The Poetical Works of Andrew Lang Edited by Mrs. Lang |
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They Hear the Sirens for the Second Time
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 | The Poetical Works of Andrew Lang |  |
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They Hear the Sirens for the Second Time
The weary sails a moment slept,
The oars were silent for a space,
As past Hesperian shores we swept,
That were as a remembered face
Seen after lapse of hopeless years,
In Hades, when the shadows meet,
Dim through the mist of many tears,
And strange, and though a shadow, sweet.
The oars were silent for a space,
As past Hesperian shores we swept,
That were as a remembered face
Seen after lapse of hopeless years,
In Hades, when the shadows meet,
Dim through the mist of many tears,
And strange, and though a shadow, sweet.
So seemed the half-remembered shore,
That slumbered, mirrored in the blue,
With havens where we touched of yore,
And ports that over well we knew.
Then broke the calm before a breeze
That sought the secret of the west;
And listless all we swept the seas
Towards the Islands of the Blest.
That slumbered, mirrored in the blue,
With havens where we touched of yore,
And ports that over well we knew.
Then broke the calm before a breeze
That sought the secret of the west;
And listless all we swept the seas
Towards the Islands of the Blest.
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Beside a golden sanded bay
We saw the Sirens; very fair
The flowery hill whereon they lay,
The flowers set upon their hair.
Their old sweet song came down the wind,
Remembered music waxing strong,
Ah, now no need of cords to bind,
No need had we of orphic song.
We saw the Sirens; very fair
The flowery hill whereon they lay,
The flowers set upon their hair.
Their old sweet song came down the wind,
Remembered music waxing strong,
Ah, now no need of cords to bind,
No need had we of orphic song.
It once had seemed a little thing,
To lay our lives down at their feet,
That dying we might hear them sing,
And dying see their faces sweet;
But now, we glanced and, passing by,
No care had we to tarry long;
Faint hope, and rest, and memory
Were more than any Siren's song.
To lay our lives down at their feet,
That dying we might hear them sing,
And dying see their faces sweet;
But now, we glanced and, passing by,
No care had we to tarry long;
Faint hope, and rest, and memory
Were more than any Siren's song.
| The Poetical Works of Andrew Lang | |