Please let me know in comments what you think of the it.
Ulysses
by Lord Alfred Tennyson
(1809-1892)
It little profits that an idle king,
By this still hearth, among these barren crags,
Match'd with an aged wife, I mete and dole
Unequal laws unto a savage race,
That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.
I cannot rest from travel: I will drink
Life to the lees: All times I have enjoy'd
Greatly, have suffer'd greatly, both with those
That loved me, and alone, on shore, and when
Thro' scudding drifts the rainy Hyades
Vext the dim sea: I am become a name;
For always roaming with a hungry heart
Much have I seen and known; cities of men
And manners, climates, councils, governments,
Myself not least, but honour'd of them all;
And drunk delight of battle with my peers,
Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.
I am a part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethro'
Gleams that untravell'd world whose margin fades
For ever and forever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use!
As tho' to breathe were life! Life piled on life
Were all too little, and of one to me
Little remains: but every hour is saved
From that eternal silence, something more,
A bringer of new things; and vile it were
For some three suns to store and hoard myself,
And this gray spirit yearning in desire
To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.
This is my son, mine own Telemachus,
To whom I leave the sceptre and the isle,--
Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfil
This labour, by slow prudence to make mild
A rugged people, and thro' soft degrees
Subdue them to the useful and the good.
Most blameless is he, centred in the sphere
Of common duties, decent not to fail
In offices of tenderness, and pay
Meet adoration to my household gods,
When I am gone. He works his work, I mine.
There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail:
There gloom the dark, broad seas. My mariners,
Souls that have toil'd, and wrought, and thought with me--
That ever with a frolic welcome took
The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed
Free hearts, free foreheads--you and I are old;
Old age hath yet his honour and his toil;
Death closes all: but something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks:
The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep
Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends,
'T is not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
Ulysses resists the Sirens
What a great poem! Such a lovely picture of a captain championing his fellows for one last adventure. A right view of the "end game", for sure. And the close:
ReplyDeleteWe are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
I am reminded of English 101 and the youthful perspective I brought to this poem then, and how it impacts me now... so many waves later under the bow.
ReplyDelete"I am part of all that I have met;" as I have learned that everyone has impacted my life, usually for the better - as you certainly have, Lonnie. And it also reminded me that time shortens for doing "Some work of noble note," as we all perhaps to wish to be remembered for something - or as Peggy Lee once sand, "Is that all there is?" Yikes!
Thank you for stirring up long-dormant memories and desires, perhaps still strong enough in will to "git 'er done..."
Thanks Lonnie, The insights gleaned make our predicament seem much less personal. "I will drink life to the lees" reminds me of our California coast nature poet, Robinson Jeffers. In his, "The Deer Lay Down Their Bones" clearly an "End Game" poem he writes, "who drinks the wine should take the dregs; even in the bitter lees and sediment new discovery may lie." Jeffers, much loved internationally, has been criticized by the east coast civilized critics who have been never experienced the wilds (albeit now much diminished) of California.
ReplyDeleteThe entire poem can be seen athttp://www.poetryfoundation.org/archive/poem.html?id=182228
Good to hear from you and thanks for making me aware of Tennyson's Ulysses, John C.