(Analysis by “Shmoop”)
Thanatopsis
By William Cullen Bryant
1
To him who in the love of Nature holds
2
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks
3
A various language; for his gayer hours
4
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile
5
And eloquence of beauty, and she glides
6
Into his darker musings, with a mild
7
And healing sympathy, that steals away
8
Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughts
The title combines two Greek words to roughly translate “a contemplation of
death.”
The poet was 17 when he wrote “Thanatopsis.” He was a fan of a group of
English writers called "The Graveyard Poets" who wrote all about death and
decay.
The speaker is introducing us to a certain kind of guy who loves nature.
Nature is the "she" mentioned at the end of the line. That’s an example of
personification, a pretty common poetic trick.
This guy has an almost holy relationship with nature. He "holds communion"
(like you would do in a church) with things like rocks and trees and rivers. In
these moments of communion nature actually "speaks" to this guy.
Nature talks to her lover in different ways, depending on the way he’s
feeling. When he is feeling happy (in "his gayer hours") Nature smiles, and
speaks to him happily ("with a voice of gladness"). In these moments, she has
the "eloquence" (smooth and lovely speech) "of beauty" (line 5).
Sometimes the nature lover is feeling mopey and is brooding over depressing
thoughts. Then Nature "glides" in and makes him feel better. In these
moments, Nature treats him with gentle sympathy, which heals him.
She takes away the pain ("sharpness") of his thoughts before he even realizes
it. Basically, when this guy’s feeling lousy, Nature fixes him up. She might
even bake him some chocolate-chip cookies.
This guy really worried about death ("the last bitter hour").
9
Of the last bitter hour come like a blight
These thoughts about death come like a plague or disease (a "blight") on his
spirit. (By the way, "blight" is a pretty good word. It's often used when
referring to diseases plants get.)
10
11
Over thy spirit, and sad images
Did you see what happened there? The speaker of the poem is talking about
you. Here, for the first time, in line 10, he talks about "thy" (your) spirit. The
poem has switched from musing about nature to giving you advice.
Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall,
He talks about the "stern agony" of dying. A "shroud" is the cloth you use to
wrap up a dead body. "Pall" can mean a cloth that covers a coffin, or it can
mean the coffin itself (like when people talk about "pallbearers" at a funeral).
The speaker helps us imagine the "breathless darkness" of the grave and the
"narrow house" of the coffin. These lines make us feel like we’re trapped in
some suffocating prison. We're feeling a bit panicky now. The speaker is
definitely building a mood here. He wants us to think about those moments
where we worry so much about death that we "shudder" and "grow sick at
heart."
12
And breathless darkness, and the narrow house,
13
Make thee to shudder and grow sick at heart;--
14
Go forth, under the open sky, and list
15
To Nature's teachings, while from all around--
16
Earth and her waters, and the depths of air--
17
Comes a still voice--Yet a few days, and thee
18
The all-beholding sun shall see no more
19
In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground,
20
Where thy pale form was laid with many tears,
Suddenly, we’re set free. The speaker tells us to go outside, "under the open
sky." That’s a big relief, given that just two lines ago, we were trapped in a
grave underground (line 12).
Suddenly we’re back with "Nature" and we’re being told to "list" (a fancy
poetic way of saying listen) to her "teachings." Those teachings are all around
us in the great outdoors.
It’s really important that the poem calls Nature's voice a "still" voice. That
means, calm and quiet, and it gives this line a feeling of peace and comfort.
Things are going to be OK.
Bad news! Apparently we’re going to die in a few days.
The speaker tries to make it sound pretty, but really he's telling us we're
going to die soon. Even the sun, which sees everything ("all-beholding")
won’t be able to see us anymore. We’re just going to vanish.
The speaker tells us all the places we won’t be after we die. We won’t be on
land, where the sun runs "all his course" (that’s the path the sun follows over
a day). We also won’t be in the "cold ground," where our crying relatives bury
our corpse during our funeral.
