Both Lord Alfred Tennyson's dramatic monologue, “Ulysses,” and Ezra Pound's 1912 translation of the Old English dramatic monologue “The Seafarer” ” describe a man's reflections on journeys to the sea. It can be assumed that the their similarity in setting and style would therefore make thematic parallels Indeed, as this article will attempt to demonstrate by analyzing the sound elements and syntactic components, the thematic interests of the poems are similar, but in intentional, incommensurable terms optimistic – even idealistic – way to the human capacity to embrace change and adventure, while the latter sadly reflects on the transience and loss inherent in human existence. Say no to plagiarism Get a tailor-made essay on “Why Violent Video Games Should Not Be Banned”? Get an Original Essay Ulysses' active voice, rich in direct syntax, can sustain long sentences while maintaining a powerful, regal tone fit for a king. Like "The Sailor," the speaker reflects on his surroundings rather than himself: "By this quiet hearth, among these barren cliffs, / Matched with an aged wife," (2-3), but reveals himself through this process: “I am a part of all that I have encountered,” (18). This is also evident in the syntactic arrangement. Like “The Sailor,” some of the basic transitive sentences of “Ulysses” reverse the normal order of subject/verb/object words. “I have seen and known much” (13) means that I have seen and known much; form of dramatic monologue is more direct than in “The Sailor.” In addition to including far fewer inverted sentences, the first poem produces the impression of one or more spectators actively listening to the speech. The direct object pronoun of line 33, “This he is my son", and other prepositions that begin new sections of his speech, indicate a specific contextual location. These indications, as well as the present tense speech and the natural flow of his blank verse, situate Ulysses in a specific present moment. These formal conventions would meet the standards of dramatic monologue more fully than “The Sailor,” were it not for the former speaker's explicit intention to engage with his memories. Consider the navigator's first lines: “May I know for myself the truth of the song, / the jargon of the journey” (1-2). They offer layers of dense repetition into which to enter reflective monologue. Between the subject “I” and the deferred predicative complement “truth of the song” there is a densely reflexive subordinate clause. In it there is another possessive chord - "mine" - which the reader can open, only to find another inside, like Russian dolls. “Reckon”, being a verb, is the most active and direct part of the sentence, denoting contemplation and reflection. Finally, the “travel jargon” more explicitly confirms what the sentence structure had implied – and implies that the jargon in which he speaks is itself a journey. This repetitive syntax communicates both the speaker's intention to reflect, but also conveys the effect of reflection in the placement of the line. The conspicuously bent shape of the lines lends itself to showing internal recesses with progressively more symbolic meaning. Like “Ulyesses,” the syntax within sentences is often rearranged in this latter poem. The predicate appears constantly, almost formally, before the subjectwithin sentences. Even on a larger scale, entire sentences are presented as noun phrases, passively linked only by punctuation: “Coldly afflicted, / my feet were numb with frost. / They cool his chains…” (8-10). In longer sentences, successions of these images cause the reader to form his own connotative connections between them. Often only the pronoun “I” or “my” connects the images, leaving it up to the reader to compile a portrait of the speaker himself. The effect is not only a speaker illustrated and represented by his own listed images, but also sound metaphors formed by the repetition of the motifs of these images. In line 21, “the loudness of the sea-birds was to me laughter,” the sound image of the raucous ocean birds appears before the metaphor is assigned. Two lines later, with “the meow is singing all my mead,” (23) a repetition of the denotation in this same form advances the personification to a deeper level of connotation. For the speaker, the birds are not only good company, but their company is his livelihood. A third time, during an ice storm when “the eagle cried” (12) a pattern has been established, so that the reader can follow the sound image according to his own connotation. But here the sound image is so intertwined, through a listed repetition, with the sensory motif of ice, winter, hail and cold, that the eagle's cry does not symbolize a cry of joy of freedom. That is, patterns of motifs established in symbolism limit the reader's subjective interpretation. Without excuses or flowery language Ulysses proclaims: “I cannot rest from the journey” (6). The sentence is simple and unadorned. But, like “The Sailor,” the speaker lays out this thesis, adding new meanings with each repetition. Although images are sometimes given syntactic priority, most sentences are basic transitive. It is continuous movement, he argues, that drives our knowledge. He declares that remaining in stasis means rusting what could have shone (23). If we do not literally broaden our horizons through travel, the consequence is worse than restless boredom: it is oblivion, or “that eternal silence” (27). The three lines that display it interrupt the metrical scheme of iambic pentameter by containing spondees to attract the reader's attention. “Yet every experience is an arch through which / shines that unexplored world whose edge fades / forever and ever when I move,” (19-21). In these emphasized lines the experience is drawn spatially; it is geographically delimited and therefore can be explored physically and visually. Infinity can always be present precisely because it can never be at hand. Imagine parallel lines regressing towards the horizon, at which point their parallel appears to end because they appear to meet. To strengthen the boundaries of that finitude, one must continually move towards the horizon point, banishing the horizon point, the end, further and further away: “sailing beyond the sunset” (60). In “The Seafarer,” evolving repetition is prevalent in the sonic elements before it is made explicit thematically. Formally retained alliteration such as "hew my heart round and hunger begotten" (11) not only reinforces the internal rhythm of the poem, but also uses the periphrastic nature of Old English grammar to enhance this repetition. Like the effect of thunder and lightning, but reversed, the overwhelming passion of this verse strikes the reader before the full meaning of the phrase is established. Thus, when the image appears in its completion, this presentation is already a repetition. Developments in alliteration, such as the “wave of the sea” onomatopoeia,”.