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MAII PAPER VI: ROMANTIC POETRY
Willia lliam m Blak Blakee was was born born in Lond London on in 1757 1757.. His His fath father er,, a hosi hosier er,, soon soon recognized his son’s artistic talents and sent him to stud at a drawing school when when he was was ten ten ears ears old. old. !t 1", 1", Willia lliam m aske asked d to be a##re a##rent ntic iced ed to the the engra$er %ames Basire, under whose direction he further de$elo#ed his in 17&'. Songs of Innocence was Innocence was #ublished in 17&(, followed b Songs of Experience in Experience in 17(' and a combined edition the ne)t ear bearing the title Songs of Innocence and Experience showing the Two Two Contrary States of the Human Soul. Blake’s #olitical #olitical radicalism intensified during the ears leading u# to the *rench +e$olution. He began a se$enbook #oem about the +e$olution, in fact, but it was either destroed or ne$er com#leted, and onl the first book sur$i$es. He disa##ro$ed of -nlightenment rationalism, of institutionalized religion, and of the tradition of marriage in its con$entional legal and social form though he was married himself/. His unorthodo) religious thinking owes a debt to the 0wedish 0wedish #hiloso#her #hiloso#her -mmanuel 0wedenborg 1&&21773/, whose influence influence is #articularl e$ident in Blake’s The Marriage of Heaven and Hell. 4n Hell. 4n the 17(s and after, he shifted his #oetic $oice from the lric to the #ro#hetic modenate skills. !s a oung man Blake worked as an engra$er, illustrator, and drawing teacher, and met such artists as Henr *useli and %ohn *la)man, as well as 0ir %oshua +enolds, whose classicizing stle he would later come to re6ect. Blake wrot wrotee #oem #oemss duri during ng this this time time as well well,, and and his his first first #rin #rinte ted d coll collec ecti tion on,, an immature immature and rather rather deri$ati$e deri$ati$e $olume $olume called called Poetical Setches! Setches! a##eared in, and wrote a series series of long long #ro#he #ro#hetic tic books, books, includ including ing Milton Milton and "erusalem. and "erusalem. Linked Linked togeth together er b an intric intricate ate mthol mtholog og and smbol smbolism ism of Blake’ Blake’ss own creation, these books #ro#ound a re$olutionar new social, intellectual, and ethical order. Blake #ublished almost all of his works himself, b an original #rocess in which the #oems were etched b hand, along with illustrations and decorati$e images, onto co##er #lates. hese #lates were inked to make #rints, and the #rints were then then colored colored in with with #aint. #aint. his his e)#ensi e)#ensi$e $e and labor laborint intens ensi$e i$e #roduct #roduction ion method resulted in a 8uite limited circulation of Blake’s #oetr during his life. 4t has also #osed a s#ecial set of challenges to scholars of Blake’s work, which has interested both literar critics and art historians. 9ost students of Blake find it necessar to consider his gra#hic art and his writing together: certainl he himself thought of them as inse#arable. ;uring his own lifetime, Blake was a #ronounced failure, and he harbored a good deal of resentment and an)iet about the #ublic’s a#ath toward his work and about the financial straits in which he so regularl found himself. When his selfcurated e)hibition of his work workss met met with with fina financ ncia iall fail failure ure in 1&( 1&(,, Blak Blakee sank sank into into de#re de#ress ssio ion n and and 1
withdrew into obscurit: he remained alienated for the rest of his life. His cont contem em#o #orar rarie iess saw saw him him as some someth thin ing g of an ecce eccent ntri ric< cit, >eace, and Lo$e !ll #ra in their distress: !nd to these $irtues of delight +eturn their thankfulness. *or 9erc, >it, >eace, and Lo$e 4s ?od, our *ather dear, !nd 9erc, >it, >eace, and Lo$e 4s man, His child and care. *or 9erc has a human heart, >it a human face, !nd Lo$e, the human form di$ine, !nd >eace, the human dress. hen e$er man, of e$er clime, hat #ras in his distress, >ras to the human form di$ine, Lo$e, 9erc, >it, >eace. *or all must lo$e the human form, 4n heathen, urk, or %ew: Where 9erc, Lo$e, and >it dwell here ?od is dwelling too.
Summary
he #ersonified figures of 9erc, >it, >eace, and Lo$e are listed as the four @$irtues @$irtues of delight.A delight.A he s#eaker states that all #eo#le #ra to these in times times of distress and thank them for blessings because the re#resent @?od, our father dear.A he are also, howe$er, the characteristics of 9an 9erc is found in the 2
human heart, >it in the human face: >eace is a garment that en$elo#s humans, and Lo$e e)ists in the human @formA or bod. herefore, all #raers to 9erc, >it, >eace, and Lo$e are directed not 6ust to ?od but to @the human form di$ine,A which all #eo#le must lo$e and res#ect regardless of their religion or culture. Form
he #oem is com#rised of fi$e ballad stanzasit, >eace, and Lo$e/, the #oem makes these abstractions the ob6ect of human #raer and #iet. he second stanza e)#lains this somewhat strange notion b e8uating the $irtues with ?od himself. But the idea is still slightl unorthodo), suggesting as it does that we #ra to these abstract $irtues because the are ?od, rather than #raing to ?od because he has these sm#athetic 8ualities. he #oem seems to em#hasize that 9erc, >it, >eace, and Lo$e are not ?od’s characteristics but his substanceit, >eace, Lo$e are also e8ui$alent to 9an it is in humans that these 8ualities find a kind of embodiment, and the become recognizable because their features heart, face, bod, clothes/ are basicall human. hus when we think of ?od, we are modeling him after these ideal human 8ualities. !nd when #eo#le #ra, regardless of who or where the are, or to what ?od the think the are #raing, the actuall worshi# @the human form di$ineA4>4D? ;=WD H- E!LL-F0 W4L;
>i#ing down the $alles wild >i#ing songs of #leasant glee =n a cloud 4 saw a child. !nd he laughing said to me. >i#e a song about a Lamb 0o 4 #i#ed with merr chear, >i#er, #i#e that song again 0o 4 #i#ed, he we#t to hear. ;ro# th #i#e th ha## #i#e 0ing th songs of ha## chear, 0o 4 sung the same again While he we#t with 6o to hear >i#er sit thee down and write 4n a book that all ma read 0o he $anished from m sight !nd 4 #luckGd a hollow reed. !nd 4 made a rural #en, !nd 4 stained the water clear, 4
!nd 4 wrote m ha## songs, -$er child ma 6o to hear. CH49D-F 20W-->-+
When m mother died 4 was $er oung, !nd m father sold me while et m tongue Could scarcel cr Wee#I wee#I wee#I wee#I 0o our chimnes 4 swee#, and in soot 4 slee#.
hereGs little om om ;acre, who cried when his head, hat curled like a lambGs back, was sha$ed: so 4 said, Hush, omI omI ne$er mind it, for, when our headGs bare, Fou know that the soot cannot s#oil our white hair.
!nd so he was 8uiet, and that $er night, !s om om was aslee#ing, he had such a sightI hat thousands of swee#ers, ;ick, %oe, Ded, and %ack, Were We re all of them locked u# in coffins of black.
!nd b came an angel, who had a bright ke, 5
!nd he o#ened the coffins, and let them all free: hen down a green #lain, lea#ing, laughing, the run, !nd wash in a ri$er, r i$er, and shine in the sun.
hen naked and white, all their bags left behind, he rise u#on clouds, and s#ort in the wind: !nd the !ngel told o om, m, if heGd be a good bo, HeGd ha$e ?od for his father, and ne$er want 6o.
!nd so om om awoke, and we rose in the dark, !nd got with our bags and our brushes to work. hough the morning was cold, om was ha## and warm 0o, if all do their dut, the need not fear harm.
hesis 0tatement 4n he Chimne 0wee#er, William Blake #resents a situation where 4nnocence is shattered as a result of -)#erience.!. Born Do$ember 3&, 1757, in London, where he li$ed most of his life.B. Largel selftaught, he was, howe$er, widel read, and his #oetr shows the influence of the ?erman writer %akob BoehmeC. He was brought u# in a #oor household, and li$ed that wa for most of his life.;. His intellectual and #schological growth was dominated b the influence of his brother +obert, who died at the age of 3. He is asked about his #arents, and res#onds that since he had alwas seemed so content and ha##, e$en in the face of his work, his #arents onl burdened him with more because his su#erficial e)#ressions seemed to be able to handle it. 6
-$en though the #oetr re$eals situations in which lo$e is harsh, life is unfair, or creatures are cruel, the do not tell the reader how to think or feel. ;o not rel on e)terior a##earance for truth, because it can often be masked, hidden, or mani mani#ul #ulat ated ed.. Blak Blakee cont contin inue uess to e)#r e)#res esss hims himsel elff usin using g sim# sim#li list stic ic sim# sim#le le language and ideas. 4n the beginning of the #oem, a child is stumbling u#on in the snow, dirt and dust from his occu#ation. Blake lea$es ou to argue whether the #arents chose not to look more dee#l and went on belie$ing that things were fine: or mabe the o##osite is true and the were com#letel unaware of the situation. he #arents counted solel on the their childGs actions and beha$ior to assess the condition of his life. 4n the the +oma +omant ntic ic era, era, lite literat rature ure beca became me incre increas asin ingl gl sub6 sub6ec ecti ti$e $e,, #ers #erson onal al,, emotio emotional nal,, and imagi imaginat nati$e i$e.. Wherea Whereass -nligh -nlighten tenmen mentt writer writerss focuse focused d on the similarities between #eo#le, +omantic era writers like William Blake, were becoming more interested in indi$idualit and the differences between human beings. BlakeGs collection of #oems 0ongs of 4nnocence and 0ongs of -)#erience, written in 17(", #articularl the first $ersion of he Chimne 0wee#er, reflects these tendencies of the +omantic #eriod. #er iod. BlakeGs he Chimne 0wee#er takes on the #oint of $iew of a oung bo who works in the cit as a chimneswee#er. hroughout the lines of the #oem, readers are gi$en a glim#se at the boGs life. Blake describes the boGs uni8ue #ers#ecti$e on his own situation. ;es#ite the fact that the bo li$es a horrible life, he belie$es the stor that he will one da ha$e a better life after death. his stor is told fre8uentl to o##ress indi$iduals who might demand better or e8ual treatment. Blake tells the stor from the boGs #oint of $iew because taking this different #ers#ecti$e allows him to highlight the differences between indi$iduals. +eaders would likel ha$e been members of the u##er classes. With this #oem, the could glance at what life is like in someone elseGs shoes. 4n the first $ersion of he Chimne 0wee#er we can also see BlakeGs in6ection of a sense of emotion. he little bo has lost his mother and was sold b his father. He is literall alone, and most likel feels alienated from the rest of societ. Clearl, Blake feels that where ou are in the cit makes a lot of difference with res#ect to the kind of life and e)#eriences that ou ha$e. !lthough at the time child chimneswee#ers were likel common#lace, this grou# of indi$iduals was $irtuall in$isible. BlakeGs focus on the indi$idualGs stor brings what was #re$iousl in$isible into the light. his idea of taking the ordinar and doing something with it that makes it e)traordinar is common during the +omantic #eriod. 7
!nother characteristic of man +omantic era writers is the insertion of nature or natu natura rall imag images es into into thei theirr work works. s. !ltho lthoug ugh h the the Chim Chimne ne 0wee 0wee#e #er r is #resumabl set in an industrialized cit where residents would re8uire a chimneswee#er, Blake inserts images of nature throughout the #oem. Blake #e##ers the #oem with images that are t#icall associated with #ictures8ue countrside landsca#es such as a lambGs back line /, a green #lain line 15/, and a ri$er line 1/. 4n addition, Blake elicits images of the sk as the chimne swee#er describes the freed chimneswee#ers from omGs dream as shining in the 0un line 1/, rising u#on the clouds and s#orting in the wind line 1&/. 4t is one thing when two different writers title two different works with the same name, but 8uite another when the same writer titles two different works with the same name. ;es#ite the a##arent similarit in se$eral literar de$ices and the sub6ect of William William BlakeGs two #oems named he Chimne 0wee#er, the clear o##o o##osi siti tion on in tone tone and them themee make make thes thesee two two #oem #oemss $er $er diff differe erent nt from from eachother. here are se$eral similarities in the literar de$ices used in these two #oems. he first is the o#ening rhme scheme. he #oems both start out with the rhme scheme of !!BB. his gi$es the im#ression that the are both ha## #oems which we later find is not true. he #oint of $iew in both of these #oems is a child who is a chimne swee#er. Being a chimne swee#er as a child in this era most likel means ou ha$e lost our innocence of childhood a long time ago. !s a result the s#eaker is a child, who s#eaks with the firmness and intelligence of an adult. his shows the brutal work that child chimne swee#ers had to go through and how if affected them. he alliteration in these two #oems is $er similar. 4 swee# J in soot 4 slee#. is an e)am#le from the first #oem. Cring Gwee#, Gwee#, in notes of woeI is an e)am#le from the second #oem. he #lacing of these lines in the beginning of the #oems makes it seem as if the s#eaker is neutral on the sub6ect and that it does not matter when it trul does to the s#eaker. With With these similarities in literar de$ices, the two #oems seem to be $er similar: howe$er, the truth is besides the sub6ect and the literar de$ices that are similar, there are reall no other similarities in these two #oems. here are actuall actuall se$eral differences differences in the literar de$ices de$ices used in each #oem 6ust as there are similarities. !s #re$iousl mentioned the two #oems start out with the same rhme scheme. Howe$er, after the first stanza in the second #oem, the rhme scheme changes to C;C;. his change reflects that the second #oem has turned to a much darker tone while the first #oem continues to sound more o#timistic. he diction of the two #oems also contributes to the e$ident difference in the #oems. 4n the first #oem, the diction seems ha##ier or o#timistic while in the second #oem the diction seems darker or satirical. !n 8
e)am#le from the first #oem is, Hush, omI De$er mind it, for when our headGs bare, Fou Fou know that the soot cannot s#oil our white hair. hair. he diction in that line makes a sad situation more o#timistic. !n e)am#le from the first #oem is, he clothed me in the clothes of death, !nd taught me to sing the notes of woe. he diction in that line makes a sad situation e$en worse. he second #oem also carried a re#etition of the #hrase, notes of woe. he first #oem did not not carr carr an an mean meanin ingf gful ul re#e re#eti titi tion on.. he he re#e re#eti titi tion on in the the seco second nd #oem #oem reaffirmed reaffirmed the darker tone of the #oem. he lack of re#etition re#etition in the first #oem seems to gi$e off a theme of if ou 6ust kee# going it will be better. hese literar de$ices all hel# us to start to understand the tone of the #oems, but the tones themsel$es need to be analzed to trul understand them. !s shown formerl, the tones of these two #oems are strikingl contrasting. he first #oem has a tone of o#timistic or light hearted. !n e)am#le of this tone can be e)#ressed in this line hoG the morning was cold, om om was ha## J warm: 0o if all do their dut, the need not fear harm. he second #oem has a tone of dark or satirical o#timism. !n e)am#le of this tone can be e)#ressed in this line !nd because 4 am ha##, J dance Jsing, he think the ha$e done me no in6ur, his com#lete difference in tones makes the fact that the were written b the same author e$en more com#elling. 4t ma make the sub6ect and themes of the #oems more able to be understood if the are read or analzed together. %ust as the tones of the two #oems were $er different, the themes of the two #oems are almost o##osites. he he theme of the first #oem is along the the lines of the idea that there is light at the end of the tunnel and if ou 6ust kee# going ou will be in a better #lace. !n e)am#le of this theme is shown through the line, !nd the !ngel told om, if heGd be a good bo, HeGd ha$e ?od for his father J ne$er want 6o. he theme of the second #oem is more about the fact that there is not light at the end of the tunnel and we will be suffering for the rest of our li$es. !n e)am#le of this theme is shown through the line, !nd are gone to #raise ?od J his >riest J King, Who make u# a hea$en of our miser. miser. hese themes being in different #oems that ha$e the same titles make a $er intriguing contrast. contrast. he author must ha$e done this on #ur#ose #ur#ose in order to hel# the reader understand the li$es of child chimne swee#ers. How can one writer ha$e two #oems with the same title and not ha$e them relate to eachother in some wa. here are differences between the #oems, but the differences occur at such e)tremes from eachother that the actuall hel# the reader understand both of the #oems. +egardless of the differences in the two #oemsG tone and theme, the are related to eachother on an e)ce#tionall dee# le$el.
