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Written a few miles above TINTERN ABBEY, on revisiting the banks of the WYE during a Tour.
July 13, 1798.
Five years have passed; five summers, with the length
* The river is not affeEred by the tides a few miles. above Tintern.
Which, at this season, with their unripe fruits,
With tranquil' restoration :-feelings too Of unremembered pleasure : such, perhaps, As may have had no trivial influence On that best portion of a good man's life ; His little, nameless, unremembered acts Of kindness and of love.. Nor less, I trust;. To them I may have owed another gift, Of aspect more sublime-;. that blessed mood, In which the burthen of the mystery, In which the heavy and the weary weight. Of all this unintelligible world Is lightend :that serene and blessed mood, In which the affections gently lead us on, Until, the breath of this corporeal frame, And even the motion of our human blood. Almost suspended, we are laid asleep In body, and become a living soul.: While with an eye made quiet by the power Of harmony, and the deep power of joy, We see into the life of things..
If this: Be but a vain belief, yet, oh! how oft, In darkness, and amid the many shapes. Of joyless day-light; when the fretful stir Unprofitable, and the fever of the world, Have hung upon the beatings of my heart, How oft, in spirit, have I turned to thee O sylvan Wye! Thou wanderer through the woods, How often bas my spirit turned to thee !
And now, with gleams of half-extinguish'd thought,