We won’t be in the "embrace of the ocean" either.
It was "nourishment" from the Earth that allowed our body to grow, and now
our body will be turned ("resolved") back into earth again. This is like that old
expression you may have heard – "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust."
21
22
Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist
Thy image. Earth, that nourish'd thee, shall claim
23
Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again,
24
And, lost each human trace, surrendering up
25
Thine individual being, shalt thou go
26
To mix for ever with the elements,
27
To be a brother to the insensible rock,
28
And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain
29
Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak
30
Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould.
31
32
33
Yet not to thine eternal resting-place
Basically, after you die, you stop being the person you used to be.
We’ll basically be no different from an "insensible rock." Insensible just
means "unable to feel." So, all the touch and sight and hearing and emotion
that made us human will be gone, leaving us no different from rocks.
Now the speaker tells us we’ll be like a "sluggish clod" after we’re dead. A
"clod" is a chunk of dirt, and "sluggish" lets us know how lifeless and heavy
we’ll be.
The speaker really works this image of our bodies turning into dirt. Here he
talks about how a country boy (aka a "swain" – a pretty popular dude in old
nature poems) digs up that clod of dirt with his plow ("share") and walks
("treads") all over it.
Our dead bodies will be food for oak trees, as they send their roots out
through the earth. Those roots will pierce the "mould" (soil) of our bodies.
Now we get a big "Yet." Even though there’s some bad news about going to
our "eternal resting place," the speaker wants us to know that we won’t go
there ("retire") all by ourselves.
Shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst thou wish
Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down
In fact, the speaker tells us we’re headed for a "magnificent" and comfy
resting place, like a "couch." The speaker tells us that when we die, we’ll "lie
down" with all kinds of fancy and important people.
There will be "patriarchs" (that means fathers, heads of families, or male
leaders) from long ago when the Earth was young ("the infant world"). This
also makes us think of the Biblical patriarchs, like Abraham. There will also be
kings and others who are "powerful," "wise" and "good."
34
With patriarchs of the infant world--with kings,
In this final resting place, there will be beautiful people ("fair forms"). There
will also be old ("hoary") prophets ("seers").
35
The powerful of the earth--the wise, the good,
36
Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past,
37
All of these important people from lines 34-36 will lie down with you in one
giant tomb ("sepulcher"). That giant tomb, of course, is the Earth.
Now the speaker starts a description of the whole earth. He begins by talking
about the hills. He makes the hills sound like giant, old sleeping animals.
All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills
38
Rock-ribb'd and ancient as the sun,--the vales
39
Stretching in pensive quietness between;
The idea that a valley could be thoughtful makes this whole imaginary
landscape feel kind of alive.
The speaker calls the brooks complaining to create an image of the constant,
burbling sound they make.
40
The venerable woods; rivers that move
41
In majesty, and the complaining brooks
42
That make the meadows green; and, pour'd round all,
43
Old Ocean's grey and melancholy waste,--
44
Are but the solemn decorations all
45
Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun,
46
The planets, all the infinite host of heaven,
All of these places in Nature – hills, valleys, forests, streams, the ocean – are
compared to "decorations" on a "tomb." Every last hill and valley and river is
just a way to spruce up the giant grave that all humans will share.
Man, everything, even the sun, reminds our speaker that death is
unavoidable. The sun keeps shining and people keep dying forever and ever.
This process keeps going "through the still lapse of the ages."
47
48
49
50
Are shining on the sad abodes of death,
The speaker says that all the people who are now alive are just a "handful"
compared to the dead people buried in the ground.
Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread
The globe are but a handful to the tribes
That slumber in its bosom.--Take the wings
51
Of morning, pierce the Barcan wilderness,
52
Or lose thyself in the continuous woods
53
Where rolls the Oregon and hears no sound
54
Save his own dashings--yet the dead are there:
55
And millions in those solitudes, since first
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The flight of years began, have laid them down
57
In their last sleep--the dead reign there alone.
