drinking life to the lees: exploring tennyson’s ulysses

Introduction: a poem and a cynical age

Tennyson’s “Ulysses” often evokes a sense of Victorian pomposity, a perception that stems from our modern, minimalist cynicism. We’ve become accustomed to reduced expectations and a culture of superficiality. To witness a poet, like Tennyson, tackling grand themes with such passionate skill feels almost jarring today. However, this very ambition is what makes the poem so compelling, particularly the iconic line, “I will drink life to the lees.” It’s a bold declaration of a desire to fully experience existence, embracing every aspect, however bitter.

The meaning of “i will drink life to the lees”

The phrase “I will drink life to the lees” signifies a complete and unrestrained embrace of life. The 'lees' are the sediment at the bottom of a wine bottle—the dregs, the remnants. To drink life to the lees means to consume it entirely, accepting both the joys and the sorrows, the triumphs and the failures. It speaks to a yearning for profound experience, a rejection of a half-lived existence, and a willingness to confront the challenging aspects of life with unwavering determination.

Ulysses' return and subsequent boredom

The poem is a dramatic monologue, a popular form among Victorian poets, spoken by Odysseus (Ulysses). He’s returned home after a long and perilous journey following the Trojan War. He's back to his faithful wife, **Penelope**, who has skillfully defended their home against a throng of suitors vying for her hand and the control of his kingdom. Despite this miraculous return and the comfort of his familiar surroundings, Ulysses finds himself utterly bored, highlighting the comparative insignificance of domestic tranquility compared to the thrill of exploration and adventure.

The allure of risk and the fever of experience

Tennyson suggests that the pursuit of great goals and the willingness to take risks inject a vital energy into life. The poem argues that true aliveness emerges when life is pushed to its limits—a 'fever point' of intense experience. Ulysses' desire isn’t for ease or stability, but for the relentless pursuit of knowledge and the overcoming of challenges. It's a rejection of complacency and an embrace of the unknown, even if it leads to peril.

Themes of travel, knowledge, and legacy

The poem explores several interconnected themes. **Travel** isn't merely a physical journey, but a metaphor for the quest for knowledge and understanding. Ulysses laments the limitations of his current existence, yearning to push beyond the boundaries of human thought. He reflects on his extensive experiences – the cities, cultures, and battles he's witnessed – recognizing that even with all he’s seen, an “untravelled world” still beckons. He also contemplates his legacy, leaving the kingdom to his son, **Telemachus**, while he seeks further adventure.

The final call to adventure

Despite his age and the potential dangers that lie ahead, Ulysses rallies his loyal crew. He acknowledges their shared history and their unwavering commitment. The poem concludes with a powerful call to action: to seek a “new world,” to push beyond the known, and to strive for a “work of noble note” before the inevitable arrival of death. It’s a testament to the enduring human spirit, a defiant declaration that even in the face of mortality, the desire to explore and achieve remains undiminished. The poem's final lines encapsulate this spirit: “To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.”

The poem itself

Here is the full text of Tennyson’s “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, 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.