The Lotos Eaters
By Alfred Tennyson
“Courage!” he said, and pointed toward the land,
“This mounting wave will roll us shoreward soon.”
In the afternoon they came unto a land
In which it seemed always afternoon.
All round the coast the languid air did swoon,
Breathing like one that hath a weary dream.
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.A land of streams! some, like a downward smoke,
Slow‑dropping veils of thinnest lawn, did go;
And some thro’ wavering lights and shadows broke,
Rolling a slumbrous sheet of foam below.
They saw the gleaming river seaward flow
From the inner land: far off, three mountain‑tops,
Three silent pinnacles of aged snow,
Stood sunset‑flushed: and, dew’d with showery drops,
Up‑clomb the shadowy pine above the woven copse.The charmed sunset linger’d low adown
In the red West: thro’ mountain clefts the dale
Was seen far inland, and the yellow down
Border’d with palm, and many a winding vale
And meadow, set with slender galingale;
A land where all things always seem’d the same!
And round about the keel with faces pale,
Dark faces pale against that rosy flame,
The mild‑eyed melancholy Lotos‑eaters came.Branches they bore of that enchanted stem,
Laden with flower and fruit, whereof they gave
To each, but whoso did receive of them,
And taste, to him the gushing of the wave
Far far away did seem to mourn and rave
On alien shores; and if his fellow spake,
His voice was thin, as voices from the grave;
And deep‑asleep he seemed, yet all awake,
And music in his ears his beating heart did make.They sat them down upon the yellow sand,
Between the sun and moon upon the shore;
Sweet it was to dream of Fatherland,
Of child, and wife, and slave; but evermore
Most weary seemed the sea, weary the oar,
Weary the wandering fields of barren foam.
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.”CHORIC SONG
I
There is sweet music here that softer falls
Than petals from blown roses on the grass,
Or night‑dews on still waters between walls
Of shadowy granite, in a gleaming pass;
Music that gentlier on the spirit lies,
Than tired eyelids upon tired eyes;
Music that brings sweet sleep down from the blissful skies.
Here are cool mosses deep,
And thro’ the moss the ivies creep,
And in the stream the long‑leaved flowers weep,
And from the craggy ledge the poppy hangs in sleep.II
Why are we weighed upon with heaviness,
And utterly consumed with sharp distress,
While all things else have rest from weariness?
All things have rest: why should we toil alone,
We only toil, who are the first of things,
And make perpetual moan,
Still from one sorrow to another thrown:
Nor ever fold our wings,
And cease from wanderings,
Nor steep our brows in slumber’s holy balm;
Nor harken what the inner spirit sings,
“There is no joy but calm!”
Why should we only toil, the roof and crown of things?III
Lo! in the middle of the wood,
The folded leaf is woo’d from out the bud
With winds upon the branch, and there
Grows green and broad, and takes no care,
Sun‑steep’d at noon, and in the moon
Nightly dew‑fed; and turning yellow
Falls, and floats adown the air.
Lo! sweeten’d with the summer light,
The full‑juiced apple, waxing over‑mellow,
Drops in a silent autumn night.
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.IV
Hateful is the dark‑blue sky,
Vaulted o’er the dark‑blue sea.
Death is the end of life; ah, why
Should life all labour be?
Let us alone. Time driveth onward fast,
And in a little while our lips are dumb.
Let us alone. What is it that will last?
All things are taken from us, and become
Portions and parcels of the dreadful past.
Let us alone. What pleasure can we have
To war with evil? Is there any peace
In ever climbing up the climbing wave?
All things have rest, and ripen toward the grave
In silence; ripen, fall and cease:
Give us long rest or death, dark death, or dreamful ease.V
How sweet it were, hearing the downward stream,
With half‑shut eyes ever to seem
Falling asleep in a half‑dream!
To dream and dream, like yonder amber light,
Which will not leave the myrrh‑bush on the height;
To hear each other’s whisper’d 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 mild‑minded melancholy;
To muse and brood and live again in memory,
With those old faces of our infancy
Heap’d over with a mound of grass,
Two handfuls of white dust, shut in an urn of brass!VI
Dear is the memory of our wedded lives,
And dear the last embraces of our wives
And their warm tears: but all hath suffered change:
For surely now our household hearths are cold,
Our sons inherit us: our looks are strange:
And we should come like ghosts to trouble joy.
Or else the island princes over‑bold
Have eat our substance, and the minstrel sings
Before them of the ten years’ war in Troy,
And our great deeds, as half‑forgotten things.
Is there confusion in the little isle?
Let what is broken so remain.
The Gods are hard to reconcile:
‘Tis hard to settle order once again.
