| Title | : | Lines Composed a Few Miles Above Tintern Abbey |
| Author | : | |
| Rating | : | |
| ISBN | : | 090766458X |
| ISBN-10 | : | 9780907664581 |
| Language | : | English |
| Format Type | : | Leather Bound |
| Number of Pages | : | 24 |
| Publication | : | First published January 1, 1798 |
Lines Composed a Few Miles Above Tintern Abbey Reviews
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...
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.
...
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...
The description of a walking tour around the Welsh bank of the River Wye encompasses five years of introspection in a poet's life; the development of his character, the growing maturity of his verse, as he lets the moon shine on him in his solitary walk.
So, a simple walk, you say?
Jan 05, 20
* Maybe later on
my blog. -
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.
Loved this. -
Lines Composed a Few Miles Above Tintern Abbey - William Wordsworth 6 June, 1982
Read for AP English. I rather like Wordsworth, even though I'm not a huge poetry fan.
Norton Anthology of English Literature Volume II, which I have kept
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31 March, 2017
Reread today because it came to my attention. Thirty-five years on, I'm not the same person who read it then. Now I have a daughter in her own senior year of high school. It seems an unbelievable length of time, and yet, hardly any. The math is accurate. But thirty-five years since I graduated high school? And here I am, full circle, worrying about Russia and nuclear war, and the Berlin Wall is now a piece of rubble in that part of the kitchen where strange things show up from time to time. Inconceivable.
I don't share Wordsworth's delight in the countryside in general, although I did find delight in standing outside just now, after the rain, looking for a rainbow. Still I think I get some of what he was trying to say. None of the people who were with me in that last year are near me now, although I suppose I could connect with them all on FaceBook, well, except my parents, who have both died. But I think I get the point he was making about being able to return to a place after whatever changes I've been through, and to feel again the same kinds of sensations. The place I return to isn't a scenic walk in the mountains at the Borders, it's a text, which is the only permanence I know.
There are only two kinds of poetry I care for, still: light verse which amuses and delights Old Possum's Book never gets old to me, nor The Jabberwocky, and poetry like this, that gets at the feelings. I suppose it is the same way I feel about music, that it is an easy and reliable way into a particular emotion.
None of this sheds any light on Wordsworth's poem, and my AP English teacher wouldn't have accepted a paper like this, but this is what reading is for me: a way to share emotions with other people across space and time, or even just with myself. An emotional time machine. I think he'd understand that.
Free copy from Project Gutenberg -
after reading this poem i am longing to visit the abbey
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! -
Only a few poems have the power to move a man like nothing other. With the Romantic poets, every person among them is a hidden gem and this poem by Wordsworth proves his poetic prowess. This poem was first published in the 1798 version of the Lyrical Ballads with his best friend Samuel Taylor Coleridge. Later in the second edition of the Lyrical Ballads, Wordsworth decides to include a preface to the poems and explain what actually they are. The romantic movement in English literary history is seen as one of the bravest and most radical movements in the literary canon as they tried to address fundamental ideas that Plato talked about in the Pre – Christian Greece. Wordsworth can be comfortably called the most important poet of this age. This poem Lines Composed a Few miles above Tintern Abbey puts forth some fundamental ideas in a language that can be understood by everyone.
The poem starts off by the descriptions of the natural landscape around the abandoned and dilapidated cathedral Tintern Abbey on the Welsh border. There is the river Wye flowing next to the Abbey and the place contains orchards and groves which tell us that the place is inhabited. Wordsworth moves from easy ideas to some of the most challenging ideas in the whole poem. The poem doesn’t do anything with the cathedral Tintern Abbey; he writes it as a poem which he tells as “recollection in tranquility.” The Abbey itself became very famous after the publishing of this poem. He takes the ideas of Plato in the Republic, especially what we refer to as “Theory of Forms.” Plato made a clear distinction between a materialistic idea of an object and a metaphysical idea of an object. For instance, Plato would say that beautiful body has nothing to do with the concept of beauty as the body can deteriorate with time but the beauty itself won’t fade away.
This poem provides him the sublime, the space for solitary reflections, to gather in an aesthetic impression that he can later collect in tranquility. This was the place which was far away from the jaws of industrial revolution that was taking place in England. It was the time when people started shifting to cities leading to an abandonment of traditional work and the standardization of time in the country. Wordsworth suggests that it is the little things that make a man great and the acknowledgement of unnoticed and insignificant help of kindness can take a man long way but humans have the tendency to forget things and overlook others’ kind deeds, a theme which he even talks in his other poem “The world is too much with us” where he tells that we have moved away from the things that are the most important in a human’s life for materialistic comforts.
