And once again it came, and close beside the window bars, Then seem'd to go right up to Heaven and die among the stars. XI. So now I think my time is near. I trust it is. I know 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 I 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 For ever and for ever with those just souls and trueAnd what is life, that we should moan? why make we such ado? XV. For ever and for ever, all in a blessed home And there to wait a little while till you and Effie comeTo 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.” In the afternoon they came unto a land, In which it seemed always afternoon. All round the coast the languid air did swoon, II. A land of streams! some, like a downward smoke, From the inner land: far off, three mountain-tops, Stood sunset-flush'd: and, dew'd with showery drops, III. The charmed sunset linger'd low adown In the red West: thro' mountain clefts the dale A land where all things always seem'd the same! IV. Branches they bore of that enchanted stem, V. They sat them down upon the yellow sand, Is far beyond the wave; we will no longer roam.' CHORIC SONG. 1. There is sweet music here that softer falls 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. |