9
SUMMARY OF TE POEM! A POISON TREE Fir"t #uatrain
4 was angr with m friend: 4 told m wrath, m wrath did end, Blake begins. he language and sentiment are sim#le and hardl need to be e)#lained e$en to a oung child. 0omeone is s#eaking of his direct e)#erience He was angr at his friend. He told his friend that he was angr, and the result was that his anger went awa. he whole thing is #resented in a neat #ackage tied u# and resol$ed b the rhme of friend and end. 4n contrast to this wa of handling anger, the s#eaker sas, 4 was angr with m foe 4 told it not, m wrath did grow. !gain the $erse seems clear and sim#le, and so, too, the lesson. When #eo#le do not sa how the feel, the bad feeling becomes worse. he latter two lines of the 8uatrain, furthermore, seem to reinforce the wisdom of the first two 0a what ou feel: do not su##ress it, or things will get worse. 4n the first cou#let, the s#eaker is angr at his friend: in the second, at his foe. his difference immediatel makes the sim#le #oem less sim#le. he lines are not reall moralizing about confessing or concealing anger. he are referring to the wa #eo#le classif other #eo#le as friends and foes and to the different was #eo#le treat friends and foes. B e)tension, the #oem considers the nature and conse8uences of anger, e)#loring how it grows and what it grows into. Se$on% #uatrain
!nd 4 waterd it in fears, fears, the s#eaker s#eaker sas, Dight J morning with m tears !nd 4 sunned it with smiles, !nd with soft deceitful wiles. 4n these lines, the s#eaker tells how he has tended and culti$ated his anger, how he has made it grow. He is not suggesting a moral, as he does in the first 8uatrain, but he is e)amining a #rocess. He is re$ealing the #leasure he takes in his own slness. He also begins to s#eak using meta#hor. 9eta#hor allows one thing to suggest or stand for something else. he it of the first line of the second 8uatrain refers to the s#eakerGs wrath, but he s#eaks of his wrath not as if it were an emotion, emotion, which it is, but as if it were a small #lant. He waterd waterd his anger with his tears, and, using another meta#hor, he sunned it with smiles !nd with soft deceitful wiles. Wiles are sl tricks, strategies intended to decei$e someone into trusting. he s#eaker is laing a tra# for his foe, tem#ting him to desire something that seems alluring but is harmful. !s he #retends to be friendl to his foe, the $er act of being friendl strengthens his wrath. he false smiles he bestows on his foe act like sunshine on the #lant of his wrath. he friendlier the s#eaker seems, the more more host hostil ilee he real reall l is, is, and and the the wors worsee are are his his inte intent ntio ions ns.. he he clari clarit t of innocence is gone. he s#eakerGs beha$iour does not look like what it is. He is 10
not what he seems. B using meta#hor, b talking about anger as if it were a #lant and about h#ocris as if it were sunshine, the s#eaker re#resents the du#licit of his beha$iour in his language. He makes his beha$iour a##ear more attracti$e than it is. Thir% #uatrain
What is a figure of s#eech, a meta#hor, in the second 8uatrain seems to become the thing itself, an actual tree, in the third. !nd it grew both da and night, the s#eaker sas. he it must refer to his wrath, which he has been culti$ating with smiles, !nd soft deceitful wiles. 4n the second line of the third 8uatrain, howe$er, it bears an a##le bright. he wrath has become an actual tree. !nger does not bear a##les: a##le trees do. ! feeling has been gi$en so much weight weight that it has become a #resence, #resence, an actual actual thing. he fruit of the s#eakerGs s#eakerGs wrath, then, is not lie an he s#eaker has made lie an a##le on a tree, it is an is an a##le. he his anger seem like something else, and then it actuall becomes something else. He has made something deadl become alluring and tem#ting to his foe. he s#eakerGs anger which has become a tem#ting a##le can remind the reader of the a##le on the forbidden ree of Knowledge in the ?arden of -den. hat fruit seems as if it would offer a world of good, but in the %udeoChristian stor, it actuall offers a world of woe. he a##le of ! >oison ree is the same kind of a##le. he reader ma ha$e the uneas feeling that Blake is suggesting that in the Bible stor, what is called ?odGs lo$e is reall a form of wrath, that the ?od of the established %udeoChristian religion is a god of wrath, not of lo$e. he relation relation of the angr s#eaker to his foe comes to stand for the stor of an angr god and humankind. Fourth #uatrain
he first line of the final 8uatrain follows without a #ause after the second cou#let of the third !nd m foe beheld it shine. !nd he knew that it was mine. !nd into m garden stole. he re#eated use of the word and at the beginning of each line shows how clearl one action leads to and follows another. Blake also accelerates the action of the #oem b the wa he uses the word stole. !nd into m garden stoleA which means that his foe came secretl into his garden. 0tole, howe$er, also suggests thie$er, what the foe sneaks into the garden to do under co$er of darkness. B gi$ing the word stole the strength he does, the s#eaker is em#hasizing the cul#abilit of his foe. he cul#abilit, in large #art, has been created b the s#eaker himself. he s#eaker, the tem#ter, tem#ter, is the one who has laid snares for his foe and is res#onsible for them. he #oem ne$er re$eals whether the #erson called the foe has a feeling of enmit, or ill will, toward the s#eaker or whether he realizes the 11
s#eaker e$en considers him a foe. he #oem tells nothing about what sort of #erson the foe is, wh the s#eaker considers him a foe, or wh he is angr with with him. him. 0tea 0teali ling ng into into the the garde garden n and and eati eating ng the the a##le a##le,, moreo moreo$e $er, r, is not not necessaril an act of enmit. 4t is foremost an act of a##etite, of desire, which, in fact, has been induced and stimulated b the s#eaker. he s#eaker, b using the word stole, shows his own e)ci )citement at lurin ring his foe into blameworthiness and transgression, and, unknowingl, he is indicting himself. he onl thing Blake allows the s#eaker to sa about his foe is that he stole into the garden when the night had $eild the #ole. he #olestar, that is, the fi)ed Dorth 0tar, the star that mariners use to kee# them on course, is obscured. 4n other words, the foe steals into the garden at a moment when, the meta#hor of the $eiled #olestar re$eals, his sense of moral direction has been im#aired b the s#eakerGs subterfuge. he final cou#let, 4n the morning glad 4 see: 9 foe outstretched beneath the tree, is more ambiguous than at first it ma a##ear. How one decides to understand understand it determines determines how to understand the entire #oem. he first #roblem of inter#retation is whether outstretched means dead. 4f it does, as the reader is entitled to belie$e it does because the tree bears #oison, then the cou#let re$eals the baseness of the s#eaker. 4t shows the #leasure the s#eaker takes at the fall of his enem 4n the morning, 4 am glad to see that m foe lies dead beneath the tree. 4f, howe$er, outstretched means onl outstretched < that the foe is not dead but that the a##arentl a##arentl friendl relationshi# relationshi# is #oisoned and the foe realizes that his a##arent friend is not his friend < then the #roblems of human confrontation, anger, and enmit remain, as the do for all #eo#le. !not !nothe herr #rob #roble lem m is that that Blak BlakeG eGss #unc #unctu tuat atio ion n of the the #enul #enulti tima mate te< < 4n the the morning glad 4 see: < allows two readings of the line. here is no #unctuation until the semicolon at the end of the line. he word glad can be read as desc descri ribi bing ng eith either er mor morni ning ng or 4. 4. 4f gla glad d desc descri ribe bess mor morni ning ng, , the the inter#retation is that in the ha## morning, bright with light, as o##osed to the $eiled night, the s#eaker is seeing. 4f glad describes 4, the inter#retation is that in the morning the s#eaker is ha## to see the sight of his fallen foe. he first reading allows readers to see the s#eaker enlightened, e$en shocked b the effect of his anger, that it is fatal to his foe. he glad morning contrasts to the s#eakerGs sober realization. he second inter#retation allows readers to see the effect of anger on the character of the #erson who culti$ates it. 4t is fatal to his innocent regard for humankind. Blake has changed the focus of the stor from the fall of human beings to the fall of ?od. B making it a meta#hor for the stor of the *all, Blake has constructed the #oem so that the s#eakerGs beha$iour, modelled on ?odGs beha$iour in the =ld estament, represents ?odGs represents ?odGs beha$iour and the s#eaker re#resents ?od. hrough 12
his analsis and im#licit condemnation of the s#eaker, Blake analzes the $ision that has created the god of the =ld estament and the attitude that this god embodies. Blake warns against that $ision, that attitude, and that kind of god, identifing him as a god of wrath and cruelt rather than of lo$e.
TE&T OF TE POEM
4 was angr with m friend: 4 told m wrath, m wrath did end. 4 was angr with m foe 4 told it not, m wrath did grow.
!nd 4 watered it in fears, Dight J morning with with m tears !nd 4 sunned it with smiles, !nd with soft deceitful wiles.
!nd it grew both da and night. ill ill it bore an a##le bright. !nd m foe beheld it shine, !nd he knew that it was mine.
!nd into m garden stole, When the night had $eiled the #ole: 4n the morning glad 4 see: 9 foe outstretched beneath the tree.
13
W4LL4!9 W=+;0W=+H William Wordsworth was one of the ma6or -nglish #oets of the +omantic era. Born in !#ril 7, 177, in Cumberland, -ngland, he later attended Cambridge Mni$ersit. His first sonnet was #ublished in the same ear. He went on to write such such cele celebr brat ated ed #oem #oemss as i inter ntern n !bbe bbe and and the the ode ode 4nt 4ntim imat atio ions ns of 4mmortalit. Wordworth hel#ed launch the +omantic !ge with the #ublication of Lrical Lrical Ballads 17(&/ with 0amuel a alor lor Coleridge, who was to remain a life lifelo long ng frie friend nd and and coll collea eagu gue. e. He was was name named d >oet >oet Laur Laurea eate te in 1&"' 1&"' and and recei$ed honorar degrees from ;urham and =)ford Mni$ersities. he >relude, #ublished #osthumousl after his death in 1&5, is considered to be his greatest work. William William Wordsworth, Wordsworth, along with +obert 0outhe and 0amuel Coleridge, is one of the Lakeland >oets, a grou# that is widel credited with beginning the -nglish +omantic 9o$ement. he mo$ement was characterized b a re6ection of the -nlightenment, which focused on reason, logic, and structure. +omanticism, on the other hand, focuses on emotion and imagination. =ften the #oets are called nature #oets because of their em#hasis on manGs connection to nature. Wordsworth Wordsworth addressed this connection in #oems such as Lines Com#osed a *ew 9iles abo$e intern ! !bbe, bbe, =de: 4ntimations 4 ntimations of 4mmortalit, 4mmortalit, and 4 wandered lonel as a cloud. he stress #laced on the im#ortance of imagination and the sublime in the -nglish +omantic 9o$ement subse8uentl ins#ired the !merican +omantic 9o$ement, which was headed b +al#h Waldo Waldo -merson and Henr ;a$id horeau, and followed u# b Herman 9el$ille and Dathaniel Hawthorne, among others. he most famous #oets of the 14
-nglish +omantic 9o$ement are William William Wordsworth, Wordsworth, 0amuel Coleridge, William William Blake, Lord Bron, >erc Bsshe 0helle, and %ohn Keats. WordsworthGs WordsworthGs #oetr is distinguished b his straightforward use of language and meter and his natural and often collo8uial themes and imager. his is not to sa, howe$er, howe$er, that WordsworthGs WordsworthGs ideas are sim#le. He wea$es se$eral ideas throughout his #oetic works, including the im#ortance of the natural world, transcendentalism and interconnectedness, religion, r eligion, moralit, mortalit, mortalit, memor and the #ower of the human mind. Wordsworth Wordsworth began #ublishing in 17(', at the age of 3', with a collection of #oetr about a tour he took in the 0wiss 0wiss !l#s !l#s $escriptive $escriptive Setches. Setches. 4n 17(& Wordsworth Wordsworth and Coleridge #ublished %yrical #ublished %yrical &allads! &allads! with a #ew 'ther Poems anonmousl. 4n 1& the two #ublished another edition of %yrical of %yrical &allads that &allads that included WordsworthGs WordsworthGs famous #reface highlighting se$eral of the ke ideas of the +omantic 9o$ement. Wordsworth Wordsworth #ublished Elegiac #ublished Elegiac Stan(as and Stan(as and Poems Poems in two volumes in volumes in 1&' and 1&5 res#ecti$el, followed followed b The Excursion in Excursion in 1&13, Collected Poems in Poems in 1&15, and Peter and Peter &ell and and The )aggoner in in 1&1(. Wordsworth Wordsworth #ublished Ecclesiastical #ublished Ecclesiastical Setches in Setches in 1&33. !fter WordsworthGs death, his wife #ublished Preface #ublished Preface,, which was #re$iousl known onl as >oem for Coleridge. !t the time of his death, Wordsworth Wordsworth was known in -ngland as the best #oet in the world.
0H- ;W-L !9=D? MD+=;;-D W!F0 0he dwelt among the untrodden was Beside the s#rings of ;o$e, 9aid whom there were none to #raise !nd $er few to lo$e
! $iolet $iolet b a mos tone Half hidden from the eeI *air as a star, when onl one
15
4s shining in the sk.