By the end of the poem, after all the philosophical treatise which I don’t want to write everything here (If I do, this review will start looking like a research paper), we are introduced to this character whom we now know was listening all of the poem until now. It’s Dorothy, Wordsworth’s little sister in whom he sees the repository of the memory that he remembers as a child. It’s through her, he can recall all the memories of his childhood. In many ways, Dorothy is the like a reflection to Wordsworth who shows him his earlier self. Viewing the environment leads him to muse on his childhood impressions and on the nature, it’s tune and effect on identity. Then he projects these reflections back on to another person that is his sister.
Personally, I loved this poem and would suggest everyone to give it a read. I promise that it will open a new window in your mind to think about the philosophy that Wordsworth is talking about. -
I am BIG fan of Wordsworth works. They are not only a pleasure to read, but have also influenced my thought-process and how I perceive things on many levels. This poem/ode is especially close to my heart because it has greatly impacted my philosophy of life and religious belief. Being a person, who loves "Nature" and "Romance", I think I understand every word Wordsworth writes as it synchronizes with my concepts on life, love, God, Nature and other themes he has discussed in his poems.
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nature never did betray
the heart that loved her
<3 -
Man, whyyyy would you write down so many to give us a small lesson? از شاي ياد بگير به مولا
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william what are u even on abt
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"My dear, dear Sister! and this prayer I make,
Knowing that Nature never did betray
The heart that loved her;" -
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 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.
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.
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!
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.—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. 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.
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. 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! -
Man achieves the highest benediction from an unfathomable meditation of nature’s tranquil and attractive aspects. Such deliberation creates in him a contented mood of mental and spiritual delight.
In such a state of trance-like experience man becomes unmindful of his physical existence. His physical functions seem to be almost suspended for the time being. He becomes a pure soul.
In his early youth nature had held her sensuous charm to Wordsworth. But in mature years when he attained the contemplative calm, he learnt to draw a parallel between ‘the still, sad music of humanity’ to his vision of Nature. Human sorrows and sufferings melted, flowed and blended into superlative harmony that held the universe.
In this stage the poet had also come to feel a ‘Spirit’ pervading and ‘diffused’ over the universe and the mind of man. The Spirit stirred his soul with the joy of lofty thoughts.
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.
Philosophy, in this poem, is absolutely attuned and pressed to the service of poetry. Nowhere in Wordsworth’s poems, have poetry and philosophy so embraced as in Tintern Abbey.
Love of Nature came to Wordsworth unsurprisingly and impulsively. As a boy, the sounds, sights and colours of Nature attracted him and he indulged in jumping and running from rock to rock and from spring to spring.
But these physical pleasures and aching joys and wobbly raptures, did not last long. As he grew older, his outlook of Nature underwent a change. The old joys lost their charm. However, he did not grieve because he was amply compensated for this loss. Those coarse pleasures were replaced by new pleasures.
Now he began to read deeper meanings in the scenes of Nature. He felt Nature had a plan and man occupied the central place in her plan. Nature had an ennobling influence on man's character and in a delicate way inspired man to do noble deeds. He could hear the still sad music of humanity in the sounds of nature. It was neither harsh nor annoying. It had a sobering influence on him. He had mystic experience which helped him see into the mystery of creation. He also felt the presence of an all-pervasive divine spirit in Nature.
Evidently, he continued to enjoy the beauty of Nature. The scenes of Nature at Tintern were as attractive as they were five years ago when had visited them for the first time.
Their memory sustained him during the dark days of life. Now he not only enjoyed the beauty of the scene, but his thoughts added new meanings to them. The loss of uncouth enjoyment of Nature was amply compensated by new kind of mature enjoyment of Nature.
It became the anchor of his moral and spiritual being. Now Nature was not a mere object of beauty and refuge, but also his guide, guardian and nurse.
The rhythm of this poem is the rhythm of the ‘plain prose’ but it is highly charged with a ‘tremendous fervour of passion and emotional intensity’.
The quiet, pondering blank verse which is similar to rhythmic prose has music of its own. Its tune is moderate and homely.
The underlying philosophy is couched and clothed in a language ‘thrilled through imaginative passion’. Images sprinkled here and there in the poem are not far-fetched, recondite but quite homely.
Pantheism is the very bed-rock of Wordsworth’s philosophy of nature. Pantheism is the direct corollary from a feeling of mysticism. It means that a Divine spirit is omnipresent and everything is permeated by the spirit. This belief finds a magnificent expression in Thitern Abbey.
The poet here expresses his firm belief in the existence of a mysterious soul brooding over, the universe and the mind of man. The presence of this spirit is diffused and pervading through all objects of nature, such as the light of the setting sun, the constantly moving winds, the sky overhead.
It is also diffused over the mind of man. This in-dwelling spirit gives life to all thinking creatures and sustains them. It sweeps unseen throughout the universe as life-giving and sustaining Energy.
The poet says:
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. (11. 93-102)
It is through the apt use of images that the Wordsworthian philosophy of nature and man has been driven home to the readers. The “hermit” (line 21) image leads on appropriately to the lovely meditation and mystical experience to be described in the next paragraph.
