The Lotus Eaters

by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

"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 through wavering lights and shadows broke,

Rolling a slumberous 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-flushed: and, dewed with showery drops,

Up-clomb the shadowy pine above the woven copse.

The charmed sunset lingered low adown

In the red West: through mountain clefts the dale

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,

Dark faces pale against that rosy flame,

The mild-eyed melancholy Lotus-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 seemed, 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 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."

Lotus is a plant of several genera; as, the lotus of the lotus-eaters, probably a tree found in Northern Africa (Zizyphus lotus), the fruit of which is mildly sweet. It was fabled by the ancients to make strangers who ate of it forget their native country, or lose all desire to return to it. A lotus-eater is one who gives himself up to pleasure-seeking.  (Webster 1882)

Maud

by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

XXII.  

Come into the garden, Maud,  

For the black bat, night, has flown,  

Come into the garden, Maud,  

I am here at the gate alone;  

And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad,

And the musk of the rose is blown.  

For a breeze of morning moves,  

And the planet of Love is on high,  

Beginning to faint in the light that she loves  

On a bed of daffodil sky,

To faint in the light of the sun she loves,  

To faint in his light, and to die.  

All night have the roses heard  

The flute, violin, bassoon;  

All night has the casement jessamine stirr’d

To the dancers dancing in tune;  

Till silence fell with the waking bird,  

And a hush with the setting moon.  

I said to the lily, "There is but one  

With whom she has heart to be gay.

When will the dancers leave her alone?  

She is weary of dance and play."

Now half to the setting moon are gone,

And half to the rising day;

Low on the sand and loud on the stone

The last wheel echoes away.  

I said to the rose, "The brief night goes  

In babble and revel and wine.  

O young lord-lover, what sighs are those,  

For one that will never be thine?

But mine, but mine," I swear to the rose,  

"For ever and ever, mine."

And the soul of the rose went into my blood,  

As the music clash'd in the hall:  

And long by the garden lake I stood,

For I heard your rivulet fall  

From the lake to the meadow and on to the wood,  

Our wood, that is dearer than all;  

From the meadow your walks have left so sweet  

That whenever a March-wind sighs

He sets the jewel-print of your feet  

In violets blue as your eyes,  

To the woody hollows in which we meet  

And the valleys of Paradise.  

The slender acacia would not shake

One long milk-bloom on the tree;  

The white lake-blossom fell into the lake  

As the pimpernel doz’d on the lea;  

But the rose was awake all night for your sake,  

Knowing your promise to me;

The lilies and roses were all awake,  

They sigh’d for the dawn and thee.  

Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls,  

Come hither, the dances are done,  

In gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls,

Queen lily and rose in one;  

Shine out, little head, sunning over with curls,  

To the flowers, and be their sun.  

There has fallen a splendid tear  

From the passion-flower at the gate.

She is coming, my dove, my dear;  

She is coming, my life, my fate;  

The red rose cries, "She is near, she is near;"  

And the white rose weeps, "She is late;"  

The larkspur listens, "I hear, I hear;"

And the lily whispers, "I wait."  

She is coming, my own, my sweet;  

Were it ever so airy a tread,  

My heart would hear her and beat,  

Were it earth in an earthy bed;

My dust would hear her and beat,  

Had I lain for a century dead;  

Would start and tremble under her feet,  

And blossom in purple and red.