And once again it came, and close beside th window-bars, Then seemed to go right up to heaven and die among the stars. XI. So now I think my time is near. I trust it is. 1 know The blessed music went that way my soul will have to go. And for myself, indeed, I care not if I go to-day, But, Effie, you must comfort her when I am past away. XII. And say to Robin a kind word, and tell him not to fret; There's many worthier than I would make him happy yet. If I had lived-I cannot tell-I might have been his wife; But all these things have ceased to be, with my desire of life. XIII. O look! the sun begins to rise, the heavens are in a glow; He shines upon a hundred fields, and all of them 1 know. And there I move no longer now, and there his light may shine Wild flowers in the valley for other hands than mine. XIV. O sweet and strange it seems to me, that ere this day is done The voice that now is speaking may be beyond the sun Forever and forever with those just souls and trueAnd what is life, that we should moan? why make we such ado? XV. Forever and forever, all in a blessed home And there to wait a little while till you and Effie come To lie within the light of God, as I lie upon your breast And the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest. THE LOTOS-EATERS. I. "COURAGE!" he said, and pointed toward the land; "This mounting wave will roll us shoreward soon.' All round the coast the languid air did swoon, II. A land of streams! some, like a downward smoke, broke Rolling a slumbrous sheet of foam below. From the inner land: far-off, three mountain-tops, Stood sunset-flushed: and, dewed with showery drops, Up-clomb the shadowy pine above the woven copse. III. The charmed sunset lingered low adown In the red West: through mountain clefts the dale IV. Branches they bore of that enchanted stem, V. They sat them down upon the yellow sand, CHORIC SONG. 1. 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. 2. Why are we weighed upon with heaviness, 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 hearken what the inner spirit sings, "There is no joy but calm!" Why should we only toil, the roof and crown of things? 3. Lo! in the middle of the wood, The folded leaf is wooed from out the bud Sun-steeped at noon, and in the moon All its allotted length of days, Ripens and fades, and falls, and hath no toil, 4. Hateful is the dark-blue sky, Let us alone. And in a little Time driveth onward fast, while our lips are dumb. 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 5. 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; Eating the Lotos, day by day, To watch the crisping ripples on the beach, |