<h3><SPAN name="The_Lotos-Eaters" id="The_Lotos-Eaters"></SPAN>The Lotos-Eaters.</h3>
<div class="pre_poem"><p>The main idea in "The Lotos-Eaters" is, are we justified in running
away from unpleasant duties? Or, is insensibility justifiable?</p>
<p>Laddie, do you recollect learning this poem after we had read the story
of "Odysseus"? "The struggle of the soul urged to action, but held back
by the spirit of self-indulgence." These were the points we discussed.
Alfred Tennyson (1809-92).</p>
</div>
<table class="poem" summary="poem"><tr><td><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Courage!" he said, and pointed toward the land,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">"This mounting wave will roll us shoreward soon."<br/></span>
<span class="i0">In the afternoon they came unto a land<br/></span>
<span class="i0">In which it seemed always afternoon.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">All round the coast the languid air did swoon,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Breathing like one that hath a weary dream.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Full-faced above the valley stood the moon;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And like a downward smoke, the slender stream<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Along the cliff to fall and pause and fall did seem.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">A land of streams! some, like a downward smoke,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Slow-dropping veils of thinnest lawn, did go;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And some thro' wavering lights and shadows broke,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Rolling a slumbrous sheet of foam below.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">They saw the gleaming river seaward flow<br/></span>
<span class="i0">From the inner land: far off, three mountain-tops,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Three silent pinnacles of agèd snow,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Stood sunset-flush'd: and, dew'd with showery drops,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Up-clomb the shadowy pine above the woven copse.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The charmèd sunset linger'd low adown<br/></span>
<span class="i0">In the red West: thro' mountain clefts the dale<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Was seen far inland, and the yellow down<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Border'd with palm, and many a winding vale<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And meadow, set with slender galingale;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A land where all things always seem'd the same!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And round about the keel with faces pale,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Dark faces pale against that rosy flame,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The mild-eyed melancholy Lotos-eaters came.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Branches they bore of that enchanted stem,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Laden with flower and fruit, whereof they gave<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To each, but whoso did receive of them,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And taste, to him the gushing of the wave<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Far, far away did seem to mourn and rave<br/></span>
<span class="i0">On alien shores; and if his fellow spake,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">His voice was thin, as voices from the grave;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And deep-asleep he seem'd, yet all awake,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And music in his ears his beating heart did make.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">They sat them down upon the yellow sand,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Between the sun and moon upon the shore;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And sweet it was to dream of Fatherland,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of child, and wife, and slave; but evermore<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Most weary seem'd the sea, weary the oar,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Weary the wandering fields of barren foam.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Then some one said, "We will return no more;"<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And all at once they sang, "Our island home<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Is far beyond the wave; we will no longer roam."<br/></span></div>
</td></tr></table>
<p class="quotsig"><span class="smcap">Alfred Tennyson.</span></p>
<h3><SPAN name="Moly" id="Moly"></SPAN>Moly.</h3>
<div class="pre_poem"><p>"Moly" (mo'ly), by Edith M. Thomas (1850-), in the best possible
presentation of the value of integrity. This poem ranks with "Sir
Galahad," if not above it. It is a stroke of genius, and every American
ought to be proud of it. Every time my boys read "Odysseus" or the
story of Ulysses with me we read or learn "Moly." The plant moly grows
in the United States as well as in Europe.</p>
</div>
<table class="poem" summary="poem"><tr><td><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Traveller, pluck a stem of moly,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">If thou touch at Circe's isle,—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Hermes' moly, growing solely<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To undo enchanter's wile!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">When she proffers thee her chalice,—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Wine and spices mixed with malice,—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">When she smites thee with her staff<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To transform thee, do thou laugh!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Safe thou art if thou but bear<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The least leaf of moly rare.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Close it grows beside her portal,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Springing from a stock immortal,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Yes! and often has the Witch<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Sought to tear it from its niche;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">But to thwart her cruel will<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The wise God renews it still.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Though it grows in soil perverse,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Heaven hath been its jealous nurse,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And a flower of snowy mark<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Springs from root and sheathing dark;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Kingly safeguard, only herb<br/></span>
<span class="i0">That can brutish passion curb!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Some do think its name should be<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Shield-Heart, White Integrity.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Traveller, pluck a stem of moly,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">If thou touch at Circe's isle,—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Hermes' moly, growing solely<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To undo enchanter's wile!<br/></span></div>
</td></tr></table>
<p class="quotsig"><span class="smcap">Edith M. Thomas.</span></p>
<div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />