Chapter VI: Compound Epithets in Eighteenth Century Poetry

It is proposed in this chapter to examine in some detail the use of compound epithets in the poetry of the eighteenth century. For this purpose the following grammatical scheme of classification has been adopted from various sources:[160] _First Type_, noun _plus_ noun; _Second Type_, noun _plus_ adjective; _Third Type_, noun _plus_ present participle; _Fourth Type_, noun _plus_ past participle; _Fifth Type_, adjective, or adjective used adverbially, _plus_ another part of speech, usually a participle; _Sixth Type_, true adverb _plus_ a participle; _Seventh Type_, adjective _plus_ noun plus -_ed_. Of these types it will be evident in many cases that the first (noun _plus_ noun) and the sixth (true adverb _plus_ participle) are not compounds at all, for the hyphen could often be removed without any change or loss of meaning. Occasionally the compounds will be regarded from the point of view of the logical relation between the two elements, when a formal classification may usually be made as follows: (_a_) _Attributive_, as in “anger-glow”; (_b_) _Objective_, as in “anger-kindling”; (_c_) _Instrumental_, as in “anger-boiling.” This scheme of classification permits of an examination of the compounds from the formal point of view, whilst at the same time it does not preclude an estimate of the æsthetic value of the new words thus added to the language of poetry.[161]

It may be said, to begin with, that the formation and use of compound epithets has always been one of the distinguishing marks of the special language of poetry in English, as distinct from that of prose. The very ease with which they can be formed out of the almost inexhaustible resources of the English vocabulary has been a constant source of temptation to poets with new things to say, or new impressions to describe. Moreover, the partial disappearance of inflections in modern English has permitted of a vagueness in the formation of compound words, which in itself is of value to the word-maker. Though, of course, it is possible in most cases accurately to analyse the logical relation between the elements of a compound, yet it sometimes happens, especially with the compound epithets of poetry, that this cannot be done with certainty, because the new formation may have been the result of a hasty but happy inspiration, with no regard to the regular rules of composition.[162] Hence, from one point of view, the free formation of compounds is a legitimate device allowed to the poets, of which the more severe atmosphere of prose is expected to take less advantage; from another point of view, the greater prevalence of the compound in poetry may not be unconnected with the rhythm of verse. Viewed in this light, the use of compound epithets in our poetry at any period may well have been conditioned, in part at least, by the metrical form in which that poetry received expression; and thus in the poetry of the eighteenth century it connects itself in some degree—first, with the supremacy of the heroic couplet, and later with the blank verse that proved to be the chief rival of the decasyllabic.

The freedom of construction which facilitates the formation of compounds had already in the earliest English period contributed to that special poetic diction which is a distinguishing mark of Anglo-Saxon verse, as indeed of all the old Germanic poetry; of the large number of words not used in Anglo-Saxon prose, very many are synonymous compounds meaning the same thing.[163] During the Middle English period, and especially before the triumph of the East Midland dialect definitely prepared the way for Modern English, it would seem that the language lost much of its old power of forming compounds, one explanation being that the large number of French words, which then came into the language, drove out many of the Old English compounds, whilst at the same time these in-comers, so easily acquired, tended to discourage the formation of new compounds.[164] It was not until the great outburst of literary activity in the second half of the sixteenth century that a fresh impetus was given to the formation of compound nouns and epithets. The large number of classical translations especially exercised an important influence in this respect: each new translation had its quota of fresh compounds, but Chapman’s “Homer” may be mentioned as especially noteworthy.[165] At the same time the plastic state of Elizabethan English led to the making of expressive new compounds of native growth, and from this period date some of the happiest compound epithets to be found in the language.[166] From the Elizabethans this gift of forming imaginative compounds was inherited, with even greater felicity by Milton, many of whose epithets, especially those of Type VII such as “_grey-hooded even_,” “_coral-paven floor_,” “_flowery-kirtled_ Naiades” reveal him as a consummate master of word-craft.

With Dryden begins the period with which we are especially concerned, for it is generally agreed that from nearly every point of view the advent of what is called eighteenth century literature dates from the Restoration. During the forty years dominated by Dryden in practically every department of literature, the changes in the language, both of prose and poetry, which had been slowly evolving themselves, became apparent, and, as the sequel will show, this new ideal of style, with its passion for “correctness,” and its impatience of innovation, was not one likely to encourage or inspire the formation of expressive compounds; the happy audacities of the Elizabethans, of whose tribe it is customary to seal Milton, are no longer possible.

