.:: UnderWay ::.

In aceasta zi William Wordsworth s terminat de scris “Lines Composed a Few Miles Above Tintern Abbey, on Revisiting the Banks of the Wye During a Tour, July 13, 1798″, poem la care a lucrat timp de 4 zile, cand s-a plimbat prin regiune, compunand in timp ce umbla, ca un fel de versuri de cantec, si asternandu-l pe hartie abia cand a ajuns la Bristol, in data de 13 iulie. Data la tiparit in ziua urmatoare, poezia a devenit a doua balada in celeritate dupa “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner” a lui Coleridge, iar prefata insasi anuntand o noua miscare poetica a asigurat faima intregii colectii de-a lungul istoriei literare.

Nici Wordsworth, nici abatia, nu au fost atat de populare in 1798 cum sunt azi – un meniu de somon umplut numit “The William Wordsworth” a fost in vanzare la un restaurant din parcarea din apropiere, dar cu siguranta primii pasi fusesera deja facuti. Regiunea Wye a fost un loc de pelerinaj pentru cei din miscarea picaresca, multi dupa ce vor fi vazut pictura lui Turner infatisand ruinele abatiei, si consultand acelasi mic ghid pe care il avea si Wordsworth in buzunar. Prima parte a poemului are un aer pictural:
“. . . The day is come when I again repose
Here, under this dark sycamore, and view
These plots of cottage-ground, these orchard-tufts,
Which at this season, with their unripe fruits,
Are clad in one green hue, and lose themselves
‘Mid groves and copses. Once again I see
These hedge-rows, hardly hedge-rows, little lines
Of sportive wood run wild: these pastoral farms,
Green to the very door; and wreaths of smoke
Sent up, in silence, from among the trees!
With some uncertain notice, as might seem
Of vagrant dwellers in the houseless woods,
Or of some Hermit’s cave, where by his fire
The Hermit sits alone.”

Lumea se intreaba azi daca Wordsworth a vrut sa depaseasca sau doar sa prezinte faptele istorice – cum ca fumul venea de la topitoriile de fier, ca locuitorii erau de fapt cersetorii saraci care traiau prin padure si ii agasau pe turistii veniti la abatie. Poemul il prezinta pe poet ca un spirit ce se indoieste, si intr-o stare de perplexitate trista fata de tot ce vine si trece. Totusi, ramane un imn pentru tot ce este etern, si unul dintre cele mai importante texte ale romantismului:
“… And I have felt
A presence that disturbs me with the joy
Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime
Of something far more deeply interfused,
Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns,
And the round ocean and the living air,
And the blue sky, and in the mind of man;
A motion and a spirit, that impels
All thinking things, all objects of all thought,
And rolls through all things. Therefore am I still
A lover of the meadows and the woods,
And mountains; and of all that we behold
From this green earth; of all the mighty world
Of eye, and ear, — both what they half create,
And what perceive; well pleased to recognize
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.”