His waters from the purple hill To hear the dewy echoes calling From cave to cave through the thick-twined vine 8. The Lotos blooms below the flowery peak: The Lotos blows by every winding creek: All day the wind breathes low with mellower tone: Round and round the spicy downs the yellow Lotos-dust is blown. We have had enough of action, and of motion we, Rolled to starboard, rolled to larboard, when the surge was seething free, Where the wallowing monster spouted his foam-fountains in the sea. Let us swear an oath, and keep it with an equal mind, Far below them in the valleys, and the clouds are lightly curled Round their golden houses, girdled with the gleaming world; Where they smile in secret, looking over wasted lands, Blight and famine, plague and earthquake, roaring deeps and fiery sands, Clanging fights, and flaming towns, and sinking ships, and praying hands. But they smile, they find a music centred in a doleful song Steaming up, a lamentation and an ancient tale of wrong, Like a tale of little meaning, though the words are strong; Chanted from an ill-used race of men that cleave the soil, Sow the seed, and reap the harvest with enduring toil, Storing yearly little dues of wheat, and wine and oil; Till they perish and they suffer pered down in hell some, 't is whis Suffer endless anguish, others in Elysian valleys dwell, Resting weary limbs at last on beds of asphodel. Surely, surely, slumber is more sweet than toil, the shore Than labor in the deep mid-ocean, wind and wave and oar; O rest ye, brother mariners, we will not wander more. A DREAM OF FAIR WOMEN. I. I READ, before my eyelids dropt their shade, II. Dan Chaucer, the first warbler, whose sweet breath Preluded those melodious bursts, that fill The spacious times of great Elizabeth With sounds that echo still. III. And, for a while, the knowledge of his art Held me above the subject, as strong gales Hold swollen clouds from raining, though my heart, Brimful of those wild tales, IV. Charged both mine eyes with tears. In every land I saw, wherever light illumineth, Beauty and anguish walking hand in hand The downward slope to death. V. Those far-renowned brides of ancient song Peopled the hollow dark, like burning stars, And I heard sounds of insult, shame and wrong, And trumpets blown for wars; VI. And clattering flints battered with clanging hoofs: VII. Corpses across the threshold; heroes tall Dislodging pinnacle and parapet Upon the tortoise creeping to the wall; Lancers in ambush set; VIII. And high shrine-doors burst through with heated blasts That run before the fluttering tongues of fire; White surf wind-scattered over sails and masts, And ever climbing higher; IX. Squadrons and squares of men in brazen plates, X. So shape chased shape as swift as, when to land XI. I started once, or seemed to start, in pain, Resolved on noble things, and strove to speak, As when a great thought strikes along the brain, |