THE LOTUS-EATEKS. 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, IV. Hateful is the dark-blue sky, Should life all labor be? Let us alone. And in a little Let us alone. Time driveth onward fast, while our lips are dumb. What is it that will last? 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; 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, THE LOTUS-EATERS. To watch the long bright river drawing slowly To hear the dewy echoes calling From cave to cave through the thick-twinèd vine- Only to hear were sweet, stretched out beneath the pine. 55 VIII. The Lotus blooms below the barren peak: The Lotus blows by every winding creek: All day the wind breathes low with mellower tone: Round and round the spicy downs the yellow Lotus-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 keẹp it with an equal mind, On the hills like gods together, careless of mankind. 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 centered 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, Suffer endless anguish, others in Elysian valleys dwell, ALFRED TENNYSON. Pericles and Aspasia. HIS was the ruler of the land THIS When Athens was the land of fame; When each was like a living flame; Yet not by fetter, nor by spear, His sovereignty was held or won: Resistless words were on his tongue- And his the sole, the sacred hand THE ISLES OF GREECE. And throned immortal by his side, But if their solemn love were crime, He perished, but his wreath was won- GEORGE CROLY. THE The Isles of Greece. HE isles of Greece, the isles of Greece! The Scian and the Teian muse, To sounds which echo farther west Than your sires' "Islands of the Blest." The mountains look on Marathon, And Marathon looks on the sea; And musing there an hour alone, I dreamed that Greece might still be free; For standing on the Persian's grave, I could not deem myself a slave. 57 |