1. TCD EVENING LECTURE SERIES: ENGLISH Tuesday, October 9th 2018 WORDSWORTH Dr. Daragh Downes

2. What is Romanticism?

3. Romanticism as Counter-Enlightenment  The Body  Nature  Spirit

4. Romanticism as Counter-Enlightenment  The Body  Nature  Spirit
INSPIRATION,
NOT CALCULATION!

5. Dare to understand. (Enlightenment) Dare to feel, experience & imagine
Dare to understand! (Enlightenment) Dare to feel, experience & imagine! (Romanticism)

6. LEAVING CERTIFICATE: WORDSWORTH POEMS
To My Sister
A slumber did my spirit seal
She dwelt among the untrodden ways
Composed upon Westminster Bridge
It is a beauteous evening, calm and free
The Solitary Reaper
from The Prelude: The Stolen Boat [ll ]
“ “ “ : Skating [ll ]
Lines Composed…above Tintern Abbey

7. POEM #1: ‘TO MY SISTER’

9. ‘TO MY SISTER’ Lines written at a small distance from my House, and sent by my little boy to the person to whom they are addressed.

10. ‘TO MY SISTER’:
IT is the first mild day of March: Each minute sweeter than before The redbreast sings from the tall larch That stands beside our door. There is a blessing in the air, Which seems a sense of joy to yield To the bare trees, and mountains bare, And grass in the green field. My sister! ('tis a wish of mine) Now that our morning meal is done, Make haste, your morning task resign; Come forth and feel the sun. Edward will come with you;--and, pray, Put on with speed your woodland dress; And bring no book: for this one day We'll give to idleness. No joyless forms shall regulate Our living calendar: We from to-day, my Friend, will date The opening of the year.

11. ‘TO MY SISTER’:
IT is the first mild day of March: Each minute sweeter than before The redbreast sings from the tall larch That stands beside our door. There is a blessing in the air, Which seems a sense of joy to yield To the bare trees, and mountains bare, And grass in the green field. My sister! ('tis a wish of mine) Now that our morning meal is done, Make haste, your morning task resign; Come forth and feel the sun. Edward will come with you;--and, pray, Put on with speed your woodland dress; And bring no book: for this one day We'll give to idleness. No joyless forms shall regulate Our living calendar: We from to-day, my Friend, will date The opening of the year.
Love, now a universal birth, From heart to heart is stealing, From earth to man, from man to earth: --It is the hour of feeling. One moment now may give us more Than years of toiling reason: Our minds shall drink at every pore The spirit of the season. Some silent laws our hearts will make, Which they shall long obey: We for the year to come may take Our temper from to-day. And from the blessed power that rolls About, below, above, We'll frame the measure of our souls: They shall be tuned to love. Then come, my Sister! come, I pray, With speed put on your woodland dress; And bring no book: for this one day We'll give to idleness.

12. POEM #2: ‘A SLUMBER DID MY SPIRIT SEAL’

13. POEM #2: ‘A SLUMBER DID MY SPIRIT SEAL’  THE ‘LUCY POEMS’

14. POEM #2: ‘A SLUMBER DID MY SPIRIT SEAL’  THE ‘LUCY POEMS’?

15. ‘A SLUMBER DID MY SPIRIT SEAL’
A slumber did my spirit seal; I had no human fears: She seemed a thing that could not feel The touch of earthly years. No motion has she now, no force; She neither hears nor sees; Rolled round in earth's diurnal course, With rocks, and stones, and trees.

16. POEM #3: ‘SHE DWELT AMONG THE UNTRODDEN WAYS’

17. ‘SHE DWELT AMONG THE UNTRODDEN WAYS’
She dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove, A Maid whom there were none to praise And very few to love: A violet by a mossy stone Half hidden from the eye! —Fair as a star, when only one Is shining in the sky. She lived unknown, and few could know When Lucy ceased to be; But she is in her grave, and, oh, The difference to me!

18. POEM #4: ‘COMPOSED UPON WESTMINSTER BRIDGE, SEPTEMBER 3, 1802’

19. ‘COMPOSED UPON WESTMINSTER BRIDGE, SEPTEMBER 3, 1802’
Earth has not anything to show more fair: Dull would he be of soul who could pass by A sight so touching in its majesty: This City now doth, like a garment, wear The beauty of the morning; silent, bare, Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie Open unto the fields, and to the sky; All bright and glittering in the smokeless air. Never did sun more beautifully steep In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill; Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep! The river glideth at his own sweet will: Dear God! the very houses seem asleep; And all that mighty heart is lying still!

20. POEM #5: ‘IT IS A BEAUTEOUS EVENING, CALM AND FREE’

21. ‘IT IS A BEAUTEOUS EVENING, CALM AND FREE’
It is a beauteous evening, calm and free, The holy time is quiet as a Nun Breathless with adoration; the broad sun Is sinking down in its tranquility; The gentleness of heaven broods o'er the Sea; Listen! the mighty Being is awake, And doth with his eternal motion make A sound like thunder—everlastingly. Dear child! dear Girl! that walkest with me here, If thou appear untouched by solemn thought, Thy nature is not therefore less divine: Thou liest in Abraham's bosom all the year; And worshipp'st at the Temple's inner shrine, God being with thee when we know it not.

