“Lines Composed a Few Miles above Tintern
Abbey, On Revisiting the Banks of the Wye during a Tour. July 13, 1798”—
commonly known as “Tintern Abbey”— is a poem written by the British Romantic
poet William Wordsworth. Wordsworth had first visited the Wye Valley when he
was 23 years old, in 1793. His return five years later occasioned this poem,
which Wordsworth saw as articulating his beliefs about nature, creativity, and
the human soul. “Tintern Abbey” was included as the final poem in Lyrical
Ballads, 1798.
The title is very significant. The poem's title
reveals that it has a very specific setting: The Wye Valley, on the Welsh side
of the River Wye. We discover that the poet has been here before; he is now
‘revisiting’ the Wye valley. The title also lets the reader know the context
that has led to the poem: a walking tour that Wordsworth took with his sister,
Dorothy Wordsworth, in the area. The title even establishes the exact date the
poem was written (July 13, 1798). The title thus grounds the poem in real
experience, almost as though it were a diary entry of the speaker.
Stanza 1
Five
years have past; five summers, with the length
Of
five long winters! and again I hear
These
waters, rolling from their mountain-springs
With
a soft inland murmur.—Once again
Do
I behold these steep and lofty cliffs,
That
on a wild secluded scene impress
Thoughts
of more deep seclusion; and connect
The
landscape with the quiet of the sky.
The
speaker says that five years have passed since he visited the Wye River valley
last. Five summers and five winters which felt especially very long. Now he is
back, and once again he hears the gentle murmuring of springs running down from
the mountains. Once again, he sees the sheer tall cliffs on an uninhibited
quiet landscape which invokes a feeling of serenity in his heart. It puts him
in a thoughtful reflective mood. The cliffs link the quiet landscape to the
quietness of the sky.
The
day is come when I again repose
Here,
under this dark sycamore, and view
These
plots of cottage-ground, these orchard-tufts,
Which
at this season, with their unripe fruits,
Are
clad in one green hue, and lose themselves
'Mid
groves and copses. Once again I see
These
hedge-rows, hardly hedge-rows, little lines
Of
sportive wood run wild: these pastoral farms,
Green
to the very door; and wreaths of smoke
Sent
up, in silence, from among the trees!
With
some uncertain notice, as might seem
Of
vagrant dwellers in the houseless woods,
Or
of some Hermit's cave, where by his fire
The
Hermit sits alone.
The
day has come when he can again sit under this shady sycamore tree, from there
he can look at the surrounding farmland in the valley- the gardens surrounding
the cottage and many clumps of trees within the orchard. At this season, the
fruits on the trees are unripe, the whole orchards are clad in green colour,
blending in with the surrounding woods and thickets. Once again, he sees the
line of tiny hedge-rows that are almost indistinguishable from the wild bushes
and picturesque rural farms, completely green. He sees circles of smoke going
up silently, from among the trees. He imagines that this smoke might be coming
from the wandering people living in the woods, or from the fire of a Hermit
living alone in a cave.
Stanza 2
These beauteous forms,
Through
a long absence, have not been to me
As
is a landscape to a blind man's eye:
But
oft, in lonely rooms, and 'mid the din
Of
towns and cities, I have owed to them,
In
hours of weariness, sensations sweet,
Felt
in the blood, and felt along the heart;
And
passing even into my purer mind
With
tranquil restoration:—feelings too
Of
unremembered pleasure: such, perhaps,
As
have no slight or trivial influence
On
that best portion of a good man's life,
His
little, nameless, unremembered, acts
Of
kindness and of love. Nor less, I trust,
To
them I may have owed another gift,
Of
aspect more sublime; that blessed mood,
In
which the burthen of the mystery,
In
which the heavy and the weary weight
Of
all this unintelligible world,
Is
lightened:—that serene and blessed mood,
In
which the affections gently lead us on,—
Until,
the breath of this corporeal frame
And
even the motion of our human blood
Almost
suspended, we are laid asleep
In
body, and become a living soul:
While
with an eye made quiet by the power
Of
harmony, and the deep power of joy,
We
see into the life of things.
These beautiful sights have not been to him as
a landscape to a blind man. A blind man cannot carry the memory of the beauty
of a landscape. He didn’t forget these beautiful sights, and could still
picture them vividly. But often he owed to them while he was surrounded by the noise
of towns and cities. In the hours of weariness and anxiety, the thoughts of
nature brought to him sweet sensations in his blood and his heart. They even
entered his pure mind with calmness. The remembrance of this scenery affected
even his actions, pushing him to do small unremembered acts of kindness, love
and care for others. He is the result of his overall experience. He is
thankful to these memories for granting him a sublime gift – these sweet
memories reduced the weary weight of this unintelligible world. All his burden
of life lightened while thinking about those beautiful scenes. Nature brought
solace to his troubled mind. In that serene and blessed mood, the poet could go
beyond the restrictions of his physical body. His body reaches a state of
complete rest and his mind attains the ultimate state of tranquillity. He
experiences inner-most harmony and joy. In that tranquil state of mind, he gets
insight into life, he sees into the life of things.