0he li$ed unknown, and few could know When Luc ceased to be: But she is in her gra$e, and, oh, he difference to meI
'i((iam 'or%")orth 'or%")orth *+,,-.+/0-1 2ine" Com3o"e% a Fe) Mi(e" a4ove Tintern A44ey! On Revi"iting the 5an6" o7 the 'ye %uring a Tour8 9u(y +! +,;/
*i$e ears ha$e #ast: fi$e summers, with the length =f fi$e long wintersI and again 4 hear hese waters, rolling from their mountains#rings With With a soft inland murmur.=nce murmur.=nce again ;o 4 behold these stee# and loft cliffs, hat on a wild secluded scene im#ress houghts of more dee# seclusion: and connect he landsca#e with the 8uiet of the sk. he da is come when 4 again re#ose Here, under this dark scamore, and $iew hese #lots of cottageground, these orchardtufts, Which at this season, with their unri#e fruits, 16
!re clad in one green hue, and lose themsel$es G9id gro$es and co#ses. =nce again 4 see hese hedgerows, hardl hedgerows, little lines =f s#orti$e wood run wild these #astoral farms, ?reen to the $er door: and wreaths of smoke 0ent u#, in silence, from among the treesI With With some uncertain notice, as might seem =f $agrant dwellers in the houseless woods, =r of some HermitGs ca$e, where b his fire he Hermit sits alone.
hese beauteous forms, hrough a long absence, ha$e not been to me !s is a landsca#e to a blind manGs ee But oft, in lonel rooms, and Gmid the din =f towns and cities, 4 ha$e owed to them, 4n hours of weariness, sensations sweet, *elt in the blood, and felt along the heart: !nd #assing e$en into m #urer mind With With tran8uil restorationfeelings too =f unremembered #leasure such, #erha#s, !s ha$e no slight or tri$ial influence =n that best #ortion of a good manGs life, His little, nameless, unremembered, acts 17
=f kindness and of lo$e. Dor less, 4 trust, o them 4 ma ha$e owed another gift, =f as#ect more sublime: that blessed mood, 4n which the burthen of the mster, 4n which the hea$ and the wear weight =f all this unintelligible world, 4s lightenedthat serene and blessed mood, 4n which the affections gentl lead us on, Mntil, the breath of this cor#oreal frame !nd e$en the motion of our human blood !lmost sus#ended, we are laid aslee# 4n bod, and become a li$ing soul While with an ee made 8uiet b the #ower =f harmon, and the dee# #ower of 6o, We see into the life of things.
4f this Be but a $ain belief, et, ohI how oft 4n darkness and amid the man sha#es =f 6oless dalight: when the fretful stir Mn#rofitable, and the fe$er of the world, Ha$e hung u#on the beatings of m heart How oft, in s#irit, ha$e 4 turned to thee, = sl$an WeI thou wanderer throG the woods, 18
How often has m s#irit turned to theeI
!nd now, with gleams of halfe)tinguished thought, With With man recognitions dim and faint, !nd somewhat of a sad #er#le)it, he #icture of the mind re$i$es again While here 4 stand, not onl with the sense =f #resent #leasure, but with #leasing thoughts hat in this moment there is life and food *or future ears. !nd so 4 dare to ho#e, hough changed, no doubt, from what 4 was when first 4 came among these hills: when like a roe 4 bounded oGer the mountains, b the sides =f the dee# ri$ers, and the lonel streams, Where$er nature led more like a man *ling from something that he dreads, than one Who sought the thing he lo$ed. *or nature then he coarser #leasures of m boish das !nd their glad animal mo$ements all gone b/ o me was all in all.4 cannot #aint What then 4 was. he sounding cataract Haunted me like a #assion the tall rock, he mountain, and the dee# and gloom wood, heir colours and their forms, were then to me 19
!n a##etite: a feeling and a lo$e, hat had no need of a remoter charm, B thought su##lied, not an interest Mnborrowed from the ee.hat time is #ast, !nd all its aching 6os are now no more, !nd all its dizz ra#tures. Dot for this *aint 4, nor mourn nor murmur: other gifts Ha$e followed: for such loss, 4 would belie$e, !bundant recom#ense. *or 4 ha$e learned o look on nature, not as in the hour =f thoughtless outh: but hearing oftentimes he still sad music of humanit, Dor harsh nor grating, though of am#le #ower o chasten and subdue.!nd 4 ha$e felt ! #resence that disturbs me with the 6o =f ele$ated thoughts: a sense sublime =f something far more dee#l interfused, Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, !nd the round ocean and the li$ing air, !nd the blue sk, and in the mind of man ! motion and a s#irit, that im#els !ll thinking things, all ob6ects of all thought, !nd rolls through all things. herefore am 4 still ! lo$er of the meadows and the woods 20
!nd mountains: and of all that we behold *rom this green earth: of all the might world =f ee, and ear,both what the half create, !nd what #ercei$e: well #leased to recognise 4n nature and the language of the sense he anchor of m #urest thoughts, the nurse, he guide, the guardian of m heart, and soul =f all m moral being.
Dor #erchance, 4f 4 were not thus taught, should 4 the more 0uffer m genial s#irits to deca *or thou art with me here u#on the banks =f this fair ri$er: thou m dearest *riend, 9 dear, dear *riend: and in th $oice 4 catch he language of m former heart, and read 9 former #leasures in the shooting lights =f th wild ees. =hI et a little while 9a 4 behold in thee what 4 was once, 9 dear, dear 0isterI and this #raer 4 make, Knowing that Dature ne$er did betra he heart that lo$ed her: Gtis her #ri$ilege, hrough all the ears of this our life, to lead *rom 6o to 6o for she can so inform 21
he mind that is within us, so im#ress With With 8uietness and beaut, and so feed With With loft thoughts, that neither e$il tongues, +ash 6udgments, nor the sneers of selfish men, Dor greetings where no kindness is, nor all he drear intercourse of dail life, 0hall eGer #re$ail against us, or disturb =ur cheerful faith, that all which we behold 4s full of blessings. herefore let the moon 0hine on thee in th solitar walk: !nd let the mist mountainwinds be free o blow against thee and, in after ears, When these wild ecstasies shall be matured 4nto a sober #leasure: when th mind 0hall be a mansion for all lo$el forms, h memor be as a dwelling#lace *or all sweet sounds and harmonies: ohI then, 4f solitude, or fear, or #ain, or grief, 0hould be th #ortion, with what healing thoughts =f tender 6o wilt thou remember me, !nd these m e)hortationsI Dor, #erchance 4f 4 should be where 4 no more can hear h $oice, nor catch from th wild ees these gleams =f #ast e)istencewilt thou then forget 22
hat on the banks of this delightful stream We stood together: and that 4, so long ! worshi##er of Dature, hither came Mnwearied in that ser$ice rather sa With With warmer lo$eohI with far dee#er zeal =f holier lo$e. Dor wilt thou then forget, hat after man wanderings, man ears =f absence, these stee# woods and loft cliffs, !nd this green #astoral landsca#e, were to me 9ore dear, both for themsel$es and for th sakeI Note" +N *irst #ublished in 17(&, as the concluding #oem of %yrical of %yrical &allads &allads.. Com#osed on %ul 1', 17(&, while Wordsworth Wordsworth and his sister were returning b the $alle of the We, We, in south Wales, Wales, to Bristol after a walking tour of se$eral das. Dot a line of it was altered and not an #art of it written down till 4 reached Bristol. he #oems #lanned for %yrical for %yrical &allads were &allads were alread in the hands of the #rinter in Bristol when Tintern *++ey, *++ey, so different in theme and stle, was added to the $olume. +0ublished in 17(& in %yrical in %yrical &allads, &allads, this #oem is widel considered to be one of WordsworthGs WordsworthGs master#ieces. 4t is a com#le) #oem, addressing memor, mortalit, mortalit, faith in nature, and familial lo$e. he #oemGs structure structur e is similarl com#le), making use of the freedom of blank $erse no rhming/ as well as the measured rhthm of iambic #entameter with a few notable e)ce#tions/. he flow of the writing has been described as that of wa$es, accelerating onl to sto# in the middle of a line caesura/. he re#etition of sounds and words adds to the ebb and flow of the language, a##ro#riatel s#eaking to the ebb and flow of the #oetGs memories. ;i$ided into fi$e stanzas of different lengths, the #oem begins in the #resent moment, describing the natural setting. Wordsworth Wordsworth em#hasizes the act of returning b making e)tensi$e use of re#etition *i$e ears ha$e #assed: fi$e summers, with the length =f fi$e long wintersI and again 4 hear hese waters... He also uses the #hrase once again twice, both times in the middle of a line, breaking the flow of the te)t. 4t is in this manner that the reader is introduced to the natural beaut of the We We +i$er area. 4n the second stanza, Wordsworth Wordsworth de#arts from the #resent moment to describe descr ibe how his memories of the scene ins#ired and sustained him o$er the #ast fi$e ears. Life awa from nature is described as being in lonel rooms, and mid the din =f towns and a nd cities. 9eanwhile, nature is described with almost religious fer$or Wordsworth Wordsworth uses words such as sublime, blessed, and serene. Wordsworth Wordsworth refers to a blessed mood twice, em#hasizing his 28
s#iritual relationshi# with nature. 4nterestingl, while Wordsworth Wordsworth uses man words related to s#iritualit and religion in this #oem, he ne$er refers to ?od or Christianit. 4t seems that nature is #laing that role in this #oem, #oe m, es#eciall at the end of the second stanza, when Wordsworth Wordsworth describes a sort of transcendent moment Mntil, the breath of this cor#oreal frame, !nd e$en the motion of our human blood !lmost sus#ended, we are laid aslee# 4n bod, and become a li$ing soul While with an ee made 8uiet b the #ower =f harmon, and the dee# #ower of 6o, We see into the life of things. Dature, it seems, offers offers humankind we/ a kind of insight We We see into into the life of things/ in the face of mortalit we are laid aslee#/. Wordsworth Wordsworth las em#hasis on the last line b making it onl eight sllables four iambs/ long, as o##osed to ten. 4n the third stanza, Wordsworth Wordsworth returns to the #resent and acknowledges that his faith might be in $ain, but reiterates how im#ortant his memories of this landsca#e ha$e been to him, addressing the ri$er directl = sl$an WeI WeI !s in man of his other #oems, Wordsworth Wordsworth #ersonifies natural forms or nature as a whole b addressing them directl a#ostro#he/. Wordsworth Wordsworth seems to $alue this #eriod of his life, and remembers it with a somewhat nostalgic air, although he admits that in this sim#ler time he coarser #leasures of m boish das/, he was not so so#histicated as he is now. 4n the #resent, he is weighed down b more serious thoughts. He alludes to a loss of faith and a sense of disheartenment. his transition is widel belie$ed to refer to WordsworthGs WordsworthGs changing attitude towards the *rench +e$olution. Ha$ing $isited *rance at the height of the +e$olution, Wordsworth Wordsworth was ins#ired b the ideals of the +e#ublican mo$ement. heir em#hasis on the $alue of the indi$idual, imagination, and libert ins#ired him and filled him with a sense of o#timism. B 17(&, howe$er, Wordsworth Wordsworth was alread alr ead losing faith in the mo$ement, as it had b then degenerated into wides#read $iolence. 9eanwhile, as *rance and Britain entered the conflict, Wordsworth Wordsworth was #re$ented from seeing his famil in *rance and lost his faith in humanitGs ca#acit for 29
harmon. Wordsworth Wordsworth turns to nature to find the #eace he cannot find in ci$ilization. Wordsworth Wordsworth goes on to describe a s#irit or a being connected with nature that ele$ates his understanding of the world !nd 4 ha$e felt a #resence that disturbs me with the 6o =f ele$ated thoughts: a sense sublime =f something far more dee#l interfused, Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, sun s, !nd the round ocean, and the li$ing air, !nd the blue sk, and in the mind of man, ! motion motion and a s#irit, that im#els !ll thinking things, all ob6ects of thought, !nd rolls through all things. his #resence could refer to ?od or some s#iritual consciousness, or it could sim#l refer to the unified #resence of the natural world. 4n the interconnectedness of nature, Wordsworth Wordsworth finds the sublime harmon har mon that he cannot find in humankind, and for this reason he a##roaches nature with an almost religious fer$or herefore am 4 still ! lo$er of the meadows and the woods, !nd mountains: and of all that we behold *rom this green earth: of all the might world =f ee and ear, e ar, both what the halfcreate, !nd what #ercei$e: well #leased to recognize 4n nature and the language of the sense, he anchor of m #urest thoughts... 30
4n this ke #assage, Wordsworth outlines his understanding of consciousness. Like other +omantic #oets, # oets, Wordsworth Wordsworth imagines that consciousness is built out of sub6ecti$e, sensor e)#erience. What he hears and sees of all that we behold... of all the might might world =f ee and ear/ creates his #erce#tions and his consciousness both what the halfcreate, !nd what #ercei$e/. he language of the sensehis sensor e)#eriencesare the building blocks of this consciousness he anchor of m #urest thoughts/. hus, he relies on his e)#erience of nature for both consciousness and all OhisN moral being. 4n the last stanza, Wordsworth Wordsworth returns to the #resent to address his sister ;oroth, and e)#lains that like his memor of this natural #lace, her #resence offers a kind of continuit in his life. !lthough he e)#eriences an)iet about his own mortalit, the idea that ;oroth will remember him and remember this moment after his death comforts him. ;oroth offers continuit because Wordsworth Wordsworth sees himself in her ;oroth was also a #oet and the two s#ent a great deal of time together/, literall seeing his former #leasures in the shooting lights =f th wild ees. Wordsworth sees that ;oroth e)#eriences the We We with the same enthusiasm as he did fi$e ears ears earlier. 9o$ing into a discussion of the future, he ho#es that ;orothGs memories of this landsca#e will sustain her in sad times the wa the sustained him, and offers u# a #raer that this will be the case !nd this #raer 4 make, Knowing that Dature ne$er did betra he heart that lo$ed her: Gtis her #ri$ilege, hrough all the ears of this our life, to lead *rom 6o to 6o... !gain, Wordsworth Wordsworth addresses nature with a sort of s#iritual faith without actuall citing ?od or religion. 4nstead, he focuses entirel on nature and on ;oroth. 4n the last lines of the #oem, Wordsworth Wordsworth creates a sort of #act between ;oroth, the natural en$ironment, and himself, as if tring to establish and ca#ture the memor of this #recise moment fore$er Dor wilt though then forget, forget, hat after man wanderings, man ears 31
=f absence, these stee# woods and loft cliffs, !nd this green #astoral landsca#e, were to me 9ore dear, both for themsel$es, and for th sake. With With these words, Wordsworth creates a beautiful illustration of the mechanics of memor. Dot onl does he want to remember this moment in this beautiful landsca#e, but he also wants ;oroth to remember how much he lo$ed it, and how much more he lo$ed it because he knew that she would remember it too. hus, nature is not onl an ob6ect of beaut and the sub6ect of memories, but also the catalst for a beautiful, harmonious relationshi# between two #eo#le, and their memories of that relationshi#. r elationshi#. his falls in line with WordsworthGs WordsworthGs belief that nature is a source of ins#iration and harmon harmon that can ele$ate human e)istence to the le$el of the sublime in a wa that ci$ilization cannot. !lthough the #oem is often referred referr ed to sim#l as intern !bbe, !bbe, this is misleading because the #oem is actuall located a few miles awaI !t the time the #oem was written, intern !bbe !bbe was alread 6ust the ruins of a gothic cathedrala stone shell with no roof, car#eted with grass. !lthough it is a romantic image, it is not the sub6ect of the #oem.
