THE+LOTUS+EATERS


 * **638. The Lotos-Eaters** ||
 * **Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809–1892)** ||
 * **Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809–1892)** ||

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. || ||
 * 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, || ||
 * Slow-dropping 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 seaward flow || ||
 * From the inner land; far off, three mountain-tops, || ||
 * Three silent pinnacles of aged snow, || ||
 * Stood sunset-flush’d; and, dew’d with showery drops, || ||
 * Up-clomb the shadowy pine above the woven copse. || ||
 * The charmed sunset linger’d low adown || ||
 * In the red West; thro’ mountain clefts the dale || ||
 * Was seen far inland, and the yellow down || ||
 * Border’d with palm, and many a winding vale || ||
 * And meadow, set with slender galingale; || ||
 * A land where all things always seem’d the same! || ||
 * And round about the keel with faces pale, || ||
 * 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 || ||
 * 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 seem’d, yet all awake, || ||
 * 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 || ||
 * Most weary seem’d 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
 * 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
 * CHORIC SONG

There is sweet music here that softer falls || ||
 * Than petals from blown roses on the grass, || ||
 * Or night-dews 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 long-leaved flowers weep, || ||
 * And from the craggy ledge the poppy hangs in sleep. || ||
 * II
 * II

Why are we weigh’d upon with heaviness, || ||
 * And utterly consumed with sharp distress, || ||
 * While all things else have rest from weariness? || ||
 * All things have rest: why should we toil alone, || ||
 * We only toil, who are the first of things, || ||
 * And make perpetual moan, || ||
 * Still from one sorrow to another thrown; || ||
 * Nor ever fold our wings, || ||
 * And cease from wanderings, || ||
 * Nor steep our brows in slumber’s holy balm; || ||
 * Nor harken what the inner spirit sings, || ||
 * “There is no joy but calm!”— || ||
 * Why should we only toil, the roof and crown of things? || ||
 * III
 * III

Lo! in the middle of the wood, || ||
 * The folded leaf is woo’d from out the bud || ||
 * With winds upon the branch, and there || ||
 * Grows green and broad, and takes no care, || ||
 * Sun-steep’d at noon, and in the moon || ||
 * Nightly dew-fed; and turning yellow || ||
 * Falls, and floats adown the air. || ||
 * Lo! sweeten’d with the summer light, || ||
 * The full-juiced apple, waxing over-mellow, || ||
 * Drops in a silent autumn night. || ||
 * All its allotted length of days || ||
 * The flower ripens in its place, || ||
 * Ripens and fades, and falls, and hath no toil, || ||
 * Fast-rooted in the fruitful soil. || ||
 * IV
 * IV

Hateful is the dark-blue sky, || ||
 * Vaulted o’er the dark-blue sea. || ||
 * Death is the end of life; ah, why || ||
 * Should life all labor be? || ||
 * Let us alone. Time driveth onward fast, || ||
 * And in a little while our lips are dumb. || ||
 * Let us alone. What is it that will last? || ||
 * All things are taken from us, and become || ||
 * Portions and parcels of the dreadful past. || ||
 * Let us alone. What pleasure can we have || ||
 * To war with evil? Is there any peace || ||
 * 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
 * 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 whisper’d speech; || ||
 * Eating the Lotos day by day, || ||
 * To watch the crisping ripples on the beach, || ||
 * And tender curving lines of creamy spray; || ||
 * To lend our hearts and spirits wholly || ||
 * To the influence of mild-minded melancholy; || ||
 * To muse and brood and live again in memory, || ||
 * With those old faces of our infancy || ||
 * Heap’d over with a mound of grass, || ||
 * Two handfuls of white dust, shut in an urn of brass! || ||
 * VI
 * VI

Dear is the memory of our wedded lives, || ||
 * And dear the last embraces of our wives || ||
 * And their warm tears; but all hath suffer’d change; || ||
 * For surely now our household hearths are cold, || ||
 * Our sons inherit us, our looks are strange, || ||
 * And we should come like ghosts to trouble joy. || ||
 * Or else the island princes over-bold || ||
 * Have eat our substance, and the minstrel sings || ||
 * Before them of the ten years’ war in Troy, || ||
 * And our great deeds, as half-forgotten things. || ||
 * Is there confusion in the little isle? || ||
 * Let what is broken so remain. || ||
 * The Gods are hard to reconcile; || ||
 * ’Tis hard to settle order once again. || ||
 * There //is// confusion worse than death, || ||
 * Trouble on trouble, pain on pain, || ||
 * Long labor unto aged breath, || ||
 * Sore task to hearts worn out by many wars || ||
 * And eyes grown dim with gazing on the pilot-stars. || ||
 * VII
 * VII

But, propped on beds of amaranth and moly, || ||
 * How sweet—while warm airs lull us, blowing lowly— || ||
 * With half-dropped eyelids still, || ||
 * Beneath a heaven dark and holy, || ||
 * To watch the long bright river drawing slowly || ||
 * His waters from the purple hill— || ||
 * To hear the dewy echoes calling || ||
 * From cave to cave thro’ the thick-twined vine— || ||
 * To watch the emerald-color’d water falling || ||
 * Thro’ many a woven acanthus-wreath divine! || ||
 * Only to hear and see the far-off sparkling brine, || ||
 * Only to hear were sweet, stretch’d out beneath the pine. || ||
 * VIII
 * VIII

The Lotos blooms below the barren peak, || ||
 * The Lotos blows by every winding creek; || ||
 * All day the wind breathes low with mellower tone; || ||
 * Thro’ every hollow cave and alley lone || ||
 * Round and round the spicy downs the yellow Lotos-dust is blown. || ||
 * We have had enough of action, and of motion we, || ||
 * Roll’d to starboard, roll’d 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, || ||
 * In the hollow Lotos-land to live and lie reclined || ||
 * On the hills like Gods together, careless of mankind. || ||
 * For they lie beside their nectar, and the bolts are hurl’d || ||
 * Far below them in the valleys, and the clouds are lightly curl’d || ||
 * 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 tho’ 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—some, ’tis whisper’d—down in hell || ||
 * 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. || ||