Session 03 - The Lotos-Eaters, The Lady of Shalott and Other Poems
Cambridge English Audio

Session 03 - The Lotos-Eaters, The Lady of Shalott and Other Poems

C1AdvancedNovember 6, 202641 min

On 23rd October 2009, the Faculty of English along with Trinity College, Cambridge, celebrated the bicentennial birthday of Alfred, Lord Tennyson. Throughout the day, various members of the Faculty of English read a good portion of his poetic output. These readings were performed in the Judith E Wilson Drama Studio and also broadcast live over the Internet. This third collection from the day ranges across Tennyson's mythological, Arthurian, lyric and historical poetry. Poet and classicist Ruth Padel reads Song of the Lotos-Eaters, drawing on the episode in Homer's Odyssey in which Odysseus and his companions encounter...

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Sentence 8 of 12 · 0:41

Why we wade upon with heaviness, and utterly consumed with sharp distress,

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We only toil who are the first of things, and make perpetual moan, still from one sorrow to

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C1 · Advanced

Fast, dense and idiomatic

A1 35%A2 33%B1 21%B2 10%C1 1%
  • 89% of the words are B1 or easier.
  • 130 words a minute: a natural pace.
  • 256 harder words (B2 and up) in the whole episode.

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0:00

There is sweet music here, that softer falls and petals from blown roses on the grass, or night dews on still waters between walls of shadowy granite in a gleaming pass. Music that gently on the spirit lies than tired eyelids upon tired eyes, music that brings sweet sleep down from the blissful skies.

0:24

Here are cool mosses deep, and through the moss the ivies creep, and in the stream the long-leaved flowers weep, and from the craggy ledge the poppy hangs in sleep. Why we wade 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?

0:49

We only toil who are the first of things, and make perpetual moan, still from one sorrow to another throne. Nor ever fold our wings and cease from wanderings nor steep our brows and slumbers 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? Low in the

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