Then they rode back, but not, — Cannon to right of them, Cannon to left of them, Cannon behind them Volleyed and thundered: Left of six hundred. When can their glory fade? Noble six hundred ! ALFRED TENNYSON. The Lotus-Eaters. I. ‘OURAGE !” he said, and pointed toward the land; "COU "This mounting wave shall 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, THE LOTUS-EATERS. II. A land of streams! some, like a downward smoke, And some through wavering lights and shadows broke, They saw the gleaming river seaward flow From the inner land: far off, three mountain-tops, Stood sunset-flushed: and, dewed with showery drops, III. The charmed sunset lingered low adown In the red West: through mountain-clefts the dale A land where all things always seemed the same! IV. Branches they bore of that enchanted stem, V. They sat them down upon the yellow sand, 43 And sweet it was to dream of Father-land, CHORIC SONG. I. THERE is sweet music here that softer falls Music that brings sweet sleep down from the blissful skies. Here are cool mosses deep, And through the moss the ivies creep, And in the stream the long-leaved flowers weep, And from the craggy ledge the poppy hangs in sleep. II. Why are we weighed upon with heaviness, And make perpetual moan, Still from one sorrow to another thrown : Nor ever fold our wings, And cease our wanderings, Nor steep our brows in slumber's holy balm; Nor hearken what the inner spirit sings, "There is no joy but calm !" Why should we only toil, the roof and crown of things? THE LOTUS-EATERS. III. Lo! in the middle of the wood, The folded leaf is wooed from out the bud Lo! sweetened with the summer light, All its allotted length of days, The flower ripens in its place, Ripens and fades, and falls, and hath no toil, All things are taken from us, and become In ever climbing up the climbing wave? All things have rest and ripen toward the grave, In silence ripen, fall, and cease: Give us long rest or death, dark death or dreamful ease! V. How sweet it were, hearing the downward stream, With half-shut eyes ever to seem Falling asleep in a half dream! To dream and dream, like yonder amber light, Which will not leave the myrrh-bush on the height; 45 To hear each other's whispered speech; To watch the crisping ripples on the beach, To the influence of mild-minded melancholy; Heaped over with a mound of grass, Two handfuls of white dust, shut in an urn of brass! VI. Dear is the memory of our wedded lives, And dear the last embraces of our wives, And their warm tears; but all hath suffered change; Let what is broken so remain. The gods are hard to reconcile : Long labor unto aged breath, Sore task to hearts worn out with many wars, And eyes grown dim with gazing on the pilot-stars. VII. But, propt on beds of amaranth and moly, How sweet (while warm airs lull us, blowing lowly), With half-dropt eyelids still, Beneath a heaven dark and holy, |