Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809-1892)
“Ulysses” (1842)
Background
Composed by Tennyson in 1833 after the death of Arthur Henry Hallum, “Ulysses” was published in his second volume, Poems (1842). In “Ulysses,” we see the Tennyson’s conscious use of the past to reflect on the present—be it a social present, a political present, or the present lived experiences of the lyrical speaker. Additionally, this poem addresses the links between chivalry, the chivalric code, heroism, and the warrior, fallen or not.
Divide the poem into these sections as you read:
- lines 1-5: Dissatisfaction, restlessness
- notice the language of decay/emptiness: barren crags, aged wife
- notice the language of frustration: mete & dole, unequal, savage, know not me
- this section seems to set Ulysses up as a kind of anti-hero: a man having a mid-life crisis, a man who wants to escape his aged wife and his home
- 6-32: Desires: In this section, Ulysses, details his frustrations; what is it that he wants?
- 33-43: Successor: Ulysses leaves Telemachus “the scepter and the isle” (34).
- But how are we to read the father’s charge to the son: “discerning to fulfill / This labor, by slow prudence to make mild / A rugged people, and through soft degrees / Subdue them to the useful and the good” (36-38).
- Is Ulysses asking his son to be a civilizing force? Or is he setting him up to be an oppressive colonizer?
- 44-70: Departure
- Is Ulysses preparing to leave? Or preparing to die?
Reading Questions
- How does “Ulysses” deal with conflicts between domesticity and fame?
- To whom is Ulysses speaking? Is this poem a dramatic monologue? Or not? Why?
- Is this Ulysses a hero? A model? Or a lousy ruler?
- Can we read Telemachus as a colonizer? That is, can we read Ulysses as the conqueror and Telemachus as colonizer left in charge while hero goes on to conquer new lands?
- “Ulysses” is in part a poem about dead comrades; how might this connect “Ulysses” with Tennyson’s In Memoriam? In what ways?
A Reading of “Ulysses”
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[1], 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[2] 10
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 20
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 30
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 40
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; 50
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 60
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. 70
