It little profits that an idle king
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 enjoyed
Greatly, have suffered greatly, both with those
That loved me, and alone; on shore, and when
Through scudding drifts the rainy Hyades
Vexed 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 honoured 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 wherethrough
Gleams that untravelled world, whose margin fades
For ever and for ever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnished, not to shine in use!
As though 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 grey 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 through 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,
'Tis 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 though
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.
P. Whear sets last 15 lines of the text
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Submitted by Emily Ezust [Administrator]
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive)
- by Leonard Stanley Glarum (b. 1908), "To sail beyond the sunset", published 1966. [four-part mixed chorus and optional piano] [
text not verified ]
- by Joel Weiss , "Ulysses", 2010 [voice and piano], note: this setting begins "There lies the port" [
text not verified ]
- by Paul William Whear (b. 1925), "A never world", published 1974, last 15 lines of the text. [SATB chorus, brass sextet, and timpani] [
text verified 1 time]
Settings in other languages:
- Also set in English, adapted by by Roger Bailey (b. 1947) , title unknown [an adaptation] GER by Roger Bailey.
Other available translations, adaptations, and transliterations (if applicable):
- GER German (Deutsch) [singable] (Walter A. Aue) , title 1: "Ulysses", copyright © 2010, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Text added to the website: 2009-03-21.
Last modified: 2014-06-16 10:03:10
Line count: 70
Word count: 566
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- Emily Ezust
Language: German (Deutsch) after the English
Wem nützt schon eines Königs Müßiggang?
Beim stillen Herd, im dürren Klippgestein,
an alternd' Weib gebunden, mess' und geb'
ungleich' Gesetz ich diesem wilden Volk,
das nimmt und schläft und frißt und mich nicht kennt.
Zur Ferne zieht es mich; [ ... ]
[...] mein Ziel wird sein
zu segeln ferner als das Abendrot
und Bad der Westgestirne, bis ich sterb'.
Kann sein, das Meer wird uns hinunterzieh'n,
kann sein, daß wir berühr'n der Inseln Glück
und seh'n den Held Achilles, uns vertraut.
Viel schwand dahin, doch viel verblieb; obwohl
wir nicht die Kraft besitzen, die einmal
den Himmel und die Erd' bewegt; wir sind
das was wir sind; von gleichem Sinn und Mut,
vom Zeitgeschick geschwächt, doch stark im Will'n
zu streben, suchen, sehn - und nie zu ruhn.
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- Singable translation from English to German (Deutsch) copyright © 2010 by Walter A. Aue, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., you must ask the copyright-holder(s) directly for permission. If you receive no response, you must consider it a refusal.
Walter A. Aue. Contact:
<waue (AT) dal (DOT) ca>
If you wish to commission a new translation, please contact:
(licenses at lieder dot net)
Text added to the website: 2010-03-26.
Last modified: 2014-06-16 10:03:37
Line count: 18
Word count: 130