Tintern Abbey: Important Quotes Explained

These beauteous forms,
Through a long absence, have not been to me
As is a landscape to a blind man's eye:
But oft, in lonely rooms, and 'mid the din
Of towns and cities, I have owed to them,
In hours of weariness, sensations sweet,
Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart;
And passing even into my purer mind
With tranquil restoration:—feelings too
Of unremembered pleasure: such, perhaps,
As have no slight or trivial influence
On that best portion of a good man's life,
His little, nameless, unremembered, acts
Of kindness and of love.

In lines 22–35, the speaker reflects on how, during the time he’s spent in “towns and cities,” the memories of his experience in the natural world have been a soothing balm. Against the “weariness” of urban life, his recollections have called to mind “sensations sweet.” Importantly, though, these sensations aren’t just mildly nostalgic. Instead, they are fully embodied, “felt in the blood” and “along the heart.” The power of memory to resurrect and recuperate previous sensations and emotions leads, the speaker asserts, to a refinement of spirit that he describes as “my purer mind.” The result of the entire experience is one of “tranquil restoration.” The speaker then takes his observations further, suggesting that the memory restores more than what is explicitly remembered. Indeed, there are “feelings . . . of unremembered pleasure” that also come through. As an example, the speaker mentions those “little, nameless, unremembered, acts / Of kindness and of love.” Such acts may not be recalled directly in later acts of recollection. Even so, they do help shape the overall quality of a given memory, suffusing it with an emotional timbre that’s tacitly felt more than directly remembered.

And now, with gleams of half-extinguished thought,
With many recognitions dim and faint,
And somewhat of a sad perplexity,
The picture of the mind revives again:
While here I stand, not only with the sense
Of present pleasure, but with pleasing thoughts
That in this moment there is life and food
For future years.

In lines 58–65, the speaker describes the emotional complexity involved in recollection. Whereas he places his overall emphasis on the restorative power of memory, here the speaker acknowledges that the mental act of recollection can be confusing and even bittersweet. The memory can never fully recuperate what has happened in the past, which means that every recollection contains “gleams of half-extinguished thought.” The use of the word extinguished here carries powerful connotations of dissolution and death. Such dark thoughts can intrude during the process of recollection, such than memories carry with them an inescapable quality of “sad perplexity.” Yet against this bittersweetness, the speaker upholds a sense of optimism about what he later refers to as memory’s “abundant recompense” (line 88). He describes this recompense here in terms of his experience of “present pleasure.” This present pleasure refers to his current enjoyment of the natural scenery as well as his belief that “in this moment there is life and food / For future years.”

Therefore am I still
A lover of the meadows and the woods
And mountains; and of all that we behold
From this green earth; of all the mighty world
Of eye, and ear,—both what they half create,
And what perceive; well pleased to recognise
In nature and the language of the sense
The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse,
The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul
Of all my moral being.

These lines (102–111) come at the end of the fourth verse paragraph, immediately after the speaker has reflected on a quasi-spiritual “presence” (94) that he says “rolls through all things” (102). He has learned to recognize this universal presence over the course of many years spent outdoors. Here, he is saying that it’s because of this presence that he remains “a lover of the meadows and the woods / And mountains.” But his point isn’t simply to celebrate the wonder of the natural world. Rather, this passage develops into a profound meditation on a particular way of perceiving the natural world. This way of perceiving engages both “eye” and “ear,” both of which must become attuned to the landscape through “the language of the sense.” Importantly, this attunement doesn’t relate solely to what is perceived directly. It also involves the imagination. For this reason, the ability to “recognise” the spirituality that infuses the natural world depends both on “what [the senses] half create / And what perceive.” By developing this semi-spiritual mode of perception, the speaker has been able to mature as a “moral being.”

Nor perchance,
If I were not thus taught, should I the more
Suffer my genial spirits to decay:
For thou art with me here upon the banks
Of this fair river; thou my dearest Friend,
My dear, dear Friend; and in thy voice I catch
The language of my former heart, and read
My former pleasures in the shooting lights
Of thy wild eyes. Oh! yet a little while
May I behold in thee what I was once,
My dear, dear Sister!

These lines (111–21) open the final verse paragraph, where the speaker turns to address his sister, who has accompanied him on his tour through the Wye Valley. It is only in this final section of the poem that we readers realize he’s had company all along. Even so, these lines make it clear that the speaker’s sister is a crucial intermediary whose companionship has helped remind him of who he used to be. It is thus through her presence that, in the previous verse paragraph, he’s been able to “catch / The language of my former heart” and “behold . . .what I once was.” In this regard, the speaker’s sister has been indispensable to his present act of recollection. His reference to her “wild eyes” is also noteworthy, since it recalls his previous discussions of a special mode of perception that goes beyond basic vision. The speaker implies that his capacity to perceive the inherent spirituality in the natural world relies on a special kind of sight. His sister evidently shares this capacity, and it is perhaps partly through her that he has developed his own special form of insight.