Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1918.djvu/881

 LORD TENNYSON

Thro' every hollow cave and alley lone

Round and round the spicy downs the yellow Lotos-dust is

blown.

We have had enough of action, and of motion we, RolPd to starboard, rolPd to larboard, when the surge was

seething free, Where the wallowing monster spouted his foam-fountains

in the sea.

Let us swear an oath, and keep it with an equal mind, In the hollow Lotos-land to live and lie reclined On the hills like Gods together, careless of mankind. For they lie beside their nectar, and the bolts are hurPd 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, Stoiing 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, O rest ye, brother manners, we will not wander more.

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