The 'or(% 'or(% i" too mu$h )ith u"
he world is too much with us: late and soon, ?etting and s#ending, we la waste our #owers Little we see in Dature that is ours: We ha$e gi$en our hearts awa, a sordid boonI his 0ea that bares her bosom to the moon: he winds that will be howling at all hours, !nd are u#gathered now like slee#ing flowers: *or this, for e$erthing, we are out of tune: 4t mo$es us not.?reat ?odI 4Gd rather be ! >agan suckled in a creed outworn: 32
0o might 4, standing on this #leasant lea, Ha$e glim#ses that would make me less forlorn: Ha$e sight of >roteus rising from the sea: =r hear old riton riton blow his wreathPd horn.
Summary and Analysis Analysis of "The world is too much with with us"
he s#eaker begins this #oem b saing that the world is too full of humans who are losing their connection to di$init and, e$en more im#ortantl, to nature. Humans, the s#eaker sas, sa s, ha$e gi$en their hearts awa, and the gift is a morall degraded one he world is too much with us: late and soon, ?etting and s#ending, we la waste our #owers: Little we see in Dature that is ours: We ha$e gi$en our hearts awa, a sordid boonI boo nI 4n the second 8uartet the s#eaker tells the reader that e$erthing in nature, including the sea and the winds, is gathered u# in a #owerful connection with which humanit is out of tune. 4n other words, humans are not e)#eriencing nature as the should his 0ea that bares her bosom to the moon, he winds that will be howling at all hours, !nd are u#gathered now like slee#ing flowers, *or this, for e$erthing, we are out of tune: 4t mo$es us not. he s#eaker ends the #oem b saing that he would rather be a #agan attached to a wornout sstem of beliefs than be out of tune with nature. !t least if he were a #agan he might be able to see things that would make him less unha##, like the sea gods >roteus and riton 33
?reat ?odI 4Gd rather be ! >agan suckled in a creed outworn: 0o might 4, standing on this #leasant lea, Ha$e glim#ses that would make me less forlorn: Ha$e sight of >roteus rising from the sea: =r hear old riton blow his wreathed horn. !nalsis he world is too much with us is a sonnet with an abbaabbacdcdcd rhme scheme. he #oem is written from a #lace of angst and frustration. !ll !ll around him, Wordsworth Wordsworth sees #eo#le who are obsessed with mone and with manmade ob6ects. hese #eo#le are losing their #owers of di$init, and can no longer identif with the natural world. his idea is enca#sulated in the famous lines ?etting and s#ending, we la waste our #owers: Little we see in Dature that is ours. Wordsworth Wordsworth belie$es that we ha$e gi$en our hearts the center of oursel$es/ awa in e)change for mone and material wealth. He is disgusted at this es#eciall because nature is so readil a$ailable: it almost calls to humanit. 4n the end, Wordsworth Wordsworth decides that he would rather be a #agan in a com#lete state of disillusionment than be out of touch with nature. he final image of the #oem is of Wordsworth Wordsworth standing on a lea or a tract of o#en land/ o$erlooking the ocean where he sees >roteus and riton. He is ha##, but this ha##iness is not what the reader is meant to feel. 4n actualit, the reader should feel saddened b the scene, because Wordsworth Wordsworth has gi$en u# on humanit, choosing instead to sli# out of realit.
0amuel alor alor Coleridge 0amuel alor Coleridge was born in ;e$on in 1773. His father, a clergman, mo$ed his famil to London when Coleridge was oung, and it was there that Coleridge attended school as he would later recall in #oems such as @*rost at 9idnig 9idnightA htA/. /. He later later attend attended ed Cambri Cambridge dge but left left without without com#le com#letin ting g his studies. ;uring the #oliticall charged atmos#here of the late eighteenth centur oem >oemss such such as @he @he +ime +ime of the the !ncie ncient nt 9ari 9arine nerA rA and and @Kub @Kubla la Khan KhanAA demonstrat demonstratee Coleridge’ Coleridge’ss talent for concocting concocting bizarre, unsettling unsettling stories stories full of fant fantas asti ticc imag imager er and and magi magic: c: in #oem #oemss such such as @*ro @*rost st at 9idn 9idnig ight htAA and and @;e6 @;e6ec ecti tion on !n =de, =de,AA he muses muses e)#l e)#lic icit itl l on the the natu nature re of the the mind mind as it interacts with the creati$e source of nature. Coleridge married in 17(5 and s#ent much of the ne)t decade li$ing near and tra$eling with Wordsworth and his sister ;oroth. 4n 17((, Coleridge met 0ara Hutchinson, with whom he fell dee#l in lo$e, forming an attachment that was to last man ears. Coleridge became an o#ium addict it is thought that @Kubla Khan KhanAA origi origina nate ted d from from an o#iu o#ium m dream dream// and, and, in 1&1 1&1,, mo$e mo$ed d in with with the the surgeon %ames ?illman in order to #reser$e his health. ;uring the ears he li$ed with ?illman, Coleridge com#osed man of his im#ortant nonfiction works, incl includ udin ing g the the high highl l regar regarde ded d &iographia %iteraria. Howe$e Howe$er, r, althou although gh he cont contin inue ued d to writ writee unti untill his his deat death h in 1&'" 1&'",, +om +omanti antici cism sm was was alwa alwas s a mo$ement about outh, and toda Coleridge is remembered #rimaril for the #oems he wrote while still in his twenties. 0amuel alor Coleridge’s #lace in the canon of -nglish #oetr rests on a com#arati$el small bod of achie$ement a few #oems from the late 17(s and earl earl 1&s 1&s and his #artici#a #artici#atio tion n in the re$olutio re$olutionar nar #ublic #ublicati ation on of %yrical &allads in 17(7. Mnlike Mnlike Wordswor Wordsworth, th, his work cannot be understood understood through the lens of the 1&3 #reface to the second edition of that book: though it does resemble Wordsworth’s in its idealization of nature and its em#hasis on human 6o, Coleridge’s #oems often fa$or musical effects o$er the #lainness of commo common n s#ee s#eech. ch. he he inte intent ntio iona nall archa archais isms ms of @he @he +ime +ime of the the !ncie ncient nt 35
9arinerA and the h#notic drone of @Kubla KhanA do not imitate common s#eech, creating instead a more strikingl stlized effect. *urther, Coleridge’s #oems com#licate the #henomena Wordsworth takes for gran grante ted d the the sim sim#le #le unit unit betw betwee een n the the chil child d and and natu nature re and and the the adul adult’ t’ss reconnection with nature through memories of childhood: in #oems such as @*rost at 9idnight,A Coleridge indicates the fragilit of the child’s innocence b relating his own urban childhood. 4n #oems such as @;e6ection !n =deA and @Dightingale,A he stresses the di$ision between his own mind and the beaut of the natural world. *inall, Coleridge often #ri$ileges weird tales and bizarre imager imager o$er the common#lace common#lace,, rustic sim#licities sim#licities Wordswort Wordsworth h ad$ocates: ad$ocates: the @thousand thousand slim thingsA that crawl u#on the rotting sea in the @+imeA would be out of #lace in a Wordsworth Wordsworth #oem. 4f Wordsworth re#resents the central #illar of earl +omanticism, Coleridge is ne$ertheless ne$ertheless an im#ortant im#ortant structural su##ort. His em#hasis em#hasis on the imaginati imagination, on, its inde#endence from the outside world and its creation of fantastic #ictures such as those found in the @+ime,A e)erted a #rofound influence on later writers such as 0helle: 0helle: his de#iction of feelings of alienation alienation and numbness hel#ed to define more shar#l the +omantics’ idealized contrast between the em#tiness of the citilotGs Bo lost their minds. he s#ooked Hermit asked the !ncient 9ariner what kind of man he was. 4t was then that the !ncient 9ariner learned of his curse: he would be destined to tell his tale to others from beginning to end when an agonizing, #hsical urge struck him. !fter he related his tale to the Hermit, he felt normal again. he !ncient 9ariner tells the Wedding ?uest that he wanders from countr to countr, and has a s#ecial instinct that tells him to whom he must tell his stor. !fter he tells it, he is tem#oraril relie$ed of his agon. he !ncient 9ariner tells the Wedding Wedding ?uest that better than an merriment is the com#an of others in #raer. He sas that the best wa to become close with ?od is to res#ect all of His creatures, because He lo$es them all. hen he $anishes. 4nstead of 6oining the wedding rece#tion, the Wedding ?uest walks home, stunned. We are told that he awakes the ne)t da sadder and...wiser for ha$ing heard the !ncient 9arinerGs tale. About The Rime of the Ancient Mariner
Coleridge first #ublished his famous ballad, he +ime of the !ncient 9ariner, in %yrical &allads, &allads, his 17(& 6oint effort with his close friend and colleague William Wordsworth. he collectionGs #ublication is often seen as the +omantic 38
9o$em 9o$ement entGs Gs true true ince ince#t #tio ion. n. 4t was was #ubl #ublis ishe hed d anon anonm mou ousl sl a mo$e mo$e that that contradicted its intensel #ersonal and sub6ecti$e contents. >ur#ortedl, he +ime of the !ncient 9ariner was to be a 6oint effort on both #oetsG #arts: Coleridge attributed the shooting of the albatross as well as se$eral lines to Wordsworth. Wordsworth. Dineteen ears later, in 1&17, he #ublished an edited $ersion of the #oem in his collection entitled Si+ylline %eaves. %eaves. he #oemGs first $ersion went against the emerging +omantic tradition of writing in contem#orar, unrhmed langua language, ge, someth something ing Wordswort rdsworth h cham#io cham#ioned ned in his in inter tern n !bbe !bbe,, also also #ublished in %yrical in %yrical &allads &allads.. Coleridge maintained that his use of a loose rhme schem schemee and and archa archaic ic lang langua uage ge in he he +ime +ime of the the !ncie ncient nt 9ari 9arine ner r was was deliberate and scholarl, intended to #ro$oke thought about the use of such de$ices and in$oke a sort of literar timelessness. Howe$er, the #ressures of the genre he was hel#ing to define ma ha$e contributed to his ultimate decision to remo$e much of the archaism from the #oem for se$eral re$isions in the earl ears of the 1(th centur. 4n the 1&17 $ersion of the #oem, Coleridge added another laer to the #oem in the form of marginal glosses. hese e)#lanations not onl am#lif the allegorical feel of the #oem, but work in #lace of the omitted archaisms to establish a nostalgic, fictitiousl historical mood. he also state directl that s#irits, and not 6ust nature, are res#onsible for #unishing the !ncient 9ariner and his shi#mates. While he +ime of the !ncient 9ariner de#arted from +omantic stlistic tendencies, it e)em#lified man of the genreGs themes. he most central of these is the sub6ecti$it of e)#erience and the im#ortance of the indi$idual. he #oem is told told larg largel el from from the the !ncie ncient nt 9ari 9arine nerGs rGs #ers# #ers#ec ecti ti$e $e,, des# des#it itee the the mino minor r in$ol$ement of a se#arate narrator, who describes the !ncient 9ariner and Wedding ?uestGs actions. he !ncient 9ariner tells his selfcentered tale for a selfce selfcente ntered red #ur#os #ur#ose e to alla alla his agoniz agonizing ing storte stortelli lling ng com#ul com#ulsio sion. n. he he +omantics were some of the first #oets to #lace a literar workGs focus on the #rotagonistGs em#irical e)#erience of the world, rather than on a didactic message message com#ared to, sa, 0#enserGs 0#enserGs The #airie ,ueen/. ,ueen/. WordsworthGs he +ime of the !ncient 9ariner also e)em#lified the +omantic fascination with the the hol hol in natu nature. re. +oma +omant ntic ic #oet #oetss as well well as #ain #ainte ters rs like like Cas# Cas#ar ar ;a$i ;a$id d *ried *riedri rich ch em#h em#hasi asize zed d the the natu natural ral worl worldG dGss ma6e ma6est st b dwar dwarfi fing ng huma humans ns in com#arison to it. Coleridge #laces the !ncient 9ariner out in the o# en ocean for much of the #oem, making him $er small and $ulnerable in com#arison to the forc forces es of natu nature re.. he +om +omanti antics cs also also went went agai agains nstt the earl earlie ierr tren trend d of cham#ioning religious institution and instead locating the s#iritual and sublime in nature. nature. ;es#it ;es#itee the !ncient !ncient 9arine 9arinerGs rGs e)#res e)#ressio sion n of lo$e lo$e for commun communal al #raer, his message re$eals his belief that the true #ath to ?od is through communing with and res#ecting nature.