Stanza 3
If this
Be but a vain belief, yet, oh! how oft—
In darkness and amid the many shapes
Of joyless daylight; when the fretful stir
Unprofitable, and the fever of the world,
Have hung upon the beatings of my heart—
How oft, in spirit, have I turned to thee,
O sylvan Wye! thou wanderer thro' the woods,
How often has my spirit turned to thee!
This whole theory he presented in the
second stanza- ‘We can see into the life of things’ - may be a vain or fake
belief. Even if it is a fake belief - when unhappiness and the stress of
everyday life have weighed heavily upon his heart, when everything seemed dark and "joyless" even in
the "daylight" and when the "fretful stir," or irritable
commotions of the world was getting him down - how often he turns to the wooded Wye. Addressing the
river directly as ‘Sylvan Wye’ - wanderer through the woods- he asks the river
how often his spirit turned to it for solace and comfort.
Stanza 4
And
now, with gleams of half-extinguished thought,
With
many recognitions dim and faint,
And
somewhat of a sad perplexity,
The
picture of the mind revives again:
While
here I stand, not only with the sense
Of
present pleasure, but with pleasing thoughts
That
in this moment there is life and food
For
future years. And so I dare to hope,
Though
changed, no doubt, from what I was when first
I
came among these hills; when like a roe
I
bounded o'er the mountains, by the sides
Of
the deep rivers, and the lonely streams,
Wherever
nature led: more like a man
Flying
from something that he dreads, than one
Who
sought the thing he loved. For nature then
(The
coarser pleasures of my boyish days
And
their glad animal movements all gone by)
To
me was all in all.—I cannot paint
What
then I was. The sounding cataract
Haunted
me like a passion: the tall rock,
The
mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood,
Their
colours and their forms, were then to me
An
appetite; a feeling and a love,
That
had no need of a remoter charm,
By
thought supplied, nor any interest
Unborrowed
from the eye
Now,
the poet's dim and faint memories of his first visit are being revived by
seeing everything again. He's
experiencing "somewhat of a sad perplexity" confusion about how his
present impressions match up with his "dim and faint" recollections.
He is happy for two reasons- for the spectacular sights he sees at this moment,
and for his hope that there is life and food for future years when he looks
back with pleasure to these memories he makes now. The reflects on how
much he's changed since his first visit (five years before). Then he was like a
young deer and went wherever nature led him, bounding over the hills, river
banks and lonely streams alike. He seemed to be running away from something, rather than chasing something
"he loved". In those days nature was everything to him. Now that
less-refined pleasures and ‘‘glad animal movements’’ and ecstasy of his boyish
days are over. He says that he cannot describe his past self in words. The sound
of a waterfall haunted him like a passion. He enjoyed the forms and colours of
the tall rocks, mountains, deep and dark forest with an appetite- like a hungry
man. Nature supplied his "feeling" and "love," too –
and without the need for intellectual "thought," since nature had
enough "charm" and "interest" on its own.
—That time is past,
And
all its aching joys are now no more,
And
all its dizzy raptures. Not for this
Faint
I, nor mourn nor murmur; other gifts
Have
followed; for such loss, I would believe,
Abundant
recompense. For I have learned
To
look on nature, not as in the hour
Of
thoughtless youth; but hearing oftentimes
The
still sad music of humanity,
Nor
harsh nor grating, though of ample power
To
chasten and subdue.—And I have felt
A
presence that disturbs me with the joy
Of
elevated thoughts; a sense sublime
Of
something far more deeply interfused,
Whose
dwelling is the light of setting suns,
And
the round ocean and the living air,
And
the blue sky, and in the mind of man:
A
motion and a spirit, that impels
All
thinking things, all objects of all thought,
And
rolls through all things.
That
time is gone. He can no longer experience the same "aching joys" and
"dizzy raptures" (Utmost ecstasy) that a boy could experience. He is
not disappointed by the loss of those aching joys and dizzy raptures because he
is compensated with other gifts. He has learned to look on nature, not as when
he was a thoughtless youth, and he can hear the still, sad music of
humanity. It is neither harsh nor unpleasant. But it has enough power to
make him feel humbled and soothe his spirit. It has a soothing and maturing
effect helping him grow out of his youthful intensity and innocence. The poet
has felt the presence of some divine force, that disturbs him with the joy of
some noble thoughts. It is a divine presence that blends itself with everything
around it, it lives in "the
light of setting suns", in "the round ocean and the living air",
in "the blue sky", and even "in the mind of man". It
exists in everything in nature, surrounding us, filling us, and binding the
universe together. It's "a motion and a spirit," that urges or
animates, all things that think, and that "rolls through all things".
