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The Lotos
. A land of streams! The slow, crawling rhythm of the iambic lines in the Choric Song produces the lethargic, drowsy effect. The choric song follows a far looser structure: both the line-length and the rhyme scheme vary widely among the eight stanzas. E-Text: The Lotos - Eaters E-Text Tennyson's Poems The Lotos - Eaters First published in 1833, but when republished in 1842 the alterations in the way of excision, alteration, and addition were very extensive. And round about the keel with faces pale, Dark faces pale against that rosy flame, The mild-eyed melancholy Lotos-eaters came. The sailors decided not to return home and rest there in that dream atmosphere. .
Then I told the rest to go on board at once, lest any of them should taste of the lotus and leave off wanting to get home, so they took their places and smote the grey sea with their oars. The rays of the setting sun remain longest on the hill top and when they fall on the green myrrh-bush on the top of the hill, it takes on an amber tint. All its allotted length of days, The flower ripens in its place, Ripens and fades, and falls, and hath no toil, Fast-rooted in the fruitful soil. What pleasure can we have To war with evil? And round about the keel with faces pale, Dark faces pale against that rosy flame, The mild-eyed melancholy Lotos-eaters came. Therefore, the sailors do not want to leave the place.
The Lotos blooms below the flowery peak: The Lotos blows by every winding creek: All day the wind breathes low with mellower tone: Thro' every hollow cave and alley lone Round and round the spicy downs the yellow Lotos-dust is blown. They would receive a cold welcome and perhaps they would not be recognised. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1975. Death is the end of life; ah, why Should life all labour be? All things are taken from us, and become Portions and parcels of the dreadful Past. Death is the end of life; ah! Retrieved December 16, 2021. They argue that everything else in nature is able to rest and stay still, but man is tossed from one sorrow to another. A land of streams! Hateful is the darkblue sky, Vaulted o'er the darkblue sea.
Is there confusion in the little isle? It is almost Keatsian in its sumptuous word-painting. The men in the Lotos-land rest their tired limbs and find sleep more pleasant than work or toil at sea or the wind and waves. Give us long rest or death, dark death, or dreamful ease! The rhyme scheme of the Spenserian stanza is a closely interlinked ABABBCBCC, with the first eight lines in iambic pentameter and the final line an Alexandrine or line of six iambic feet. But in the details of his poem Tennyson has laid many other poets under contribution, notably Moschus, 'Idyll', v. It is natural for men to ripen and fall like leaves and apples, and they only want to rest as they near their end. They have rest on the Mount Olympus, drinking nectar and watching indifferently the miserable plight of mankind.
Three thunder-cloven thrones of oldest snow. The expressions of weary disgust at human activity and movement put into the mouths of work-worn mariners add much to the atmosphere of dreamy case. But they smile, they find a music centred in a doleful song Steaming up, a lamentation and an ancient tale of wrong, Like a tale of little meaning tho' the words are strong; Chanted from an ill-used race of men that cleave the soil, Sow the seed, and reap the harvest with enduring toil, Storing yearly little dues of wheat, and wine and oil; Till they perish and they suffer -- some,'tis whisper'd -- down in hell Suffer endless anguish, others in Elysian valleys dwell, Resting weary limbs at last on beds of asphodel. Full-faced above the valley stood the moon; And like a downward smoke, the slender stream Along the cliff to fall and pause and fall did seem. They are tired of the endless waves of the ocean and the hard labor they have performed; they believe that they are due a period of rest and dreaming.
Critical Analysis The Lotos Eaters by Alfred Tennyson
The mood of the poem is one of languid indolence and Tennyson conveys this mood through the creation of proper atmosphere. The frame is like "The Hesperides" as it connects two different types of reality, one of separation and one of being connected to the world. Then some one said, "We will return no more"; And all at once they sang, "Our island home Is far beyond the wave; we will no longer roam". They carry branches heavy with flower and stem and give them to the men. Is there any peace In ever climbing up the climbing wave? A speaker asks why they are weighed upon with a feeling of heaviness and why they must be consumed with distress when it is natural for all things to have rest. It is alleged by some that the stanza refers to the sense of loss felt by Tennyson upon the death of Hallam in 1833. Only to hear and see the far-off sparkling brine, Only to hear were sweet, stretch'd out beneath the pine.
Poppies hang down from the hill projections as if in drowsy laziness. To dream and dream, like yonder amber light, Which will not leave the myrrhbush on the height; To hear each other's whispered speech; Eating the Lotos, day by day, To watch the crisping ripples on the beach, And tender curving lines of creamy spray: To lend our hearts and spirits wholly To the influence of mildminded melancholy; To muse and brood, and live again in memory, With those old faces of our infancy Heaped over with a mound of grass, Two handfuls of white dust, shut in an urn of brass: Beneath a heaven dark and holy, To watch the long bright river drawing slowly His waters from the purple hill— To hear the dewy echoes calling From cave to cave thro' the thicktwinèd vine— To hear the emeraldcoloured water falling Thro' many a wov'n acanthus-wreath divine! And from the craggy ledge the poppy hangs in sleep. They are the Lotos-Eaters. The hearths are cold, and their sons are now the masters. Time driveth onward fast, And in a little while our lips are dumb.
What pleasure can we have To war with evil? The rhyme scheme and the sensuous, descriptive language create an environment for the reader that expresses a pleasure of reading poetry, that of escaping into another world where one can reflect on the real world and, perhaps, prefer the alternative one. There is sweet music here that softer falls, Than petals from blown roses on the grass, Or nightdews on still waters between walls Of shadowy granite, in a gleaming pass. This blog comprises valuable information of literature and criticism. And round about the keel with faces pale, Dark faces pale against that rosy flame, The mild-eyed melancholy Lotos-eaters came. A land of streams! For example, in the second stanza of the song the mariners express the irony of the fact that man, who is the pinnacle and apex of creation, is the only creature made to toil and labor all the days of his life.