39
he +ime of the !ncient 9ariner is said to ha$e been ins#ired b se$eral historical sources. hese include Ca#tain %ames CookGs $oages, the legend of the Wandering %ew, and es#eciall Ca#tain ?eorge 0hel$ockeGs 173 * 173 * -oyage -oyage /ound the )orld , in which he describes how one of his shi#mates shot an albatross that he belie$ed had made the wind disa##ear. =ther sources claim that the #oem was ins#ired b a dream of ColeridgeGs friend, Cruikshank, and still others belie$e that Coleridge wrote the strange, sensuallrich te)t under the influence of o#ium, as he did his famous Kubla Khan. he +ime of the !ncient 9ariner has become an im#ortant landmark in the literar canon since its #ublication, and has also contributed certain #hrases to common s#eech. he most notable of these is the secondar definition definition of the word albatross, albatross, often used to denote a constant, worrisome burden or an obstacle to success. !lso in common usage are the #oemGs most famous lines Water, Water, water, e$er where, Dor an dro# to drink. he #hrase has come to mean an situation in which one is surrounded b the ob6ect of oneGs desire but is unable to #artake. Character List An$ient Mariner
he #oemGs #rotagonist. He is unnaturall old, with skinn, dee#ltanned limbs and a glittering ee. He sets sail from his nati$e countr with two hundred other men who are all sa$ed from a strange, ic #atch of ocean when the are kind to an !lbatross that li$es there. 4m#ulsi$el and ine)#licabl, he shoots the !lbatross with his crossbow and is #unished for his crime b a s#irit who lo$ed the !lbatross. He is cursed to be haunted indefinitel b his dead shi#mates, and to be com#elled to tell the tale of his downfall at random times. -ach time he is com#elled to share his stor with someone, he feels a #hsical agon that is abated onl tem#oraril once he finishes telling the tale. 'e%%ing =ue"t
=ne of three #eo#le on their wa to a wedding rece#tion: he is ne)t of kin to the bridegroom. he !ncient 9ariner sto#s him, and des#ite his #rotests com#els him to sit and listen to the entiret of his stor. He is afraid of the !ncient 9ariner and earns to 6oin the merriment of the wedding celebration, but after he hears the !ncient 9arinerGs stor, he becomes both sadder and...wiser. and...wiser. The Sai(or"
wo hundred seamen who set sail with the !ncient 9ariner one clear, sunn da and find themsel$es in the ic world of the rime after a storm, from which 40
the the !lbat lbatros rosss free freess them them.. he he feed feed and and #la #la with with the the !lbat lbatros rosss unti untill the the !ncient 9ariner ine)#licabl kills it. he begin to suffer from debilitating heat and thirst. he hang the !lbatros !lbatrossGs sGs cor#se around the !ncient !ncient 9arinerGs neck to #unish him. When Lifein;eath wins the !ncient 9arinerGs soul, the sailorsG souls are left to ;eath and the curse the !ncient !ncient 9ariner with their ees before ding suddenl. -$en though their souls fl out, their bodies refuse to rot and lie o#eneed on the deck, continuousl cursing the !ncient 9ariner. !fter the rain returns, the sailors come ali$e and silentl man the shi#, singing beautiful melodies. melodies. When the shi# reaches the harbor, harbor, the once again curse the !ncient !ncient 9ariner with their ees and then disa##ear, lea$ing onl their cor#ses behind. he he !ncie ncient nt 9ari 9arine nerr is dest destin ined ed to suffe sufferr the the curs cursee of a li$i li$ing ng deat death h and and continuall be haunted b their cursing ees. A(4atro""
! great, white sea bird that #resumabl sa$es the sailors from the ic world of the rime b allowing them to steer through the ice and sending them a good, strong wind. he !lbatross, howe$er, also makes a strange mist follow the shi#. 4t flies alongside the shi#, #las with the sailors, and eats their food, until the !ncient 9ariner shoots it with his crossbow. 4ts cor#se is hung around the !ncient 9arinerGs neck as a reminder of his crime and falls off onl when he is able to a##reciate the beaut of nature and #ra once more. he !lbatross is lo$ed b a #owerful s#irit who wreaks ha$oc on and kills the sailors while lea$ing the !ncient 9ariner to the s#ecial agon of Lifein;eath. Death
-mbodied in a hulking form on the ghost shi#. He loses at dice to Lifein;eath, who gets to claim the !ncient 9arinerGs soul: instead, ;eath wins the two hundred sailors. The Night.mare 2i7e.in.Death
-mbodied in a beautiful, naked, ghostl woman with golden hair and red li#s. 0he wins at dice o$er ;eath and gets to claim the !ncient 9arinerGs soul, condemning him to a limbolike li$ing death. Pi(ot
he ca#tain of the small boat that rows out to the !ncient 9arinerGs shi#. He loses his mind when the !ncient 9ariner abru#tl comes to life and begins to row his boat. Pi(ot>" 5oy 41
he assistant to the >ilot: he rows the small boat. He loses his mind when the !ncient 9ariner, whom he thinks is dead, abru#tl comes to life and takes the oars from him. ermit
! recluse who #ras three times a da and li$es in communion with nature in the woods. He accom#anies the >ilot and the >ilotGs bo on the small boat because he lo$es to talk with mariners from a far countree. he !ncient 9ariner re$eres the Hermit as a righteous and hol man, and asks him to absol$e him of his sin. he Hermit is the first #erson to whom the !ncient 9ariner is com#elled to tell his tale. Fir"t Voi$e Voi$e
=ne of two $oices #resumabl belonging to a s#irit. he !ncient 9ariner hears the *irst Eoice after he is knocked unconscious when the shi# 6olts forward. He e)#lains that the !ncient 9ariner offended a s#irit b killing the !lbatross, because the s#irit lo$ed the bird. bird . =ther than this moment, the *irst Eoice Eoice relies r elies on the 0econd Eoice to e)#lain the !ncient 9arinerGs situation to him. Se$on% Voi$e Voi$e
he second of two $oices #resumabl belonging to a s#irit. he 0econd Eoice is softer than the *irst Eoiceas soft as honedewand more knowledgeable. He e)#lains to the *irst Eoice that the !ncient 9ariner will #a for his crime much more dearl than he alread has. -$en though the *irst Eoice tells the 0econd Eoice that the !ncient 9ariner angered a s#irit who lo$ed the !lbatross, the latter latter e)#lains that the 9oon and air mo$e the shi# in lieu of wind, and not the s#irit who lo$ed the !lbatross. hen he urges the *irst Eoice onward, as the are hurring somewhere. Major Themes The Natura( 'or(%: The Phy"i$a(
While it can be beautiful and frightening often simultaneousl/, the natural worldGs #ower in he +ime of the !ncient 9ariner is un8uestionable. 4n a mo$e t#ical of +omantic #oets both #receding and following Coleridge, and es#eciall t#ical of his colleague, William Wordsworth, Coleridge em#hasizes the wa in which the natural world world dwarfs and asserts asserts its awesome awesome #ower o$er man. -s#eciall in the 1&17 te)t, in which Coleridge includes marginal glosses, it is clear that the s#iritual world controls and utilizes the natural world. !t times the natural world seems to be a character itself, based on the wa it interac interacts ts with with the !ncient ncient 9arine 9ariner. r. *rom the momen momentt the !ncient ncient 9arine 9ariner r 42
offe offend ndss the the s#ir s#irit it of the the rime rime, , retr retrib ibut utio ion n comes comes in the the form form of natu natura rall #henomena. he wind dies, the sun intensifies, and it will not rain. he ocean becomes re$olting, rotting and thrashing with slim creatures and sizzling with strange fires. =nl when the !ncient 9ariner e)#resses lo$e for the natural worldthe watersnakesdoes his #unishment abate ab ate e$en slightl. 4t rains, but the storm is unusuall awesome, with a thick stream of fire #ouring from one huge cloud. ! s#irit, whether ?od or a #agan one, dominates the #hsical world in order to #unish and ins#ire re$erence in the !ncient 9ariner. !t the #oemGs end, the !ncient 9ariner #reaches res#ect for the natural world as a wa to remain in good standing with the s#iritual world, because in order to res#ect ?od, one must res#ect all of his creations. creations. his is wh he $alorizes $alorizes the Hermit, Hermit, who sets the e)am#le of both #raer and li$ing in harmon with nature. 4n his final ad$ice to the Wedding ?uest, the !ncient 9ariner affirms that one can access the sublime, the image of a greater and better world, onl b seeing the $alue of the mundane, the #ett things of dail life. The S3iritua( 'or(%: The Meta3hy"i$a(
he +ime of the !ncient 9ariner occurs in the natural, #hsical worldthe land land and and ocea ocean. n. Howe Howe$er $er,, the the work work has has #o#u #o#ula larl rl been been inte inter# r#ret reted ed as an alle allego gor r of manGs manGs conn connec ecti tion on to the the s#ir s#irit itua ual, l, meta meta#h #hsi sica call worl world. d. 4n the the e#igra#h, Burnet s#eaks of manGs urge to classif things since !dam named the animals. he !ncient 9ariner shoots the !lbatross as if to #ro$e that it is not an air s#irit, but rather a mortal creature: in a smbolic wa, he tries to classif the !lbatross. Like all natural things, the !lbatross is intimatel tied to the s#iritual world, and thus begins the !ncient 9arinerGs #unishment b the s#iritual world b means of the natural world. +ather than address him directl: the su#ernatural communicates through the natural. he ocean, sun, and lack of wind and rain #unish the !ncient 9ariner and his shi#mates. When the dead men come ali$e to curse the !ncient 9ariner with their ees, things that are naturaltheir cor#sesare inhabited b a #owerful s#irit. 9en like !dam/ feel the urge to define things, and the !ncient 9ariner seems to feel this urge when he suddenl and ine)#licabl kills the !lbatross, shooting it from the sk as though he needs to bring it into the #hsical, definable realm. 4t is mortal, but closel tied to the meta#hsical, s#iritual worldit e$en flies like a s#irit because it is a bird. he !ncient 9ariner detects s#irits in their #ure form se$eral times in the #oem. -$en -$en then, then, the the talk onl onl a+out him him, and not not to to him. When the ghost shi# carring ;eath and Lifein;eath sails b, the !ncient 9ariner o$erhears them gambling. hen when he lies unconscious on the deck, he hears the *irst Eoice and 0econd Eoice discussing his fate. When angels a##ear o$er the sailorsG cor#ses near the shore, the do not talk to the !ncient 9ariner, but onl guide 43
his shi#. 4n all these instances, it is unclear whether the s#irits are real or figme figments nts of his imagi imaginat nation ion.. he he !ncient ncient 9arine 9arinera rand nd we the reader readerbe being ing mortal beings, re8uire #hsical affirmation of the s#iritual. ColeridgeGs s#iritual world in the #oem balances between the religious and the #urel fantastical. he !ncient 9arinerGs #raers do ha$e an effect, as when he blesses the water snakes and is relie$ed of his thirst. !t the #oemGs end, he $alorizes the hol Hermit and the act of #raing with others. Howe$er, the s#irit that follows the sailors from the rime, ;eath, Lifein;eath, the $oices, and the angels, are not necessaril Christian archet#es. 4n a mo$e t#ical of both +omantic writers and #ainters, Coleridge locates the s#iritual andor hol in the natural world in order to em#hasize manGs connection to it. 0ociet can distance man from the sublime b cham#ioning worldl #leasures and abandoning re$erence for the otherworld. 4n this wa, the wedding rece#tion re#resents manGs alienation from the hol e$en in a religious tradition like marriage. Howe$er, societ can also bring man closer to the sublime, such as when when #eo#le gather together in #raer. 2imina(ity
he he +ime +ime of the !ncient !ncient 9arine 9ariner r t#ifi t#ifies es the +omant +omantic ic fascin fascinati ation on with with liminal s#aces. ! liminal s#ace is defined as a #lace on the edge of a realm or between two realms, whether a forest for est and a field, or reason and imagination. ! liminal s#ace often signifies a liminal state of mind, such as the threshold of the imaginationGs wonders. +omantics such as Coleridge, Wordsworth, and Keats $alorize the liminal s#ace and state as #laces where one can e)#erience the sublime. *or this reason the are often and es#eciall in the case of ColeridgeGs #oems associated with druginduced eu#horia. *ollowing from this, liminal s#ac s#aces es and and stat states es are are thos thosee in whic which h #ain #ain and and #lea #leasu sure re are are ine) ine)tr tric icabl able. e. +omant +omantic ic #oets #oets fre8uen fre8uentl tl had their their #rotag #rotagoni onists sts enter enter limina liminall s#aces s#aces and become irre$ersibl changed. 0tarting in the e#igra#h to he +ime of the !ncien !ncientt 9arine 9ariner, r, Coleri Coleridge dge e)#ress e)#resses es a fascin fascinati ation on with with the limina liminall state state between the s#iritual and natural, or the mundane mundane and the di$ine. +ecall that this is what Burnet calls the certain OandN uncertain and da OandN night. 4n the !ncient 9arinerGs stor, liminal s#aces are bewildering and cause #ain. he first liminal s#ace the sailors encounter is the e8uator, which is in a sense about as liminal a location as e)ists: after all, it is the threshold between the -arthGs hemis#heres. Do sooner has the shi# crossed the e8uator than a terrible storm ensues and dri$es it into the #oemGs ultimate smbolic liminal s#ace, the ic world of the rime. 4t is liminal b its $er #hsical makeu#: there, water e)ists e)ists not in one a single, single, definiti$e definiti$e state, state, but in all three forms li8uid water/, water/, solid ice/, and gas mist/. he are still most definitel in the ocean, but surrounding them are mountainous icebergs reminiscent of the land. he rime fits the archet#e of the +omantic liminal s#ace in that it is simultaneousl 44
terrifing terrifing and beautiful, beautiful, and in that the sailors do not na$igate there #ur#osel, #ur#osel, but are rather trans#orted there b some other force. Whereas the o#en ocean is a wild territor re#resenting the msteries of the mind and the sublime, the rime e)ists 6ust on its edge. !s a liminal s#ace it holds great #ower, and indeed a #owerful s#irit inhabits the rime. !s #unishment for his crime of killing the !lbatross, the !ncient 9ariner is sentenced to Lifein;eath, condemned to be tra##ed in a limbolike state where his glittering ee tells of both #owerful genius g enius and #ain. He can com#el others o thers to listen to his stor from beginning to end, but is forced to do so to relie$e his #ain. he !ncient 9ariner is caught in a liminal state that, as in much of +omant +omantic ic #oetr #oetr,, is com#ara com#arable ble to addict addiction ion.. He can relie$ relie$ee his suffer suffering ing tem#ora tem#oraril ril b sharin sharing g his stor stor,, but must must do so contin continual uall l.. he he !ncie !ncient nt 9ariner suffers because of his e)#erience in the rime and afterwards, but has also been e)tremel close to the di$ine and sublime because of it. herefore his curse is somewhat of a blessing: great and unusual knowledge accom#anies his #ain. he Wedding Wedding ?uest, the Hermit, and all others to whom he relates his tale enter into a momentar liminal state themsel$es where the ha$e a distinct sensation of being stunned or mesmerized. Re(igion
!lthough Christian and #agan themes are confounded at times in he +ime of the !ncient 9ariner, man readers and critics ha$e insisted on a Christian inter#retation. Coleridge claimed that he did not intend for the #oem to ha$e a mora moral, l, but but it is dif difficu ficult lt not not to find find one one in >art >art 7. he !ncie ncient nt 9ari 9arine ner r essentiall #reaches closeness to ?od through #raer and the willingness to show res#ect to all of ?odGs creatures. He also sas that he finds no greater 6o than in 6oining others in #raer o walk together to the kirk, !nd all together #ra, While each to his great *ather bends, =ld men, and babes, and lo$ing friends, !nd ouths and maidens gaI He also cham#ions the Hermit, who does nothing but #ra, #ractice humilit before ?od, and o#enl re$ere ?odGs creatures. he !ncient 9arinerGs shooting of the !lbatross can be com#ared to se$eral %udeoChristian stories of betraal, including the original sin of !dam and -$e, and CainGs betraal of !bel. Like !dam and -$e, the !ncient 9ariner fails to res#ect ?odGs rules and is tem#ted to tr to understand things that should remain out of his reach. Like them, he is forbidden from being trul close to the sublime, e)isting in a limbolike rather than an -denlike state. Howe$er, as a son of !dam and -$e, the !ncient 9ariner is alread a sinner and cast out of the di$ine realm. Like Cain, the !ncient 9ariner angers ?od b killing another creature. 9ost ob$iousl, the !ncient 9ariner can be seen as the archet#al 45
