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82 lines
3.0 KiB
HTML
82 lines
3.0 KiB
HTML
11 years ago
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<html>
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<body>
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<pre>
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"Ulysses" by Alfred Tennyson
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It little profits that an idle king,
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By this still hearth, among these barren crags,
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Match'd with an aged wife, I mete and dole
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Unequal laws unto a savage race,
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That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.
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I cannot rest from travel: I will drink
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Life to the lees; all times I have enjoy'd
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Greatly, have suffer'd greatly, both with those
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That loved me, and alone; on shore, and when
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Thro' scudding drifts the rainy Hyades
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Vext the dim sea: I am become a name;
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For always roaming with a hungry heart
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Much have I seen and known; cities of men
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And manners, climates, councils, governments,
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Myself not least, but honour'd of them all;
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And drunk delight of battle with my peers,
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Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy,
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I am a part of all that I have met;
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Yet all experience is an arch wherethro'
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Gleams that untravell'd world, whose margin fades
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For ever and for ever when I move.
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How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
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To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use!
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As tho' to breathe were life. Life piled on life
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Were all too little, and of one to me
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Little remains: but every hour is saved
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From that eternal silence, something more,
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A bringer of new things; and vile it were
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For some three suns to store and hoard myself,
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And this gray spirit yearning in desire
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To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
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Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.
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This is my son, mine own Telemachus,
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To whom I leave the scepter and the isle—
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Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfil
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This labour, by slow prudence to make mild
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A rugged people, and thro' soft degrees
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Subdue them to the useful and the good.
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Most blameless is he, centred in the sphere
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Of common duties, decent not to fail
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In offices of tenderness, and pay
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Meet adoration to my household gods,
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When I am gone. He works his work, I mine.
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There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail:
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There gloom the dark broad seas. My mariners,
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Souls that have toil'd, and wrought, and thought with me—
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That ever with a frolic welcome took
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The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed
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Free hearts, free foreheads—you and I are old;
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Old age hath yet his honour and his toil;
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Death closes all: but something ere the end,
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Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
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Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.
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The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks:
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The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep
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Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends,
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'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
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Push off, and sitting well in order smite
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The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
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To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
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Of all the western stars, until I die.
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It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:
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It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
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And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
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Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'
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We are not now that strength which in old days
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Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are;
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One equal temper of heroic hearts,
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Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
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To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
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