There is a subversive nature to Wordsworth’s writing, an undercurrent of matters amiss. It is the silence in the strange gaps, and pauses he makes in his writing, like the “wreaths of smoke / Sent up, in silence, from among the trees” (Lines, 17-18). Yet, it is not a silence that is inherent to landscape. Rather, it is a silence of those tied to the landscape; it is they who “half create” (Lines, 106) their tie to the land itself. Given the “anchor” (Lines 109) that the landscape serves, it is the stationary object that holds no remorse for how it is sectioned, privatized, or tilled. Yet there are those who have faced the “still, sad music of humanity” (Lines 91), and have lost their ties to the land. Uprooted, and left with little or nothing, they are given to the fate of wandering. The grating reality of this existence, and the feeble tides of land ownership, are found in the quiet rhetoric of Lines and I wandered lonely as a Cloud.
At the time of Wordsworth’s writing the Enclosure Acts were reaching a peak. Privatization of Common land was devouring the livelihood of those who had relied upon a Common land system for agriculture and horticulture. Coupled with this was a mass exodus to urban centres in search of employment. It is interesting that one of the first comments Wordsworth does make is the “soft inland murmur” (Lines, 4) of the Wye. Tintern Abbey itself rests upon the banks of Wye, just a few miles upstream from the city of Bristol. Yet, there is no mention of this urban centre, rather the “steep and lofty cliffs” (5) that block out the sight and provide a “deep seclusion” (7) from the din of an industrial scene. Any sense of a presence is found through the “cottage-ground” (11), and the silent smoke that is sent up from the nearby woods (18). The presence of inhabitants is quite muted, and blends itself into the landscape. Rather than “the din / Of towns and cities” (26), the inhabiting presence surrounding Tintern is one that goes “With some uncertain notice” (19). Yet, that presence is not one of those who hold land here; rather, they are the ‘uncertain’ who have lost their land, the “vagrant dwellers in the houseless woods” (20). Not a single one of these dwellers is given a voice in Wordsworth’s open dialogue. Indeed, even “The Hermit” (22) is written as though that is his title. The Hermit has become one with “little, nameless, unremembered acts” (34). In a strange sense, it is as though Wordsworth is offering a reflection. For “Nature never did betray” (122) those who find themselves living within the ruins, rather the institution that partitioned the land. To that institution, these vagrants were as nameless in the Enclosure Act as they are in Wordsworth’s work. There is that disconnect of humanity, one that Wordsworth describes as a force that seeks “To chasten and subdue” (93).
How Wordsworth positions himself in regards to his work adds a further perspective toward the ideas of Enclosure. In a manner, there is an elevation past the physical boundaries that restrict, left to wander freely “as a cloud” (Wandered, 1). At a point where physical restrictions, namely trespassing on private land, were becoming more prevalent there is this elevation over that. As the poet, he takes on a position that “floats on high o’er vales and hills” (2). There is a seemingly quiet act of defiance in this, the unrestricted nature that is taken on. Further, it feels especially poignant in the words: “but little thought / What wealth the show to me had brought” (17-18). There is a dismissive tone toward the idea of wealth based upon a landscape, quite akin to the namelessness of The Hermit. The idea of wealth surrounding that particular piece of land is treated as a dismissive afterthought, driving a sort of scorn from the poet who has elevated himself above such a material view. It is an interesting role reversal from the homeless vagrants in Tintern Abbey, and his standing “upon the banks” (Lines, 114). While Wordsworth posits himself directly in the natural scene, along with the vagrants in Lines, he elevates himself over the material scene in I wandered lonely as a Cloud.
Additionally, it is intriguing that the text employs a use of feint in its structure. Tactically, it’s a jarring momentum of advance and retreat to force response from an opposing side. Just as there is a nuance with the words within these texts, there is also a method of jarring within the form of the texts; a particularly striking one is in I wandered lonely as a Cloud. The poem continually stacks itself on stringent meter, and repetitive grammar placement, until: “I gazed — and gazed — but little thought” (Wandered, 17). There’s a sudden break of uniformity in the text, and it almost forces a pause at that particular place. It is also a moment at the following line “What wealth the show to me had brought” (18), the tone of the poem shifts into a vague undercurrent of reprimand. Likewise, there are numerous instances of feint in Lines, where “hedge-rows” suddenly regress to “hardly hedge-rows” (Lines, 15). These acts of feint are found in omittance, and sudden shifts of diction and tone. At a point where the text begins to elevate in “aspect more sublime” (37) over “this unintelligible world” (40) until it finally reaches an ascension of “We see into the life of things” (48), the wings get clipped. The language rises, and rises, to almost the point of an epiphany, if not for the next line: “If this / Be but a vain belief, yet, oh!” (49-50). It’s almost tragic that these shortfalls are present in the work. “For nature then … To me was all in all. — I cannot paint / What then I was” (72 & 75). The fault never falls to rest on the landscape that the text looks over, but upon the “still , sad music of humanity, / Nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power / To chasten and subdue” (Lines, 91-93). It is the critique that humanity has done itself an injustice, to one another, all for the sake of a land that holds no capacity to betray; it will only continue to exist, despite the turmoil of severing and creating ties. Yet, this critique is not addressed head on at the very start. Rather, these moments of pressing, in an open dialogue, continually force pauses. It is the act of forcing one out of their comfort, even unto the form of the writing itself. It is not a ballad, nor caught in stringent verse. Instead, it is written as either an intruder upon the thoughts of someone, or as a one-sided dialogue. That’s the feint to build on, the force that gives weight and pause in the shifts until, finally:
“Nature never did betray
The heart that loved her; ‘tis her privilege,
Through all the years of this our life, to lead
From joy to joy: for she can so inform
The mind that is within us, so impress
With quietness and beauty, and so feed
With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues,
Rash judgements, nor the sneers of selfish men,
Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all
The dreary intercourse of daily life
Shall e’er prevail against us” (Lines, 122-131)
Inevitably, when a feint occurs a point of conflict will arise shortly thereafter. Both of these works rise to that occasion, whether by the silence of “The Hermit who sits alone” (Lines, 22), or by the heavy pauses of of tone shift wrought by simple ” –” (Wandered, 17). By this, the confrontation builds, until a forefront is reached to the “sneers of selfish men” (Lines, 129). Just those selfish men have made gain over land, by the consequence of silencing others, so too does the text. In a strange sense of a mirror, The Hermit is give a name, whereas Tintern and Bristol lay forgotten between the verses. In the end, it is the images of “green pastoral landscape” (Lines, 158) and “golden daffodils” (Wandered, 4) that ring through, in constancy. There is no promise that any of these words will have an effect, after all, people are not clouds. Yet, there is a hope that the silent ‘them’ will hold the land “More dear, both for themselves and for thy sake!” (Lines, 159).
Black, Joseph., and Leonard Conolly, eds. The Broadview Anthology of British Literature: Concise Edition B. Peterborough: Broadview Press, 2012. Print.
Wordsworth, William. “Lines.” The Norton Anthology English Literature: The Romantic Period Volume D. Ed. Stephen Greenblatt. New York: W.W. Norton & Company Inc, 2012. 288-292. Print
—. “I wandered lonely as a Cloud.” The Norton Anthology English Literature: The Romantic Period Volume D. Ed. Stephen Greenblatt. New York: W.W. Norton & Company Inc, 2012. 334-335. Print