Again- in estimating the merit of certain poems, whether they be
Ossian's or M'Pherson's, can surely be of little consequence, yet,
in order to prove their worthlessness, Mr. W. has expended many
pages in the controversy. Tantaene animis? Can great minds descend
to such absurdity? But worse still: that he may bear down every
argument in favour of these poems, he triumphantly drags forward a
passage in his abomination with which he expects the reader to
sympathise. It is the beginning of the epic poem "Temora." "The blue
waves of Ullin roll in light; the green hills are covered with day,
trees shake their dusty heads in the breeze." And this- this gorgeous,
yet simple imagery, where all is alive and panting with immortality-
this, William Wordsworth, the author of "Peter Bell," has selected for
his contempt. We shall see what better he, in his own person, has to
offer. Imprimis:
And now she's at the pony's tail,
And now she's at the pony's head,
On that side now, and now on this;
And, almost stified with her bliss,
A few sad tears does Betty shed....
She pats the pony, where or when
She knows not... happy Betty Foy!
Oh, Johnny, never mind the doctor!
Secondly:
The dew was falling fast, the- stars began to blink;
I heard a voice: it said- "Drink, pretty creature, drink!"
And, looking o'er the hedge, be- fore me I espied
A snow-white mountain lamb, with a- maiden at its side.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25