The compounds in the poems of Dryden show this; of his examples of Type I—the substantive compounds—the majority are merely the juxtaposition of two appositional nouns, as _brother-angels_ (“Killigrew,” 4); or, more rarely, where the first element has a descriptive or adjectival force, as _traitor-friend_ (“Palamon,” II, 568). Not much more imaginative power is reflected in Dryden’s compound epithets; his instances of Types III and IV include “_cloud-dispelling_ winds” (“Ovid,” Met. I, 356), “_sun-begotten_ tribe” (_ibid._, III, 462), with more original examples like “_sleep-procuring_ wand.” Next comes a large number of instances of Types V and VI: “_thick-spread_ forest” (“Palamon,” II, 123), “_hoarse-resounding_ shore” (“Iliad” I, 54), as well as many compounded with _long_-, _well_-, _high_-, etc. Most of these examples of Types V and VI are scarcely compounds at all, for after such elements as “long,” “well,” “much,” the hyphen could in most cases be omitted without any loss of power. Of Dryden’s compound epithets it may be said in general that they reflect admirably his poetic theory and practice; they are never the product of a “fine frenzy.” At the same time not a few of them seem to have something of that genius for satirical expression with which he was amply endowed. Compounds like _court-informer_ (“Absalom,” 719), “the rebels’ _pension-purse_” (_ibid._, Pt. II, 321),

Og, from a _treason-tavern_ rolling home

(_Ibid._, 480)

play their part in the delivery of those “smacks in the face” of which Professor Saintsbury speaks in his discussion of Dryden’s satiric manipulation of the heroic couplet.[167]

In the verse of Pope, compound formations are to be found in large numbers. This may partly be attributed, no doubt, to the amount of translation included in it, but even in his original poetry there are many more instances than in the work of his great predecessor. When engaged on his translation of Homer the prevalence of compounds naturally attracted his attention, and he refers to the matter more than once in his Preface.[168] As might be expected from the apostle of “correctness,” he lays down cautious and conservative “rules” of procedure. Such should be retained “as slide easily of themselves into an English compound, without violence to the ear, or to the received rules of composition, as well as those which have received the sanction from the authority of our best poets, and are become familiar through their use of them.”[169]

An examination of Pope’s compounds in the light of “the received rules of composition,” shows his examples to be of the usual types. Of noun _plus_ noun combinations he has such forms as “_monarch-savage_,” (“Odyss.” IV), whilst he is credited with the first use of “the _fury-passions_” (Epistle III). More originality and imagination is reflected in his compound epithets; of those formed from a noun and a present participle, with the first element usually in an objective relation to the second, his instances include “_love-darting_-eyes” (“Unfortunate Lady”), as well as others found before his time, like the Elizabethan “_heart-piercing_ anguish” (_ibid._, XII) and “_laughter-loving_ dame” (_ibid._, III). He has large numbers of compounded nouns and past-participles, many of which—“_moss-grown_ domes” (“Eloisa”), “_cloud-topped_ hills” (“Essay on Man,” I, 100), “_Sea-girt_ isles” (“Iliad,” III)—were common in the seventeenth century, as well as “borrowed” examples, such as “_home-felt_ joys” (Epistle II) or “_air-bred_ people” (“Odyss.,” LX, 330), presumably from Milton and Drayton respectively. But he has a few original formations of this type, such as “_heaven-directed_ spire” (Epistle III), “_osier-fringed_ bank,” (“Odyss.,” XIII), the latter perhaps a reminiscence of Sabrina’s song in “Comus,” as well as happier combinations, of which the best examples are “_love-born_ confidence” (“Odyss.,” X) and “_love-dittied_ airs” (“Odyss.,” II).

Pope, however, makes his largest use of that type of compound which can be formed with the greatest freedom—an adjective, or an adjective used adverbially, joined to a present or past participle. He has dozens of examples with the adverbial _long_, _wide_, _far_, _loud_, _deep_, _high_, etc., as the first element, most of the examples occurring in the Homer translations, and being attempts to reproduce the Greek compounds.[170] Other instances have a higher æsthetic value: “_fresh-blooming_ hope” (“Eloisa”), “_silver-quivering_ rills” (Epistle IV), “_soft-trickling_ waters” “Iliad,” IX), “sweet airs _soft-circling_” (_ibid._, XVII), etc. Of the formations beginning with a true adverb, the most numerous are the quasi-compounds beginning with “_ever_”—“_ever-during_ nights,” “_ever-fragrant_ bowers” (“Odyss.,” XII), etc.; or “_well_”—“_well-sung_ woes” (“Eloisa”) or “_yet_”—“_yet-untasted_ food” (“Iliad,” XV), etc. These instances do not reveal any great originality, for the very ease with which they can be formed naturally discounts largely their poetic value. Occasionally, however, Pope has been more successful; perhaps his best examples of this type are “_inly-pining_ hate” (“Odyss.,” VI—where the condensation involved in the epithet does at least convey some impression of power—and “the _softly-stealing_ space of time,” (“Odyss.,” XV), where the compound almost produces a happy effect of personification.

Of the irregular type of compound, already mentioned in connexion with Dryden, Pope has a few instances—“_white-robed_ innocence” (“Eloisa”), etc. But perhaps Pope’s happiest effort in this respect is to be seen in that quatrain from the fourth book of the “Dunciad,” containing three instances of compound epithets, which help to remind us that at times he had at his command a diction of higher suggestive and evocative power than the plain idiom of his satiric and didactic verse:

To isles of fragrance, _lily-silver’d_ vales
Diffusing languor in the panting gales;
To lands of singing or of dancing slaves
_Love-whisp’ring_ woods and _lute-resounding_ waves.

Of the poets contemporary with Pope only brief mention need be made from our present point of view. The poems of Anne, