"Not prone to ill, nor strange to foreign guest, They eat, they drink, and nature gives the feast The trees around them all their food produce: Lotus the name: divine, nectareous juice! (Thence call'd Lo'ophagi); which whose tastes, Insatiate riots in the sweet repasts, Nor other home, nor other care intends, But quits his house, his country, and his friends. The three we sent, from off the enchanting ground We dragg'd reluctant, and by force we bound. The rest in haste forsook the pleasing shore, Or, the charm tasted, had return'd no more. Now placed in order on their banks, they sweep The sea's smooth face, and cleave the hoary deep: With heavy hearts we labour through the tide, To coasts unknown, and oceans yet untried."
Life's a journey. More should face it sober.