,
Between the sun and moon upon the shore;
And sweet it was to dream of Fatherland,
Of child, and wife, and slave; but evermore
Most weary seemed the sea, weary the oar,
Weary the wandering fields of barren foam.
Then some one said, "We will return no more ;
And all at once they sang, "Our island home

e;"

Is far beyond the wave; we will no longer roam."