58
So shalt thou rest: and what if thou withdraw
59
In silence from the living, and no friend
The speaker imagines us flying off to the deserts of North Africa ("the Barcan
wilderness").
Now we fly off in the other direction, across the continent of North America,
to the western coast. In Bryant’s day, people didn't associate the West Coast
with cities like LA, San Francisco, Portland, and Seattle. It was still a serious
wilderness of endless trees ("continuous woods"). In its way, the American
West in the early 19th century was as untamed as the African desert.
The speaker puts us on the shores of "the Oregon," which is an old name for
the mighty Columbia River. He asks us to imagine that the wilderness around
is so silent that there’s no sound except the noise of the river ("his own
dashings"). Even in the western woods, so far away from civilization, there
are still dead people in the ground.
Since the beginning of time, "millions" of people have gone underground for
the big sleep.
Even in places that seem completely empty of people, the dead rule there
alone. Basically, dead people are here, dead people are there, dead people
are everywhere.
The whole point of this poem is that this is going to happen to you. You’re
going to "rest" like all those other people. This poem isn’t trying to freak you
out. The speaker doesn’t want you to feel terrible or worry about your death.
He wants you to think about it in a calm, relaxed way, to see how it fits in
with the natural order of the world.
Everyone alive ("all that breathe") is going to die. In a way, it’s obvious, but
this poem forces us to think about it really carefully.
60
Take note of thy departure? All that breathe
61
Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh
62
When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care
63
Plod on, and each one as before will chase
64
His favourite phantom; yet all these shall leave
65
Their mirth and their employments, and shall come
66
And make their bed with thee. As the long train
After we are gone, life will go on. Happy people ("the gay" in line 61) will
keep on laughing. Unhappy people ("the solemn brood") will continue to
trudge on, weighed down by their worry ("care").
All these people – the happy and the unhappy – will continue to go about
their business, even if, in the end, that business doesn’t amount to anything
more than chasing "phantoms."
Eventually, all of those people you left behind when you died are coming to
"make their bed" next to you. Instead of getting caught up in your private
worries, think about how we all end up in the same place.
Young people, in the "green spring" of life, will eventually die.
67
Of ages glides away, the sons of men,
People in the prime ("full strength") of life will die too.
68
The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes
69
In the full strength of years, matron and maid,
70
The speechless babe, and the gray-headed man--
71
Shall one by one be gathered to thy side
72
By those who in their turn shall follow them.
The old woman ("matron") will die, but so will the young woman ("maid").
The same goes for babies who are too young to talk and old men with grey
hair.Death is the great equalizer. Doesn’t matter who or when or what you
are – you will die.
All these people listed are going to come and lie down next to you in the
earth. They will be laid in the grave by people who will then eventually die
themselves. It’s an endless chain, all of us following each other into the grave,
whether we like it or not.
73
So live, that when thy summons comes to join
74
The innumerable caravan which moves
75
To that mysterious realm where each shall take
The speaker says: "So live." Enjoy the time you have. Sooner or later you will
hear the call ("the summons") of death. You will join the endless train of
people leaving this life. We’re still talking about death, but there’s some
hope, a reminder of the importance of life.
We’re all headed for what our speaker calls "that mysterious realm," what
Shakespeare called "that undiscovered country."
76
His chamber in the silent halls of death,
We’re all going to get a room ("chamber") in the quiet "halls of death."
77
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,
Still, we shouldn’t go as if we were being forced, like slaves in darkness.
78
Scourged by his dungeon; but, sustain'd and soothed
79
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave,
80
81
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.
Instead of acting like we are being whipped ("scourged") into some
underground prison, we should be comforted and soothed by our belief in
the comfort and rightness of death.
After all that grim contemplation of death, the speaker closes things on a
soothing, comforting note. He says that we should get ready to die like
someone wrapping a blanket ("drapery") around him and getting ready for a
happy, dream-filled sleep.