22. POEM #6: ‘THE SOLITARY REAPER’

23. ‘THE SOLITARY REAPER’
Behold her, single in the field, Yon solitary Highland Lass! Reaping and singing by herself; Stop here, or gently pass! Alone she cuts and binds the grain, And sings a melancholy strain; O listen! for the Vale profound Is overflowing with the sound. No Nightingale did ever chaunt More welcome notes to weary bands Of travellers in some shady haunt, Among Arabian sands: A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard In spring-time from the Cuckoo-bird, Breaking the silence of the seas Among the farthest Hebrides.

24. ‘THE SOLITARY REAPER’
Behold her, single in the field, Yon solitary Highland Lass! Reaping and singing by herself; Stop here, or gently pass! Alone she cuts and binds the grain, And sings a melancholy strain; O listen! for the Vale profound Is overflowing with the sound. No Nightingale did ever chaunt More welcome notes to weary bands Of travellers in some shady haunt, Among Arabian sands: A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard In spring-time from the Cuckoo-bird, Breaking the silence of the seas Among the farthest Hebrides.
Will no one tell me what she sings?— Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow For old, unhappy, far-off things, And battles long ago: Or is it some more humble lay, Familiar matter of to-day? Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain, That has been, and may be again? Whate'er the theme, the Maiden sang As if her song could have no ending; I saw her singing at her work, And o'er the sickle bending;— I listened, motionless and still; And, as I mounted up the hill, The music in my heart I bore, Long after it was heard no more.

25. POEM #7: ‘from The Prelude: THE STOLEN BOAT [lines 357-400]’

26. ‘THE STOLEN BOAT’
One summer evening (led by her) I found A little boat tied to a willow tree Within a rocky cave, its usual home. Straight I unloosed her chain, and stepping in Pushed from the shore.

27. ‘THE STOLEN BOAT’
One summer evening (led by her) I found A little boat tied to a willow tree Within a rocky cave, its usual home. Straight I unloosed her chain, and stepping in Pushed from the shore. It was an act of stealth And troubled pleasure, nor without the voice Of mountain-echoes did my boat move on; Leaving behind her still, on either side, Small circles glittering idly in the moon, Until they melted all into one track Of sparkling light.

28. ‘THE STOLEN BOAT’
But now, like one who rows, Proud of his skill, to reach a chosen point With an unswerving line, I fixed my view Upon the summit of a craggy ridge, The horizon’s utmost boundary; far above Was nothing but the stars and the grey sky. She was an elfin pinnace; lustily I dipped my oars into the silent lake, And, as I rose upon the stroke, my boat Went heaving through the water like a swan;

29. ‘THE STOLEN BOAT’
When, from behind that craggy steep till then The horizon’s bound, a huge peak, black and huge, As if with voluntary power instinct, Upreared its head.

30. ‘THE STOLEN BOAT’
When, from behind that craggy steep till then The horizon’s bound, a huge peak, black and huge, As if with voluntary power instinct, Upreared its head. I struck and struck again, And growing still in stature the grim shape Towered up between me and the stars, and still, For so it seemed, with purpose of its own And measured motion like a living thing, Strode after me.

31. ‘THE STOLEN BOAT’
With trembling oars I turned, And through the silent water stole my way Back to the covert of the willow tree; There in her mooring-place I left my bark,– And through the meadows homeward went, in grave And serious mood […]

32. POEM #8: ‘from The Prelude: SKATING [lines 425-463]’

33. ‘SKATING’
And in the frosty season, when the sun Was set, and visible for many a mile The cottage windows through the twilight blazed, I heeded not their summons: happy time It was indeed for all of us – to me It was a time of rapture.

34. ‘SKATING’
And in the frosty season, when the sun Was set, and visible for many a mile The cottage windows through the twilight blazed, I heeded not their summons: happy time It was indeed for all of us – to me It was a time of rapture. Clear and loud The village clock tolled six, – I wheeled about, Proud and exulting like an untired horse That cares not for his home. All shod with steel, We hissed along the polished ice in games Confederate, imitative of the chase And woodland pleasures […]

35. ‘SKATING’
Not seldom from the uproar I retired Into a silent bay, or sportively Glanced sideway, leaving the tumultuous throng, To cut across the reflex of a star                         That fled, and, flying still before me, gleamed Upon the glassy plain […]

36. ‘SKATING’
[…] and oftentimes, When we had given our bodies to the wind, And all the shadowy banks on either side Came sweeping through the darkness, spinning still The rapid line of motion, then at once Have I, reclining back upon my heels,  Stopped short; yet still the solitary cliffs Wheeled by me–even as if the earth had rolled With visible motion her diurnal round!                     Behind me did they stretch in solemn train, Feebler and feebler, and I stood and watched Till all was tranquil as a dreamless sleep.

