Ulysses (Tennyson)

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Analysis[edit]

In his seminal poem Ulysses, Alfred Lord Tennyson describes an aged hero who, beset in his youth by countless troubles, finds he cannot now live in comfort and peace, but instead must seek adventure. Curiously, the adventure that Tennyson's Ulysses seeks may not be the blood of war; rather, the text seems to suggest that Tennyson's Ulysses seeks to pass beyond the farthest reaches of human though ("My mariners, Souls that have toil'd, and wrought, and thought with me"), reflecting the Victorian concern with pushing the limits of human knowledge.

There has been a great deal of analysis and inspection of the poem, speculating on the nature under which it is being given. Some have suggested that Ulysses is dying near the end of the poem, for example, whereas others hold to the face values, in which the hero is giving a speech to his son before setting off on a final journey with his sailors. Some support for the former theory might be found in the fact that during the events of the Odyssey, all of Ulysses' men perished at one time or another leading up to the moment at which he first begins narrating the poem (which begins in media res), when he is shipwrecked naked and alone.

Text[edit]

By Alfred Lord Tennyson. Written 1833; published 1842. Text reproduced as part of the public domain, but credit must be given to Tennyson, poet laureate of England.

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 honor'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 for ever 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 fulfill

This labor, 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 honor 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.