+ P II. Why are we weigh'd upon with heaviness, weariness? All things have rest: why should we toil alone, We only toil, who are the first of things, (And make perpetual moan, In ever climbing up the climbing wave? X In silence; ripen, fall and cease: V. How sweet it were, hearing the down- Still from one sorrow to another thrown: With half-shut eyes ever to seem Nor steep our brows in slumber's holy Nor harken what the inner spirit sings, Why should we only toil, the roof and III. Lo! in the middle of the wood, The folded leaf is woo'd from out the bud Lo! sweeten'd with the summer light, Ripens and fades, and falls, and hath no Fast-rooted in the fruitful soil. Falling asleep in a half-dream! To dream and dream, like yonder amber light, Which will not leave the myrrh-bush on To hear each other's whisper'd speech; And tender curving lines of creamy spray; To muse and brood and live again in With those old faces of our infancy Let us swear an oath, and keep it with an equal mind, In the hollow Lotos-land to live and lie reclined 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 labour in the deep mid-ocean, wind and wave and oar; Oh rest ye, brother mariners, we will not wander more. On the hills like Gods together, careless The spacious times of great Elizabeth of mankind. With sounds that echo still. Hold swollen clouds from raining, tho' Crisp foam-flakes scud along the level sand, Torn from the fringe of spray. I started once, or seem'd to start in pain, Resolved on noble things, and strove to speak, As when a great thought strikes along the brain, And flushes all the cheek. And once my arm was lifted to hew down A cavalier from off his saddle-bow, That bore a lady from a leaguer'd town; And then, I know not how, All those sharp fancies, by down-lapsing thought Stream'd onward, lost their edges, and did creep Roll'd on each other, rounded, smooth'd, and brought Into the gulfs of sleep. At last methought that I had wander'd far In an old wood: fresh-wash'd in coolest dew The maiden splendours of the morning star Shook in the stedfast blue. Enormous elm-tree-boles did stoop and lean Upon the dusky brushwood underneath Their broad curved branches, fledged with clearest green, New from its silken sheath. White surf wind-scatter'd over sails and The dim red morn had died, her journey masts, And ever climbing higher; Squadrons and squares of men in brazen plates, Scaffolds, still sheets of water, divers woes, Ranges of glimmering vaults with iron grates, And hush'd seraglios. done, And with dead lips smiled at the twilight plain, Half-fall'n across the threshold of the sun, There was no motion in the dumb dead air, As that wide forest. Growths of jasmine But she, with sick and scornful looks averse, To her full height her stately stature draws; turn'd Their humid arms festooning tree to tree, And at the root thro' lush green grasses burn'd 'My youth,' she said, 'was blasted with a curse: This woman was the cause. 'I was cut off from hope in that sad place, Which men call'd Aulis in those iron years: My father held his hand upon his face; I, blinded with my tears, 'Still strove to speak: my voice was thick with sighs As in a dream. Dimly I could descry The stern black-bearded kings with wolf ish eyes, Waiting to see me die. 'The high masts flicker'd as they lay afloat; The crowds, the temples, waver'd, and the shore; The bright death quiver'd at the victim's throat; Touch'd; and I knew no more.' Whereto the other with a downward brow: 'I would the white cold heavy-plung. ing foam, Whirl'd by the wind, had roll'd me deep below, Then when I left my home.' Her slow full words sank thro' the silence drear, As thunder-drops fall on a sleeping sea: Sudden I heard a voice that cried, 'Come here, That I may look on thee.' I turning saw, throned on a flowery rise, One sitting on a crimson scarf unroll'd; A queen, with swarthy cheeks and bold black eyes, Brow-bound with burning gold. She, flashing forth a haughty smile, began 'I govern'd men by change, and so I sway'd 'No marvel, sovereign lady : in fair field a man. 'Tis long since I have seen Once, like the moon, I made |