37. POEM #9: ‘LINES COMPOSED… ABOVE TINTERN ABBEY’

38. ‘TINTERN ABBEY’ ‘Lines written a few miles above Tintern Abbey, on revisiting the banks of the Wye during a tour, 13 July 1798’

39. Five years have passed; five summers, with the length Of five long winters! And again I hear These waters, rolling from their mountain springs With a sweet inland murmur. Once again Do I behold these steep and lofty cliffs, Which on a wild secluded scene impress Thoughts of more deep seclusion, and connect The landscape with the quiet of the sky.

40. Five years have passed; five summers, with the length Of five long winters! And again I hear These waters, rolling from their mountain springs With a sweet inland murmur. Once again Do I behold these steep and lofty cliffs, Which on a wild secluded scene impress Thoughts of more deep seclusion, and connect The landscape with the quiet of the sky.

41. Though absent long, These forms of beauty have not been to me As is a landscape to a blind man's eye; But oft, in lonely rooms, and mid the din Of towns and cities, I have owed to them, In hours of weariness, sensations sweet, Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart, And passing even into my purer mind With tranquil restoration; feelings too Of unremembered pleasure -- such, perhaps, As may have had no trivial influence On that best portion of a good man's life, His little, nameless, unremembered acts Of kindness and of love. Nor less, I trust, To them I may have owed another gift, Of aspect more sublime; that blessed mood In which the burden of the mystery, In which the heavy and the weary weight Of all this unintelligible world Is lightened -- that serene and blessed mood In which the affections gently lead us on Until the breath of this corporeal frame And even the motion of our human blood Almost suspended, we are laid asleep In body, and become a living soul; While with an eye made quiet by the power Of harmony, and the deep power of joy, We see into the life of things.

42. Though absent long, These forms of beauty have not been to me As is a landscape to a blind man's eye; But oft, in lonely rooms, and mid the din Of towns and cities, I have owed to them, In hours of weariness, sensations sweet, Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart, And passing even into my purer mind With tranquil restoration; feelings too Of unremembered pleasure -- such, perhaps, As may have had no trivial influence On that best portion of a good man's life, His little, nameless, unremembered acts Of kindness and of love. Nor less, I trust, To them I may have owed another gift, Of aspect more sublime; that blessed mood In which the burden of the mystery, In which the heavy and the weary weight Of all this unintelligible world Is lightened -- that serene and blessed mood In which the affections gently lead us on Until the breath of this corporeal frame And even the motion of our human blood Almost suspended, we are laid asleep In body, and become a living soul; While with an eye made quiet by the power Of harmony, and the deep power of joy, We see into the life of things.

43. That time is past, And all its aching joys are now no more, And all its dizzy raptures. Not for this Faint I, nor mourn, nor murmur; other gifts Have followed -- for such loss, I would believe, Abundant recompense. For I have learned To look on nature not as in the hour Of thoughtless youth, but hearing oftentimes The still sad music of humanity, Not harsh nor grating, though of ample power To chasten and subdue. 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.

44. That time is past, And all its aching joys are now no more, And all its dizzy raptures. Not for this Faint I, nor mourn, nor murmur; other gifts Have followed -- for such loss, I would believe, Abundant recompense. For I have learned To look on nature not as in the hour Of thoughtless youth, but hearing oftentimes The still sad music of humanity, Not harsh nor grating, though of ample power To chasten and subdue. 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.

45. That time is past, And all its aching joys are now no more, And all its dizzy raptures. Not for this Faint I, nor mourn, nor murmur; other gifts Have followed -- for such loss, I would believe, Abundant recompense. For I have learned To look on nature not as in the hour Of thoughtless youth, but hearing oftentimes The still sad music of humanity, Not harsh nor grating, though of ample power To chasten and subdue. 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.

46. That time is past, And all its aching joys are now no more, And all its dizzy raptures. Not for this Faint I, nor mourn, nor murmur; other gifts Have followed -- for such loss, I would believe, Abundant recompense. For I have learned To look on nature not as in the hour Of thoughtless youth, but hearing oftentimes The still sad music of humanity, Not harsh nor grating, though of ample power To chasten and subdue. 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.

47. LEAVING CERTIFICATE: WORDSWORTH POEMS
To My Sister ✔
A slumber did my spirit seal ✔
She dwelt among the untrodden ways ✔
Composed upon Westminster Bridge ✔
It is a beauteous evening, calm and free ✔
The Solitary Reaper ✔
from The Prelude: The Stolen Boat [ll ]✔
“ “ “ : Skating [ll ] ✔
Lines Composed…above Tintern Abbey ✔

48. NEXT WEEK. 16 October 2018: Margaret Atwood, The Handmaid’s Tale DR
NEXT WEEK! 16 October 2018:   Margaret Atwood, The Handmaid’s Tale DR. AILISE BULFIN