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James Russell Lowell, Among my books, Wordsworth. (search)
my arms burd Helen dropt, That died to succor me! O, think ye not my heart was sair When my love dropt down and spake na mair? compare this with,— Proud Gordon cannot bear the thoughts That through his brain are travelling, And, starting up, to Bruce's heart He launched a deadly javelin: Fair Ellen saw it when it came, And, stepping forth to meet the same, Did with her body cover The Youth, her chosen lover. And Bruce (as soon as he had slain The Gordon) sailed away to Spain, And fought withBruce (as soon as he had slain The Gordon) sailed away to Spain, And fought with rage incessant Against the Moorish Crescent. These are surely the verses of an attorney's clerk penning a stanza when he should engross. It will be noticed that Wordsworth here also departs from his earlier theory of the language of poetry by substituting a javelin for a bullet as less modern and familiar. Had he written,— And Gordon never gave a hint, But, having somewhat picked his flint, Let fly the fatal bullet That killed that lovely pullet, it would hardly have seemed more like