The use of “eve” for insight is a recurrent image in the poem. Images here more magnificently express the quietistic phase of his philosophy. The hectic life of the cities is characterized by “din” (line 26).
Nature in earlier days arousing in him the feverish raptures I had spoken through the ‘sounding cataract’ (1. 78). Now in the valley of the Wye upon his second visit a sweet inland murmur (line 4) is heard in place of the sounding cataract. The din of human cities has been transposed ‘into the still, sad music of humanity’. The memories of the Wye had produced a tranquil restoration; the sight of nature impresses the soul with quietness and beauty; and in preparation for the soul’s seeing into life of things, the eye is made ‘quiet ‘by the power of harmony.
Hence in the imagery of the poem there are two progressions to quiet rather than just one: from din to murmur to silence, and from human life to vegetable life to the cliff and the sky.
By the end of the poem, finally Wordsworth realizes that Nature has a personality and a power to mould human character. There is an all-pervasive spirit in Nature.
A worshipper of Nature, hither came
Unwearied in that service: rather say
With warmer love—oh! with far deeper zeal
Of holier love.
Nature forces and sentients all the creation. It is a heavenly spirit that dwells in the light of the setting sun, in the sky and ocean and mind of man.
This unearthing gives him enormous delight. The poet’s love of Nature matures with the passage of time.
From physical love it rises to academic and finally, spiritual 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! -
This poem uses such epic-like language, and he's just describing a guy taking a walk! Also it is interesting how Tintern Abbey is his idea of an escape, when this place was known for its large population of homeless people. Why does he soften these historical realities?
It's pretty sad how he is in the present gathering up memories for the future, almost like he's only living in the moment to remember it afterwards. What an awful way to live in the present, to only live in it in order to reminisce on it later! It seems that he bottles these memories as a means to keep him going when he's back in the city and away from his idealized vision of the country side. -
Favourite poem of all time hands down. <3
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In particular with the piece it interested me with the landscapes affect on Wordsworth and his development as a person.
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Nature always soothes us even if we don't realise it every time. The poet here delineates his own experiences through words with minute details.
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Superb...
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Oh wow, I have always loved William Wordsworth, but this is a remarkably beautiful poem. I look forward to reading it many more times.
I do not have time to talk about everything that delights me here, but look at this use of enjambment that draws attention to the word "still" (lines 98-106)!
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. Therefore I am still
A lover of the meadows and the woods,
And the mountains; and all that we behold
From this green earth
Do you see how Wordsworth breaks the line, so it does not read "therefore I am still a lover of the meadows and the woods," but he creates this natural gap as our eyes jump to the next line, so it reads, "therefore I am still --- --[breath]-- --- a lover of the meadows and the woods." I love how enjambment like this creates a double meaning: obviously Wordsworth loves the meadows and the woods, but in this remembrance and love, he is still - he is present and quiet and still of movement. And when we set that line apart, it reads like this: "Therefore, because of all of this--the blue sky, the spirit [God?] that impels all things--therefore I am still and quiet." Isn't that beautiful!?!
There are also some really sweet lines describing the affection he has for his sister, Dorothy, who was there with him that day above the Abbey. The last section of the poem is written specifically addressing this dear sister of his, and it is lovely. -
"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."
The power of nature. The absolute transformation one can experience by simply being immersed within it, quietly, still, observant. To me, "Tintern Abbey" pinpoints all the emotions stirred awake by the sublimity of the natural world, in a way nothing has even come close to reproducing within my soul.
Worth a read. Worth many, many reads. The layers are endless! -
The best, most beautiful poem I have ever read in my life.
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,
…
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
…
Therefore let the moon
Shine on thee in thy solitary walk;
And let the misty mountain-winds be free
To blow against thee: -
Who can't read the line "Nor greetings where no kindness is" and reencounter the bitterness of rejection. Wordsworth also describes the changing perceptions as we age. We approach life with 'glad animal movements' as children, everything is an adventure to the senses. In effect, we are ruled by our senses. Then as we move into post-adolescence it morphs into deep emotional connections to that same surrounding, 'dizzy raptures." As adults we are no longer subject to the overwroughtness, our emotions are blunted by experience and can now let our reason participate in the experience.
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“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,” (Lines 88-92)
A reread for me but nonetheless enjoyable. I read this poem for my senior high school English class and I remember it being one of the few—if not the only—Romantic poems I didn’t loathe, at the time. The imagery and language of the poem are so transportive that you can very easily imagine yourself there. “Lines” is considered a tourism poem and it works because it has definitely put Tintern Abbey on my bucket list! -
Second time I read this marvelous poem. The first time I read this I was in high school and of course hated it :) but as I finished reading it this time, I can admit that I was completely wrong the first time. Loved it, loved it. loved it.
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I love Turdsworth
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Most still poem I've ever read. It was like I was reading the same line again and again.
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I hate that I love it