%udas or the uni$ersal sinner who betras Christ b sinning. Like %udas, he murd murders ers the the Chr Chris isti tian an soul soul who who coul could d lead lead to his his sal$ sal$at atio ion n and and great greater er understanding of the di$ine. 9an readers ha$e inter#reted the !lbatross as Christ, since it is the rime s#iritGs fa$orite creature, and the !ncient 9ariner #as dearl for killing it. he !lbatross is e$en hung around the !ncient 9arinerGs neck to mark him for his sin. hough the rain ba#tizes him after he is finall able to #ra, like a real ba#tism, it does not ensure his sal$ation. 4n the end, the !ncient 9ariner is like a strange #ro#het, ke#t ali$e to #ass word of ?odGs greatness onto others. Im3ri"onment
he +ime of the !ncient 9ariner is in man was a #ortrait of im#risonment and its inherent loneliness and torment. he first instance of im#risonment occurs when the sailors are swe#t b a storm into the rime. he ice is mast high, and the ca#tain cannot steer the shi# through it. he sailorsG confinement in the disorienting rime foreshadows for eshadows the !ncient 9arinerGs later im#risonment within a bewildered limbolike e)istence. 4n the beginning of the #oem, the shi# is a $ehi $ehicl clee of ad$e ad$ent ntur ure, e, and and the the sail sailor orss set set out out in one one anot anothe herG rGss ha## ha## com#an. Howe$er, once the !ncient 9ariner shoots the !lbatross, it 8uickl becomes a #rison. Without Without wind to sail the shi#, the sailors lose all control o$er their fate. he are cut off from ci$ilization, e$en though the ha$e each otherGs com#an com#an. . he he are im#ri im#rison soned ed further further b thirst thirst,, which which silenc silences es them them and effecti$el #uts them in isolation: the are denied the basic human abilit to communicate. When the other sailors dro# dead, the shi# becomes a #ri$ate #rison for the !ncient !ncient 9ariner. -$en more dramaticall, the ghost shi# seems to im#rison the sun !nd straight the sun was flecked with bars, Hea$enGs 9other send us graceI/ !s if through a dungeongrate he #eered With broad and burning face. he ghost shi# has such #ower that it can im#rison e$en the e#itome of the natural worldGs #ower, the sun. hese lines smbolize the s#iritual worldGs #ower o$er the natural and #hsical: s#irits can control not onl mortals, but the $er #lanets themsel$es. !fter he is rescued from the #rison that is the shi#, the !ncient 9ariner is sub6ect to the indefinite im#risonment of his soul within his #hsical bod. His glittering ee re#resents r e#resents his frenzied soul, eager to esca#e from his ra$aged bod. He is im#risoned b the addiction to his own stor, as though tra##ed tra##ed in the rime rime fore$er. fore$er. 4n a sense, the !ncient !ncient 9ariner im#risons im#risons others b com#elling them to listen to his stor: the are #hsicall com#elled to 6oin him in his torment until he releases r eleases them. Retri4ution 46
he +ime of the !ncient 9ariner is a tale of retribution, since the !ncient 9ariner s#ends most of the #oem #aing for his one, im#ulsi$e error of killing the !lbatross. he s#iritual world a$enges the !lbatrossGs death b wreaking #hsical and #schological ha$oc on the !ncient 9ariner and his shi#mates. -$en before the sailors die, their #unishment is e)tensi$e: the become delirious from a debilitating state of thirst, their li#s bake black in the sun, and the must endure the torment of seeing water all around them while being unable to drink it for its saltiness. -$entuall the sailors all die, their souls fling either to hea$en or hell. here are at least two was to inter#ret the fact that the sailors suffer with the !ncient 9ariner although the themsel$es ha$e not erred. he first is that retribution is blind: ins#ired b anger and the desire to #unish others, e$en a s#irit ma hurt the wrong #eo#le. he second is that the sailors are im#licated in the !ncient 9arinerGs crime. 4f the !ncient 9ariner re#resents the uni$ersal sinner, then each sailor, as a human, is guilt of ha$ing at some #oint disres#ected one of ?odGs creaturesor if not, he would ha$e in the future. But the eternal #unishment called Lifein;eath is reser$ed for the !ncient 9ariner. >resu >resuma mabl bl the the s#ir s#irit it,, bein being g immo immort rtal al,, must must endu endure re etern eternal al grie grieff o$er o$er the the murder of its belo$ed !lbatross. 4n retribution, it forces the !ncient 9ariner to endure eternal torment as well, in the form of his curse. hough he ne$er dies and ma ne$er, ne$er, in a sense the !ncient !ncient 9ariner 9ariner s#eaks from beond the gra$e to warn warn othe others rs abou aboutt the the hars harsh, h, #erm #erman anen entt cons conse8 e8ue uenc nces es of momen omenta tar r foolishness, selfishness, and disres#ect of the natural world. The A$t o7 Storyte((ing
4n he +ime of the !ncient !ncient 9ariner, Coleridge draws our attention not onl to the !ncient 9arinerGs stor, but to the act of stortelling itself. he !ncient 9arinerGs 9arinerGs tale com#rises so much of the #oem that moments moments that occur outside of it often seem like interru#tions. We are not onl ColeridgeGs audience, but the !ncient 9arinerGs. herefore, the messages that the #rotagonist deli$ers to his audience a##l to us, as well. 0tortelling is a #re$entati$e measure in the #oem, used to dissuade those who fa$or the #leasures of societ like the Wedding ?uest and, #resumabl, oursel$es/ from disregarding the natural and s#iritual worlds. he #oem can also be seen as an allegor for the writerGs task. Coleridge Coleridge uses the word teach to describe the !ncient !ncient 9arinerGs stortelling, stortelling, and sas that he has strange #ower of s#eech. 4n this wa, he com#ares the #rotagonist to himself both are gifted stortellers stortellers who im#art their wisdom unto others. B associating himself with the !ncient 9ariner, Coleridge im#lies that he, and b e)tension all writers, are not onl ins#ired but compelled to to write. heir gift is e8uall a curse: the #leasure of writing is marred with torment. 47
!ccording to this inter#retation, the writer writes not to #lease himself or others, but to sate a #ainful urge. 4nherent in the writerGs task is communication with others, whom he must warn lest the suffer a similar fate. %ust as the !ncient 9ariner is forced to balance in a #ainful limbo between life and death, the writer is com#elled and e$en condemned to balance in the liminal s#ace of the imaginati imagination on until until OhisN tale is told. told. Like a writer, writer, he is e8uall e8uall enthralled enthralled and #ained b his imagination. Both are addicts, and stortelling is their drug: it #ro$ides onl momentar relief until the urge to tell returns. 4n modern #schological terms, the !ncient 9ariner as well as the writer relies on the talking cure to relie$e himself of his #schological burden. But for the !ncient 9ariner, the cure reli$ing the e)#erience that started with the rime b re#ea re#eati ting ng his his rh rhme me is #art #art of the the tort tortur ure. e. Cole Coleri ridg dgee #ain #aints ts an e8ua e8uall ll #owerful and #athetic image of the writer. he !ncient 9ariner is able to ins#ire the Wedding ?uest so that he awakes the ne)t da a new man, et he is also the constant $ictim of his own talent a curse that torments, but ne$er destros. Summary and Analysis Analysis of art !
he Wedding ?uest #roclaims that he fears the !ncient 9ariner because he is unnaturall skinn, so tanned and wrinkled that he resembles the sand, and #ossesses a glittering ee. he !ncient 9ariner assures him that he has not returned from the dead: he is the onl sailor who did not die on his shi#, but rather drifted in lonel, scorching agon. His onl li$ing com#an was the #lethora of slim creatures in the ocean. He tried to #ra, but could #roduce onl a muffled curse. *or se$en das and nights the !ncient 9ariner remained alone on the shi#. he dead sailors, who miraculousl did not rot, continued to curse curse him him with with thei theirr o#en o#en ees. ees. =nl =nl the the sigh sightt of beau beauti tifu full wate waterr snak snakes es frolicking beside the boat lifted the !ncient 9arinerGs s#irits. he cheered him so much that he blessed them unawares: finall, he was able to #ra. !t that $er moment, the !lbatross fell off his neck and sank hea$il into the ocean. !nalsis !s the !ncient 9ariner drifts on the ocean, the natural world becomes more threatening. His surroundings the shi#, the ocean, and the creatures within it are rotting in the heat and sun, but he is the one who is rotten on the inside. 9eanwhile the sailorsG cor#ses refuse to rot, and their o#en ees curse him continuousl, gi$ing the !ncient 9ariner a $isible manifestation of the li$ing death that awaits him. He will age, but his bod will ne$er rot enough to release his soul: his ee will glitter fore$er with the horror of damnation. !s !s the !ncient 9ari 9arine nerr floa floats ts,, he beco become mess deli deliri riou ous, s, unab unable le to esca esca#e #e his his o$erw o$erwhe helm lmin ing g loneliness e$en b slee#ing 4 closed m lids, and ke#t them close, !nd the 48
balls like #ulses beat: *or the sk and the sea, and the sea and the sk La like a load on m wear ee... ee... His de#ra$it de#ra$it has e$en denied him the comfort of #raer. 4ronicall, it is the slim, rotten creatures themsel$es that finall comfort the !ncient 9ariner and allow him to #ra. Mntil this moment, ColeridgeGs imag imager er has has under undersc score ored d the the o$erb o$erbea eari ring ng natu nature re of the the !ncie ncient nt 9ari 9arine nerG rGss en$ironment it is hot, salt, #ungent, and rotten. Howe$er, his surroundings and the imager that accom#anies them turn cool in the moonlight. Coleridge com#ares the moonlight to a gentle frost, connecting it to the serenit of the rime Ohe moonGsN beams bemocked the sultr main, Like !#ril hoarfrost s#read. !glow in the moonlight, the sea creatures begin frolicking, rather than churning nastil: creatures of a beautiful, su#ernatural world, the mo$ed in tracks of shining white, !nd when the reared, the elfish light *ell off in hoar flakes...4 watched their rich attire: Blue, gloss green, and $el$et black, he coiled and swam: and e$er track Was a flash of golden fire. Whereas ColeridgeGs descri#tions of the ghost shi#, sun, and sailors are re#lete with s#are, harsh imager, he describes the watersnakes in decadent, lush terms. =nl when the !ncient 9ariner is able to a##reciate the beaut of the natural world is he granted the abilit to #ra and, it is im#lied, e$entuall redeem himself. -arlier in the work, the desiccated setting re#resented the !ncient 9arinerGs moral drought, but the moment he begins to $iew the natural world bene$olentl, his his s#iritual thirst is 8uenched ! s#ring of lo$e gushed from fr om m heart. !s a sign that his burden has been lifted, the !lbatross the burden of sin falls from his neck it is no longer his cross to bear. Summary and Analysis Analysis of art
!fter #raing, the !ncient 9ariner thanked thanked the Eirgin Eirgin 9ar for finall allowing him to slee#. He dreamed that the buckets on the shi# were filled with dew, and awoke to the sound of the falling rain. He drank and drank after so man das of thirst, and became so lightheaded that he thought he was a ghost. 0uddenl he heard a loud wind far off, and the sk lit u# with darting fireflags that coul could d be inte inter# r#re rete ted d as ligh lightn tnin ing, g, auro aurora ra bore boreal alis is,, or 0t. 0t. -lm -lmoGs oGs *ire *ire electricit $isible in the atmos#here that sailors consider a sign of bad luck/. he rain #oured from a single cloud, as did an unbroken stream of lightning. he shi# began to sail, although there was still no wind. %ust then, all the dead men stood u# and went about their 6obs as a mute, ghostl crew. he Wedding ?uest #roclaims again 4 fear thee, !ncient 9arinerI but the !ncient 9ariner 8uickl assures him that the dead sailors were not e$il. !t dawn, the e$en gathered around the mast and sang so beautifull that the sounded like an orchestra. When the sto##ed singing, the shi#Gs sails sang 49
instead. he shi# sailed on miraculousl in the absence of wind, mo$ed instead b the s#irit that had followed it from the ic world. =nce the shi# reached r eached the e8uator and the sun was directl o$erhead, it sto##ed mo$ing and the sails sto##ed singing. hen it began to rock back and forth uneasil until it suddenl 6olted, causing the !ncient 9ariner to faint. He la for an indeterminate #eriod of time on the shi#Gs deck, during which he heard two $oices. he first $oice swore on Christ that he was the man who betraed the !lbatross that lo$ed him, and that the s#irit s#irit from the ic world also lo$ed the !lbatross !lbatross he s#irit s#irit who bideth b himself 4n the land of mist and snow, He lo$ed the bird that lo$ed the man Who shot him with his bow. he second $oice, softer than the first, declared that the !ncient 9ariner would continue to #a for his crime he man hath #enance done, !nd !nd #enance more will do. !nalsis Mntil the end of >art 5, it seems as though the !ncient 9ariner is redeemed. Dot onl is he allowed to slee#, but it finall rains, and his thirst is 8uenched. 0ince #hsical drought and thirst ha$e re#resented the !ncient 9arinerGs moral de#ra$it u# until this #oint, it is im#lied that the abundant rain smbolizes his redem#tion. !ccording to a Christian inter#retation, the rain signifies that he is being ba#tized anew as a righteous ser$ant of Christ who res#ects ?odGs creatures. -$en though terrifing things continue to ha##en all around him a storm, lightning, thunder the !ncient 9ariner is awed b them, instead of fearful of them. he natural world is no less forceful or im#osing than it was #re$iousl, but it is now bene$olent. >art 5 also sees an end to the !ncient 9arinerGs loneliness, as the sailors GawakenG to sail the shi#: the and the shi# itself sing beautiful music, and some s#iritual force mo$es the shi# along its course e$en though the air is still. !gain, onl when the shi# crosses a boundar boun dar the the e8ua e8uato torr does does conf confus usio ion n retu return rn:: the the !ncie ncient nt 9ari 9arine nerr is knoc knocke ked d unco uncons nsci ciou ous, s, and and the the reade readerr begi begins ns to doub doubtt whet whethe herr he will will actu actual all l be redeemed. he $oices confirm that it is indeed a s#ecific s#irit #unishing the !ncient 9ariner. he te)tGs suggestions of sin, ba#tism, redem#tion, and other Christian them themes es shif shifts ts towa toward rdss a more ore #aga #agan n unde unders rsta tand ndin ing g of the the stor storG Gss mora morall intricacies. ! s#irit that inhabits the ic world of the rime lo$ed the !lbatross !lbatross #erha#s ke#t it as a #et and is making the !ncient 9ariner #a for murdering it. 4n the 1&17 $ersion of the #oem, we are told that the two $oices that the !ncient 9ariner hears are s#irits. >erha#s the are kin to the s#irit that is #unishing the !ncient 9ariner, or are e$en taking #art in his #unishment. 4t is also #ossible, howe$er, that the, like all of the su#ernatural elements of the !ncient 9arinerGs stor, are merel figments of his imagination. hat Coleridge lea$es their identit somewhat o#enended harkens back to BurnetGs musings on 50
in$isible in$isible Datures: humans cannot classif s#irits, and therefore therefore cannot reall know them. Likewise, the !ncient 9ariner 9ariner and the reader cannot define what kind kind of s#ir s#irit itss are are s#ea s#eaki king ng,, or if the the are are inde indeed ed s#ir s#irit itss at all. all. Burne BurnetG tGss statements are a##licable to all humans. *urthermore, the reader is as sub6ect to ColeridgeGs whims as his #rotagonist, and therefore cannot know an more than him. !s humans and therefore sinners we can all identif with the !ncient 9ariner, and are thus e8uall im#licated in his crime.
