| |
“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 seeméd always afternoon. | |
| All round the coast the languid air did swoon, | 5 |
| Breathing like one that hath a weary dream. | |
| Full-faced above the valley stood the moon; | |
| And like a downward smoke, the slender stream | |
| Along the cliff to fall, and pause, and fall did seem. | |
| |
| A land of streams! some like a downward smoke, | 10 |
| Slow-dropping veils of thinnest lawn, did go; | |
| And some through 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, | 15 |
| Three silent pinnacles of aged snow, | |
| Stood sunset-flushed: and, dewed with showery drops, | |
| Up-clomb the shadowy pine above the woven copse. | |
| |
| The charméd sunset lingered low adown | |
| In the red West: through mountain clefts the dale | 20 |
| 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, | 25 |
| Dark faces pale against that rosy flame, | |
| The mild-eyed melancholy Lotos-eaters came. | |
| |
| Branches they bore of that enchanted stem, | |
| Laden with flower and fruit, whereof they gave | |
| To each, but whoso did receive of them, | 30 |
| 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, | 35 |
| And music in his ears his beating heart did make. | |
| 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 | 40 |
| 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.” * * * * * | 45 |
| The Lotos blooms below the barren peak: | |
| The Lotos blows by every winding creek: | |
| All day the wind breathes low with mellower tone: | |
| Through every hollow cave and alley lone | |
| Round and round the spicy downs the yellow Lotos-dust is blown. | 50 |
| 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. * * * * * | |
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