Full-faced above the valley stood the moon; [1]
And like a downward smoke, the slender stream
Along the cliff to fall and pause and fall did seem.
And like a downward smoke, the slender stream
Along the cliff to fall and pause and fall did seem.
Tennyson
Now whosoever of
them did eat the honey-sweet fruit of the lotos had no more wish to
bring tidings nor to come back, but there he chose to abide with the
lotos-eating men ever feeding on the lotos and forgetful of his
homeward way. Therefore I led them back to the ships weeping and sore
against their will . . . lest haply any should eat of the lotos and be
forgetful of returning. "
(Lang and Butcher's translation. )
But in the details of his poem Tennyson has laid many other poets under
contribution, notably Moschus, 'Idyll', v. ; Bion, 'Idyll', v. ; Spenser,
'Faerie Queen', II. vi. (description of the 'Idle Lake'), and Thomson's
'Castle of Indolence'.
"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; [1]
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 [2]
From the inner land: far off, three mountain-tops,
Three silent pinnacles of aged snow, [3]
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 Father-land,
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".
[Footnote 1: 1883. Above the valley burned the golden moon. ]
[Footnote 2: 1883. River's seaward flow. ]
[Footnote 3: 1833. Three thunder-cloven thrones of oldest snow. ]
CHORIC SONG
1
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.
them did eat the honey-sweet fruit of the lotos had no more wish to
bring tidings nor to come back, but there he chose to abide with the
lotos-eating men ever feeding on the lotos and forgetful of his
homeward way. Therefore I led them back to the ships weeping and sore
against their will . . . lest haply any should eat of the lotos and be
forgetful of returning. "
(Lang and Butcher's translation. )
But in the details of his poem Tennyson has laid many other poets under
contribution, notably Moschus, 'Idyll', v. ; Bion, 'Idyll', v. ; Spenser,
'Faerie Queen', II. vi. (description of the 'Idle Lake'), and Thomson's
'Castle of Indolence'.
"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; [1]
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 [2]
From the inner land: far off, three mountain-tops,
Three silent pinnacles of aged snow, [3]
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 Father-land,
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".
[Footnote 1: 1883. Above the valley burned the golden moon. ]
[Footnote 2: 1883. River's seaward flow. ]
[Footnote 3: 1833. Three thunder-cloven thrones of oldest snow. ]
CHORIC SONG
1
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.