This presence is all-pervasive.
Therefore
am I still
A
lover of the meadows and the woods
And
mountains; and of all that we behold
From
this green earth; of all the mighty world
Of
eye, and ear,—both what they half create,
And
what perceive; well pleased to recognise
In
nature and the language of the sense
The
anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse,
The
guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul
Of
all my moral being.
Since he acquired this new insight, he is
still a lover of all that he perceives from this green earth through his eyes
and ears- meadows, woods, mountains, etc. The speaker suggests that our
"eyes and ears" somehow "half create" the things that we
see and hear. He is happy to see the
"presence" of some divine force in nature and his sense perceptions.
He calls it "the anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse/ The guide, the
guardian of my heart, and soul/ Of all my moral being". The speaker seems
to find it difficult to describe the "presence" he feels in nature.
He calls nature a spiritual presence who nurtures, leads, and protects every
part of him, including his heart, soul and morality.
Stanza 5
Nor perchance,
If
I were not thus taught, should I the more
Suffer
my genial spirits to decay:
For
thou art with me here upon the banks
Of
this fair river; thou my dearest Friend,
My
dear, dear Friend; and in thy voice I catch
The
language of my former heart, and read
My
former pleasures in the shooting lights
Of
thy wild eyes. Oh! yet a little while
May
I behold in thee what I was once,
My
dear, dear Sister! and this prayer I make,
Knowing
that Nature never did betray
The
heart that loved her; 'tis her privilege,
Through
all the years of this our life, to lead
From
joy to joy: for she can so inform
The
mind that is within us, so impress
With
quietness and beauty, and so feed
With
lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues,
Rash
judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men,
Nor
greetings where no kindness is, nor all
The
dreary intercourse of daily life,
Shall
e'er prevail against us, or disturb
Our
cheerful faith, that all which we behold
Is
full of blessings.
The
poet says that if he hadn’t learned all of this, he shouldn’t suffer his genial
spirits to decay, he wouldn’t allow his natural sympathy and kindness to go to
waste. It's because his sister Dorothy is with him on the banks of the River
Wye. He calls her his "dearest Friend", his "dear, dear Friend",
and his "dear, dear Sister". Her voice reminds him of the way he used
to feel and her wild eyes remind him of his former pleasures. He wants to see
in her what he was once when he visited the landscape five years ago. Knowing
that Nature never betrayed any heart that loved her, he offers a prayer for his
sister. He is confident that nature will answer his prayers because he is a
nature-lover. It is nature’s privilege to lead human beings from joy to joy,
filling their minds with lofty thoughts and keeping their minds full of serene
beauty. So that people can withstand all the difficulties and immoralities of
daily life including harsh and cruel words, unfair judgements, the selfishness
of other people, greetings without kindness and other fake interactions. None
of these bad things will ever take away our cheerful faith that everything we
see is full of blessings.
Therefore
let the moon
Shine
on thee in thy solitary walk;
And
let the misty mountain-winds be free
To
blow against thee: and, in after years,
When
these wild ecstasies shall be matured
Into
a sober pleasure; when thy mind
Shall
be a mansion for all lovely forms,
Thy
memory be as a dwelling-place
For
all sweet sounds and harmonies; oh! then,
If
solitude, or fear, or pain, or grief,
Should
be thy portion, with what healing thoughts
Of
tender joy wilt thou remember me,
And
these my exhortations! Nor, perchance—
If
I should be where I no more can hear
Thy
voice, nor catch from thy wild eyes these gleams
Of
past existence—wilt thou then forget
That
on the banks of this delightful stream
We
stood together; and that I, so long
A
worshipper of Nature, hither came
Unwearied
in that service: rather say
With
warmer love—oh! with far deeper zeal
Of
holier love. Nor wilt thou then forget,
That
after many wanderings, many years
Of
absence, these steep woods and lofty cliffs,
And
this green pastoral landscape, were to me
More
dear, both for themselves and for thy sake!
He
prays that nature would always stay with his sister, she may experience the
beauty of moonlight when she is alone, and feel the presence of soft misty
winds that blows from the mountain. After many years, when she becomes older
these wild ecstasies will be matured to a serious and calm outlook and her mind
will be a mansion for all these beauteous forms and her memory will be a
dwelling place for all these sweet sounds and harmonies of nature. Then, if
solitude, fear, pain or grief should affect you she will be able to look back
to these days and remember him and his exhortations with tender joy. The
speaker asks that at a future point he might have died and can no longer hear
her voice and see her wild eyes, will she forget them standing together on the
banks of this delightful stream. He, a worshiper of Nature for so long came
there tirelessly, with a passion of deeper and holier love for nature. She
(Poet’s sister Dorothy) should never forget that the sights; steep woods, high
cliffs and that green pastoral landscape, were dearer to Wordsworth for the
beauty they possessed and for the sake of her.