The Rime o7 the An$ient Mariner! Mariner! Part the Fourth
4 fear thee, ancient 9arinerI 4 fear th skinn handI !nd thou art long, and lank, and brown, !s is the ribbed seasand. 4 fear thee and th glittering ee, !nd th skinn hand, so brown. *ear not, fear not, thou Wedding?uestI Wedding?uestI his bod dro#t not down. !lone, alone, all, all alone, !lone on a wide wide seaI !nd ne$er a saint took #it on 9 soul in agon. he man men, so beautifulI !nd the all dead did lie !nd a thousand thousand slim things Li$ed on: and so did 4 4 looked u#on the rotting sea, !nd drew m ees awa: 4 looked u#on the rotting deck, !nd there the dead men la. 4 looked to Hea$en, and tried to #ra But or e$er a #raer had gusht, ! wicked whis#er came, and made m heart as dr as dust. 4 closed m lids, and ke#t them close, !nd the balls like #ulses beat: 51
*or the sk and the sea, and the sea and the sk La like a load on m wear ee, !nd the dead were at m feet. he cold sweat melted from their limbs, Dor rot nor reek did the he look with which the looked on me Had ne$er #assed awa. !n or#hanGs curse would drag to Hell ! s#irit from on high: But ohI more horrible than that 4s a curse in a dead manGs eeI 0e$en das, se$en nights, 4 saw that curse, !nd et 4 could not die. he mo$ing 9oon went u# the sk, !nd no where did abide 0oftl she was going u#, !nd a star or two beside. Her beams bemocked the sultr main, Like !#ril hoarfrost s#read: But where the shi#Gs huge shadow la, he charmed water burnt alwa ! still and awful red. Beond the shadow of the shi#, 4 watched the watersnakes he mo$ed in tracks of shining white, !nd when the reared, the elfish light *ell off in hoar flakes. Within Within the shadow of the shi# 4 watched their rich attire Blue, gloss green, and $el$et black, he coiled and swam: and e$er track Wass a flash of golden fire. Wa = ha## li$ing thingsI no tongue heir beaut might declare ! s#ring of lo$e gushed from m heart, hear t, !nd 4 blessed them unaware 52
0ure m kind saint took #it on me, !nd 4 blessed them unaware. he self same moment 4 could #ra: !nd from m neck so free he !lbatross !lbatross fell off, and sank Like lead into the sea. The Rime o7 the An$ient Mariner! Mariner! Part the Fi7th
=h slee#I it is a gentle thing, Belo$ed from #ole to #oleI o 9ar Queen the #raise be gi$enI 0he sent the gentle slee# from Hea$en, hat slid into m soul. he sill buckets on the deck, hat had so long remained, 4 dreamt that the were filled with dew: !nd when 4 awoke, it rained. 9 li#s were wet, m throat was cold, 9 garments all were dank: 0ure 4 had drunken in m dreams, !nd still m bod drank. 4 mo$ed, and could not feel m limbs 4 was so light almost 4 thought that 4 had died in slee#, !nd was a blessed ghost. !nd soon 4 heard a roaring wind 4t did not come anear: But with its sound it shook the sails, hat were so thin and sere. he u##er air burst into lifeI !nd a hundred fireflags sheen, o and fro the were hurried aboutI !nd to and fro, and in and out, he wan stars danced between. !nd the coming wind did roar more loud, !nd the sails did sigh like sedge: 53
!nd the rain #oured down from one black cloud: he 9oon was at its edge. he thick black cloud was cleft, and still he 9oon was at its side Like waters shot from some high crag, he lightning fell with ne$er a 6ag, ! ri$er stee# and wide. he loud wind ne$er reached the shi#, Fet now the shi# mo$ed onI Beneath the lightning and the 9oon he dead men ga$e a groan. he groaned, the stirred, the all u#rose, Dor s#ake, nor mo$ed their ees: 4t had been strange, e$en in a dream, o ha$e seen those dead men rise. he helmsman steered, the shi# mo$ed on: Fet ne$er a breeze u# blew: he mariners all Ggan work the ro#es, Were the were wont to do he raised their limbs like lifeless tools We were a ghastl crew. he bod of m brotherGs son, 0tood b me, knee to knee he bod and 4 #ulled at one ro#e, But he said nought to me. 4 fear thee, ancient 9arinerI Be calm, thou Wedding?uestI Gwas Gwas not those souls that fled in #ain, Which to their corses came again, But a troo# of s#irits blest *or when it dawned the dro##ed their arms, !nd clustered round the mast: 0weet sounds rose slowl through their mouths, !nd from their bodies #assed. !round, around, flew each sweet sound, hen darted to the 0un: 54
0lowl the sounds came back again, Dow mi)ed, now one b one. 0ometimes adro##ing from the sk 4 heard the sklark sing: 0ometimes all little birds that are, How the seemed to fill the sea and air With With their sweet 6argoningI !nd now Gtwas like all instruments, Dow like a lonel flute: !nd now it is an angelGs song, hat makes the Hea$ens be mute. 4t ceased: et still the sails made on ! #leasant noise till noon, ! noise like of a hidden brook 4n the leaf month of %une, hat to the slee#ing woods all night 0ingeth a 8uiet tune. ill ill noon we 8uietl sailed on, Fet ne$er a breeze did breathe 0lowl and smoothl went the shi#, 9o$ed onward from beneath. Mnder the keel nine fathom dee#, *rom the land of mist and snow, he s#irit slid and it was he hat made the shi# to go. he sails at noon left off their tune, !nd the shi# stood still also. he 0un, right u# abo$e the mast, Had fi)ed her to the ocean But in a minute she Ggan stir, With With a short uneas motion Backwards and forwards half her length With With a short shor t uneas motion. hen like a #awing horse let go, 0he made a sudden bound 4t flung the blood into m head, !nd 4 fell down in a swound. 55
How long in that same fit 4 la, 4 ha$e not to declare: But ere m li$ing life returned, 4 heard and in m soul discerned wo Voi$e" in the air. 4s it heR 8uoth one, 4s this the manR B him who died on cross, With With his cruel bow he laid full low, he harmless !lbatross. he s#irit who bideth b himself 4n the land of mist and snow, He lo$ed the bird that lo$ed the man Who shot him with his bow. he other was a softer $oice, !s soft as honedew Quoth he, he man hath #enance done, !nd #enance more will do.
P5 She((ey . To a S6y(ar6 Summary he s#eaker, addressing a sklark, sas that it is a blithe 0#irit rather than a bird, for its song comes from Hea$en, and from its full heart #ours #rofuse strains of un#remeditated art. he sklark flies higher and higher, like a cloud of fire in the blue sk, singing as it flies. 4n the golden lightning of the sun, it floats and runs, like an unbodied 6o. 6o. !s the sklark flies higher and higher, the s#eaker loses sight of it, but is still able to hear its shrill delight, which comes down as keenl as moonbeams in the white dawn, which can be felt e$en when the are not seen. he earth and air ring with the sklarkGs $oice, 6ust as Hea$en o$erflows with moonbeams when the moon shines out from behind a lonel cloud.
he s#eaker sas that no one knows what the sklark is, for it is uni8ue e$en rainbow clouds do not rain as brightl as the shower of melod that 56
#ours from the sklark. he bird is is like a #oet hidden 4n the light light of thought, able to make the world e)#erience sm#ath with ho#es and fears it heeded not. 4t is like a lonel maiden in a #alace tower, who uses her song to soothe her lo$elorn soul. 4t is like a golden glowworm, scattering light among the flowers and grass in which it is hidden. 4t is like a rose embowered in its own green lea$es, whose scent is blown b the wind until the bees are faint with too much sweet. he sklarkGs song sur#asses all that e$er was, %oous and clear and fresh, whether the rain falling on the twinkling grass or the flowers the rain awakens. Calling the sklark 0#rite or Bird, the s#eaker asks it to tell him its sweet thoughts, for he has ne$er heard anone or anthing call u# a flood of ra#ture so di$ine. Com#ared to the sklarkGs, an music would seem lacking. What ob6ects, the s#eaker asks, are the fountains of th ha## strainR 4s it fields, wa$es, mountains, the sk, the #lain, or lo$e of thine own kind or ignorance or #ainR >ain and languor, the s#eaker sas, ne$er came near the sklark it lo$es, but has ne$er known lo$eGs sad satiet. satiet. =f death, the sklark sk lark must know things more true and dee# than mortals could dream: otherwise, the s#eaker asks, how could th notes flow in such a crstal streamR *or mortals, the e)#erience of ha##iness is bound ine)tricabl with the e)#erience of sadness dwelling u#on memories and ho#es for the future, mortal men #ine for what is not: their laughter is fraught with some #ain: their sweetest songs are those that tell tell of saddest thought. But, the s#eaker sas, e$en if men could scorn Hate and #ride and fear, and were born without the ca#acit to wee#, he still does not know how the could e$er a##ro)imate the 6o e)#ressed b the sklark. Calling the bird a scorner of the ground, he sas that its music is better than all music and all #oetr. He asks the bird to teach him half the gladness hat th brain must know, know, for then he would would o$erflow with harmonious madness, and his song would be so beautiful that the world would listen to him, e$en as he is now listening to the sklark. Form he eccentric, songlike, fi$eline stanzas of o a 0klarkall twent one of themfollow the same #attern the first four lines are metered in trochaic trimeter, the fifth in iambic he)ameter a line which can also be called an !le)andrine/. he he rhme scheme of each stanza is e)tremel sim#le !B!BB. Commentary 4f the West West Wind was 0helleGs first con$incing attem#t to articulate an 57
aesthetic #hiloso#h through meta#hors of nature, the sklark is his greatest natural meta#hor for #ure #oetic e)#ression, the harmonious madness of #ure ins#iration. he sklarkGs song issues from a state of #urified e)istence, a Wordsworthian Wordsworthian notion notion of com#lete unit with Hea$en Hea$en through nature: its song is moti$ated b the 6o of that uncom#licated #urit of being, and is unmi)ed unmi)ed with an hint of melanchol or of the bittersweet, as human 6o so often often is. he sklarkGs unim#eded song rains down u#on the world, sur#assing e$er other beaut, ins#iring meta#hor and making the s#eaker belie$e that the bird is not a mortal bird at all, but a 0#irit, a s#rite, a #oet hidden 4n the light of thought. 4n that sense, the sklark is almost an e)act twin of the bird in KeatsGs =de to a Dightingale: both re#resent #ure e)#ression through their songs, and like the sklark, the nightingale wast not born for death. But while the nightingale is a bird of darkness, in$isible in the shadow forest glades, the sklark is a bird of dalight, in$isible in the dee# bright blue of the sk. he nightingale ins#ires Keats to feel a drows numbness of ha##iness that is also like #ain, and that makes him think of death: the sklark ins#ires 0helle to feel a frantic, ra#turous 6o that has no #art of #ain. o o Keats, human human 6o and sadness are ine)tricabl linked, as he e)#lains at length in the final stanza of the =de on 9elanchol. 9elanchol. But the sklark sings free of all human error and com#le)it, com#le)it, and while listening to his song, the #oet feels free of those things, too. 0tructurall and linguisticall, this this #oem is almost uni8ue among 0helleGs works: its strange form of stanza, with four com#act lines and one $er long line, and its lilting, songlike diction #rofuse strains of un#remeditated art/ work to create the effect of s#ontaneous #oetic e)#ression flowing musicall and naturall from the #oetGs mind. 0tructurall, each stanza tends to make a single, 8uick #oint about the sklark, or to look at it in a sudden, brief new light: still, the #oem does flow, and graduall ad$ances the mininarrati$e of the s#eaker watching the sklark fling higher and higher into the sk, and en$ing its untrammeled ins#irationwhich, if he were to ca#ture it in words, would cause the world to listen. o a 0klark Hail to thee, blithe 0#iritI Bird thou ne$er wert, hat from Hea$en, or near it, >ourest th full heart 4n #rofuse strains of un#remeditated art. 58
Higher still and higher *rom the earth thou s#ringest Like a cloud of fire: he blue dee# thou wingest, !nd singing still dost soar, and soaring e$er singest. 4n the golden lightning =f the sunken sun =Ger which clouds are brightGning, hou dost float and run, Like an unbodied 6o whose race is 6ust begun. he #ale #ur#le e$en 9elts around th flight: Like a star of Hea$en 4n the broad dalight hou art unseen, but et 4 hear th shrill delight Keen as are the arrows =f that sil$er s#here, Whose intense lam# narrows 4n the white dawn clear Mntil we hardl see we feel that it is there. !ll the earth and air With th $oice is loud. !s, when night is bare, *rom one lonel cloud he moon rains out her beams, and hea$en is o$erflowed. What thou art we know not: What is most like theeR *rom rainbow clouds there flow not ;ro#s so bright to see !s from th #resence showers a rain of melod. Like a #oet hidden 4n the light of thought 0inging hmns unbidden, ill ill the world is wrought o sm#ath with ho#es and fears it heeded not 59
Like a highborn maiden 4n a #alace tower, 0oothing her lo$eladen 0oul in secret hour With With music sweet as lo$e, which o$erflows her bower Like a glowworm golden 4n a dell of dew, 0cattering unbeholden 4ts aerial hue !mong the flowers and grass, which screen it from the $iew Like a rose embowered 4n its own green lea$es, B warm winds deflowered, ill ill the scent it gi$es 9akes faint with too much sweet these hea$winged thie$es. 0ound of $ernal showers =n the twinkling grass, +ainawakened flowers, !ll that e$er was %oous, and clear, and fresh, th music doth sur#ass. each each us, s#rite or bird, What sweet thoughts are thine 4 ha$e ne$er heard >raise of lo$e or wine hat #anted forth a flood of ra#ture so di$ine. Chorus hmeneal =r trium#hal chaunt 9atched with thine, would be all But an em#t $aunt ! thing thing wherein we feel there is some hidden want. What ob6ects are the fountains =f th ha## strainR What fields, or wa$es, or mountainsR What sha#es of sk or #lainR What lo$e of thine own kindR what ignorance of #ainR Whith th clear keen 6oance 60
Languor cannot be 0hadow of annoance De$er came near thee hou lo$est, but neGer knew lo$eGs sad satiet. Waking or aslee#, hou of death must deem hings more true and dee# han we mortals dream, =r how could th notes flow in such a crstal streamR We look before and after, !nd #ine for what is not =ur sincerest laughter With With some #ain is fraught: =ur sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought. Fet if we could scorn Hate, and #ride, and fear: 4f we were things born Dot to shed a tear, 4 know not how th 6o we e$er should come near. Better than all measures =f delightful sound, Better than all treasures hat in books are found, h skill to #oet were, thou scorner of the groundI each each me half the gladness hat th brain must know, 0uch harmonious madness *rom m li#s would flow he world should listen then, as 4 am listening nowI >erc Bsshe 0helle c.1&3/ =riginal e)t e)t >erc Bsshe 0helle, >rometheus Mnbound 1&3/. *irst >ublication ;ate 1&3.
