ULYSSES AND THE SIREN (poem text) - BY SAMUEL DANIEL

 

     ULYSSES AND THE                

                SIREN

-       SAMUEL DANIEL

 

SIREN.

Come worthly greek! Ulysses, come;

  Possess these shores with me!

The winds and seas are troublesome

  And here we may be free.

Here may we sit and view their toil

  That travail in the deep,

And joy the day in mirth the while

  And spend the night in sleep.

 

 ULYSSES.

Fair nymph, if fame, or honour were

  To be attained with ease

Then would I come, and rest me there,

  And leave such toils as these.

But here it dwells, and here must I

  With danger seek it forth,

To spend the time luxuriously

  Becomes not men of worth.

 

SIREN.

Ulysses, O ! be not deceived

  With that unreal name:

This honour is a thing conceived,

  And rests on other’s fame.

Begotten only to molest

  Our peace, and to beguile

The best thing of our life, our rest,

  And give us up to toil.

 

ULYSSES.

Delicious nymph, suppose there were

  Nor honour, nor report,

Yet manliness would scorn to wear

  The time in idle sport.

And toil doth give a better touch,

  To make us feel our joy;

And ease finds tediousness as much

  As labour yields annoys.

 

SIREN.

Then pleasure likewise seems the shore,

  Whereto tends all your toil,

Which you forgo to make it more,

  And perish oft the while.

Who may disport them diversely

  Find never tedious day,

And ease may have variety,

  As well as action may.

 

ULYSSES.

But natures of the noblest frame

  These toils and dangers please,

And they take comfort in the same,

  As much as you in ease;

And with the thought of actions past

  Are recreated still;

When pleasure leaves a touch at last,

  To shew that it was ill.

 

SIREN.

That doth opinion only cause,

  That’s out of custom bred,

Which makes us many other laws,

  That ever nature did.

No widows wail for our delights,

  Our sports are without blood;

The world we see by warlike wights

  Receives more hurt than good.

 

ULYSSES.

But yet the state of things require

  These motions of unrest,

And these great spirits of high desire

  Seem born to turn them best;

To purge the mischiefs that increase,

  And all good order mar,

For oft we see a wicked peace

  To be well changed for war.

 

SIREN.

Well, well, Ulysses, then I see,

  I shall not have thee here;

And therefore I will come to thee,

  And take my fortunes there.

I must be won that cannot win,

  Yet lost were I not won,

For beauty hath created been,

  T’ undo, or be undone.