There is confusion worse than death,
Trouble on trouble, pain on pain,
Long labour unto aged breath,
Sore task to hearts worn out by many wars
And eyes grown dim with gazing on the pilot‑stars.VII
But, propt on beds of amaranth and moly,
How sweet (while warm airs lull us, blowing lowly)
With half‑dropt eyelid still,
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 thick‑twined vine—
To watch the emerald‑coloured water falling
Thro’ many a wov’n acanthus‑wreath divine!
Only to hear and see the far‑off sparkling brine,
Only to hear were sweet, stretch’d out beneath the pine.VIII
The Lotos blooms below the barren 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.
We have had enough of action, and of motion we,
Roll’d to starboard, roll’d to larboard when the surge was seething free,
Where the wallowing monster spouted his foam‑fountains in the sea.
Let us swear an oath, and keep it with an equal mind,
In the hollow Lotos‑land to live and lie reclined
On the hills like Gods together, careless of mankind.
For they lie beside their nectar, and the bolts are hurl’d
Far below them in the valleys, and the clouds are lightly curl’d
Round their golden houses, girdled with the gleaming world:
Where they smile over wasted lands, blight and famine, plague and earthquake,
Roaring deeps and fiery sands, clanging fights, and flaming towns.
But they smile, they find a music centred in a doleful song
Steaming up, a lamentation…Surely, surely, slumber is more sweet than toil, the shore
Than labour in the deep mid‑ocean, wind and wave and oar;
O, rest ye, brother mariners, we will not wander more.
What Is “The Lotos Eaters” About?
Tennyson’s poem is a lyrical retelling of the Greek myth in which Odysseus’ crew lands on an island where the lotus plant makes them forget their homes and abandon all desire to return. The story is told through vivid, almost dream‑like imagery that shows how the sailors are seduced by the flower’s intoxicating scent.
Central Message
The poem warns against giving in to temptation when it threatens duty and purpose. It contrasts the bright, restless life of a sailor with the quiet, seductive lull of the lotus land. The central idea is that true freedom comes from staying committed to one’s responsibilities rather than surrendering to fleeting pleasures.
Key Literary Devices
- imagery: Tennyson paints scenes of “languid air” and a “slumbrous sheet of foam,” creating a sensory world that feels both beautiful and dangerous. The repeated images of the moon, sea, and lotus plant help readers feel the pull of the island.
- allusion: The poem references Greek mythology—Odysseus, the lotus, and the sirens—linking Tennyson’s modern audience to ancient cautionary tales about hubris and desire.
- personification: Elements such as “the wave will roll us shoreward” give natural forces human agency, heightening the sense that the sea itself is urging the sailors toward oblivion.
- repetition: Phrases like “We will return no more” and the repeated use of “slumber” emphasize the growing resignation of the crew.
- contrast: The poem juxtaposes the vibrant life of the sea with the stillness of the lotus land, underscoring the tension between action and apathy.
- symbolism: The lotus flower symbolizes temptation; its scent erases memory and purpose. The sea represents freedom and duty, while the island is a trap of complacency.
How Each Part Contributes to the Message
- Opening Stanzas: The captain’s warning (“Courage!”) sets up the journey. The description of the land as “always afternoon” foreshadows a timeless, unchanging state that will lure the sailors.
- The Lotos Description: By describing the lotus as “laden with flower and fruit,” Tennyson shows how it offers an irresistible gift—yet the gift is a trap. The sailors’ voices becoming “thin” signals their loss of self.
- The Chorus Songs: Each song shifts focus from the beauty of nature to the futility of endless toil, mirroring the crew’s internal conflict. The repeated refrain about rest versus labor reinforces the central theme that true rest comes only through duty, not indulgence.
- The Final Stanza: The closing lines—“Surely, surely, slumber is more sweet than toil”—summarize the moral: the temptation of easy sleep is stronger than the hard work required to keep one’s life meaningful. It also hints that the sailors have chosen to stay, illustrating the poem’s warning.
Why This Poem Matters for Young Readers
The story teaches that giving in to short‑term pleasures can lead to long‑term loss of purpose. It encourages readers to think about their own choices: when is it okay to rest, and when must we keep moving forward? The language is rich but accessible, making it a great tool for discussion in the classroom.
Quote for Reflection
Surely, surely, slumber is more sweet than toil, the shore
Than labour in the deep mid‑ocean, wind and wave and oar;
O, rest ye, brother mariners, we will not wander more.
This line reminds us that while rest feels comforting, it can also become a trap if it stops us from pursuing our goals. It is a gentle nudge to balance relaxation with responsibility.