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P5 She((ey . O%e to the 'e 'e"t "t 'in% Summary he s#eaker in$okes the wild West West Wind Wind of autumn, which scatters the dead lea$es and s#reads seeds so that the ma be nurtured b the s#ring, and asks that the wind, a destroer and #reser$er, hear him. he s#eaker calls the wind the dirge =f the ding ear, and describes how it stirs u# $iolent storms, and again im#lores it to hear h ear him. he s#eaker sas that the wind stirs the 9editerranean from his summer dreams, and clea$es the !tlantic into cho## chas
he s#eaker sas that if he were a dead leaf that the wind could bear, or a cloud it could carr, or a wa$e it could #ush, or e$en if he were, as a bo, the comrade of the windGs wandering o$er hea$en, then he would ne$er ha$e needed to #ra to the wind and in$oke its #owers. He #leads with the wind to lift him as a wa$e, a leaf, a cloudIfor though he is like the wind at heart, untamable and #roudhe is now chained and bowed with the weight of his hours u#on the earth. he s#eaker asks the wind to make me th lre, to be his own 0#irit, and to dri$e his thoughts across the uni$erse, like withered lea$es, to 8uicken a new birth. He asks the wind, b the incantation of this $erse, to scatter his words among mankind, to be the trum#et of a #ro#hec. #r o#hec. 0#eaking both in regard to the season and in regard to the effect u#on mankind that he ho#es his words to ha$e, the s#eaker asks 4f winter comes, can s#ring be far behindR Form -ach of the se$en #arts of =de to the West West Wind Wind contains fi$e stanzas stanzas four threeline stanzas and a twoline cou#let, all metered in iambic #entameter. he rhme scheme in each #art follows a #attern known as terza rima, the threeline rhme scheme em#loed b ;ante in his ;i$ine Comed. 4n the threeline terza rima stanza, the first and third lines rhme, and the middle line does not: then the end sound of that middle line is em#loed as the rhme for the first and third lines in the ne)t stanza. he final cou#let rhmes with the middle line of the last threeline stanza. hus each of the se$en #arts of =de to the West West Wind Wind follows this scheme !B! BCB C;C ;-; --. Commentary he wis#, fluid terza rima of =de to the West Wind Wind finds 0helle taking a long thematic lea# beond the sco#e of Hmn to 4ntellectual Beaut, Beaut, and incor#orating his own art into his meditation on beaut and the natural 62
world. 0helle in$okes the wind magicall, describing its #ower and its role as both destroer and #reser$er, and asks the wind to swee# him out of his tor#or as a wa$e, a leaf, a cloudI 4n the fifth section, the #oet then takes a remarkable turn, transforming the wind into a meta#hor for his own art, the e)#ressi$e ca#acit that dri$es dead thoughts like withered lea$es o$er the uni$erse, to 8uicken a new birththat is, to 8uicken the coming of the s#ring. Here the s#ring season is a meta#hor for a s#ring of human consciousness, imagination, libert, or moralitall the things 0helle ho#ed his art could hel# to bring about in the human mind. 0helle asks the wind to be his s#irit, and in the same mo$ement he makes it his meta#horical s#irit, his #oetic facult, which will #la him like a musical instrument, the wa the wind strums the lea$es of the trees. he thematic im#lication is significant whereas the older generation of +omantic #oets $iewed nature as a source of truth and authentic e)#erience, the ounger generation largel $iewed nature as a source of beaut and aesthetic e)#erience. 4n this #oem, #oem, 0helle e)#licitl links nature with art b finding #owerful natural meta#hors with which to e)#ress his ideas about the #ower, im#ort, 8ualit, 8ualit, and ultimate effect of aesthetic e)#ression. Lines 11" 4n this first of the fi$e sections of the #oem, the s#eaker begins to define the domains and the #owers of the West West Wind. While While stanza 44 addresses the windGs influence on the sk, and stanza 444 discusses its effects on the sea, stanza 4 describes the windGs effects on the land. he autumn breezes scatter dead lea$es and seeds on the forest soil, where the e$entuall fertilize the earth and take root as new growth. Both ;estroer and >reser$er line 1"/, the wind ensures the cclical regularit of the seasons. hese themes of regeneration and the interconnectedness of death and life, endings and beginnings, runs throughout =de to the West Wind. he wind is, of course, more than sim#l a current of air. 4n ?reek and Latin languages with which 0helle was familiar the words for wind, ins#iration, soul, and s#irit are all related. 0helleGs West West Wind thus seems to smbolize an ins#iring s#iritual #ower that mo$es e$erwhere, and affects e$erthing. Lines 3' hese lines ostensibl suggest that, like a sorcerer might frighten awa s#irits, the wind scatters lea$es. But one might also inter#ret lea$es dead as forgotten 63
books, and ghosts as writers of the #ast: in this sense, the winds of ins#iration make wa for new talent and ideas b dri$ing awa the memories of the old. Lines "5 he colors named here might sim#l indicate the different shades of the lea$es, but it is also #ossible to inter#ret inter#ret the lea$es as smbols of humanitGs ding masses. 4n this analsis, the colors re#resent different cultures !sian, !frican, Caucasian, and Dati$e !merican. his his idea is su##orted b the #hrase -ach like a cor#se within its gra$e in line & that could indicate that each #erson takes #art in the natural ccle of life and death. Lines 7 Here, the wind is described as a chariot that carries lea$es and seeds to the cold earth. his com#arison gi$es the im#ression that the wind has some of the as#ects of those who are associated with chariots gods and #owerful rulers. Line & he lea$es are #ersonified as #eo#le within their gra$es, an image that harkens back to lines " and 5, where the lea$es lea$es are considered as diseased multitudes of #eo#le. Lines (13 4n ?reek and +oman +o man mtholog, the s#ring west wind was masculine, as was the autumnal wind. Here, the s#eaker refers to the s#ring wind as feminine, #erha#s to stress its role as nurturer and lifegi$er. lifegi$er. 0he is #ictured as awakening Dature with her energetic energetic clarion, which is a t#e of medie$al trum#et. trum#et. Lines 1'1" !t the conclusion of the first stanza, the s#eaker identifies the wind as the #owerful s#irit of nature that incor#orates both destruction destruction and continuing life. 4n fact, these two #rocesses are said to be related: without destruction, life cannot continue. !t the end of line 1" is the #hrase =h hearI that will be re#eated at the end of stanzas 3 and '. his refrain em#hasizes sound, which seems a##ro#riate gi$en that wind, an in$isible force, is the #oemGs central sub6ect. Lines 153&
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4n stanza 44, the wind hel#s the clouds shed rain, as it had hel#ed the trees shed lea$es in stanza 4. %ust as the dead foliage nourishes new life in the forest soil, so does the rain contribute to DatureGs regenerati$e ccle. Lines 11& his #assage has been hea$il attacked b critics like *. +. Lea$is for its lack of concreteness and a##arentl disconnected imager: others ha$e cited 0helleGs knowledge of science, and the #ossibilit that these #oetic #hrasings might indeed be based on natural fact. he loose clouds, for e)am#le, are #robabl cirrus clouds, harbingers or angels as it is #ut in line 1&/ of rain. !s the lea$es of stanza 4 ha$e been shed from boughs, these clouds ha$e been shaken from the hea$ier cloud masses, or boughs of Hea$en and =cean line 17/. 4n Latin, cirrus means curl or lock of hair: it is thus a##ro#riate that these clouds resemble a 9aenad Gs bright hair line 3/ and are referred to as the locks of the a##roaching storm line 3'/. Lines 33' When 0helle was in *lorence, he saw a relief scul#ture of four maenads. hese worshi#ers of the +oman god of wine and $egetation, Bacchus in ?reek mtholog, ;ionsus/ were wild, dancing women with streaming hair. Here, the s#eaker com#ares the a##earance of the cirrus clouds streaked across the horizon with the maenadsG blown tresses. his image seems es#eciall a##ro#riate in that Bacchus;ionsus is associated with the natural world and the wind and clouds are #rimar elements of nature. Lines 3'3& he wail of the wind is com#ared to a song of grief, as if it were mourning the ding ear. !s !s the ear draws to a close, Dature #re#ares for the funeral. he coming night is described as a se#ulcher, a burial tomb that will be marked b lightning and hail from a storm. his last da will end in darkness, under storm clouds. Lines 3("3 4n stanza 444, the West West Wind Wind wields its #ower o$er the sea: but unlike the first two stanzas, this one is introduced b an image of o f calm, #eace, and sensualit. he 9editerranean 0ea is #ictured as smooth and tran8uil, slee#ing alongside the old 4talian town of Baiae. =nce a #laground of +oman em#erors, Baiae sunk as a result of $olcanic acti$it and is now the bed of a lush underwater garden. But the wind can also waken line 3(/ the sea and disturb the summer tran8uilit of the waters b ushering in an autumn storm. 65
Lines '3'' 4n 1&1&, 0helle himself had sailed #ast the Ba of Baiae: in a ;ecember letter to homas Lo$e >eacock, he enthusiasticall describes the ruins of its anti8ue grandeur standing like rocks in the trans#arent sea under our boat. Lines ''& Beginning at the end of line ', the s#eaker disru#ts the #eace of the seasca#e and reminds the West Wind Wind of its #ower to churn u# wild, whiteca##ed surf. Lines '("3 he lush sea foliage, which is sa#less because the #lants are underwater, is aware of the windGs abilit to destro: remembering the ha$oc of cold weather storms, the $egetation is drained of o f color, as a #erson turns #ale with fear, or as #lant life on -arth fades in the fall. fall. 4n a note to these lines, 0helle 0helle wrote he $egetation at the bottom of the sea, of ri$ers, and of lakes, sm#athizes with that of the land in the change of seasons, and is conse8uentl influenced b the winds which announce it. he natural ccles of death and regeneration thus continue e$en underwater, with the aid of the West Wind. Wind. Lines "'5 !fter three stanzas of describing the West WindGs WindGs #ower, which are all echoed ec hoed in the first three lines of 0tanza 4E, 4E, the the s#eaker asks to be mo$ed b this s#irit. *or the first time in =de to the West West Wind, Wind, the wind confronts humanit in the form of s#eaker of the #oem. Do longer an idealistic oung man, this s#eaker has e)#erienced sorrow, #ain, and limitations. He stumbles, e$en as he asks to be s#irituall u#lifted. !t the same time, he can recall his ounger ears when he was tameless, and swift, and #roud like the wind. hese recollections hel# him to call on the wind for ins#iration and new life. 4n this manner, the #oem suggests that humans, too, are #art of the ne$erending natural ccle of death and rebirth. Lines "753 4n line "7, the s#eaker begins to e)#lain that, as an idealistic outh, he used to race the wind and win, in his own mind. But now, as an older man, he could ne$er imagine challenging the windGs #ower. Lines 5'5"
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4n these wellknown lines often mocked b 0helleGs detractors, the #atterns of sea, earth, and sk are recalled as the s#eaker asks to be raised from his sorrows b the ins#irational West West Wind. Wind. He seems almost Christlike in in his suffering, the thorns of life recalling the crown of thorns worn b Christ during the crucifi)ion. Lines 555 he Christlike image of the s#eaker continues here: his life e)#eriences ha$e been hea$ crosses for him to bear and ha$e weighed him down. !nd et there there still seem to be s#arks of life and ho#e within him. He can still recall when he #ossessed man of the windGs #owers and 8ualities. Lines 577 4f 0tanza 4E is the e)#lanation of wh the West Wind Wind is being in$oked, 0tanza E is the #raer itself. he re8uests of the s#eaker seem to gather s#eed much as the wind does: while he begins b asking to be mo$ed b the wind, he soon asks to become one with this #ower. !s !s a breeze might ignite a glowing coal, the s#eaker asks for the wind to breathe new life into him and his #oetic art. With his last 8uestion, the s#eaker reminds his audience that change is on the horizon, be it #ersonal or natural, artistic or #olitical. #olitical. he lre referred to in line 57 might be the -olian lre or har#, its name deri$ed from -olus, god of the winds. his lre is a bo) with strings stretched across an o#ening. When the wind mo$es through it, the eolian har# emits musical sounds. 9an +omantic writers, including 0amuel alor alor Coleridge in his #oem he -olian Har#, used the instrument instrument as a smbol for the human imagination that is #laed u#on b a greater #ower. Here, the s#eaker asks to be the West West WindGs WindGs lre, its means of music and communication. Lines 5&3 Here, the s#eaker seems to acce#t his sorrows and sufferings: he realizes that the windGs #ower ma allow him hi m to add harmon to aautumnGs utumnGs music. He is still sad, but he recognizes a sweetness in his #ain he is #art of a natural ccle, and will ha$e a chance to begin again as both man and #oet. he s#eakerGs growing strength is hinted at b the #owerful e)clamations in lines 1 and 3. Lines '" he wind blew lea$es o$er the forest floor, fertilizing the soil: now, the s#eaker asks the wind to scatter his timeworn ideas and writings across the earth in 67
ho#es of ins#iring new thoughts and works. Dote the word #la on lea$es, which can be found either on trees or in books. Lines 57 4n ! ;efence of >oetr, >oetr, 0helle wrote that the mind in creation is as a fading coal, which some in$isible influence, like an inconstant wind, awakens to transitor brightness. 4n asking the wind to fan and ho#efull arouse the ding embers of his words, the s#eaker seems to be echoing this idea. Lines &( hese lines recall the angelGs clarion of line 1, awakening the earth from wintr slumber. he he s#eaker here asks to become the #oet#ro#het of the new season of renewal. Lines (7 0helle originall framed the last two lines as a statement: #hrased as a 8uestion, the #oem ends on a note of e)#ectanc rather than affirmation. he s#eaker has made his case and #lea to assist the wind in the declaration of a new age but he has not et recei$ed an answer. !long with his audience, he breathlessl awaits a es, deli$ered on the wings of the wind. = W4L; West Wind, thou breath of !utumnGs being< hou from whose unseen #resence the lea$es dead !re dri$en, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing, Fellow, and black, and #ale, and hectic red, >estilencestricken multitudesIreser$er
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