The Mariner, whose eye is bright, Whose beard with age is hoar,
Is gone; and now the wedding-guest Turned from the bridegroom's door.
He went, like one that hath been stunned And is of sense forlorn :
A sadder and a wiser man
Written a few miles above TINTERN ABBEY, on revisiting
the banks of the W'YE during a Tour.
years have passed; five summers, with the length
Of five long winters! and again I hear
These waters, rolling from their mountain-springs With a sweet inland murmur*.-Once again Do I behold these steep and lofty cliffs, Which 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
The river is not affected by the tides a few miles above Tintern.
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 Among the woods and copses, nor disturb The wild green landscape. 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 forms of beauty 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 may have had no 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
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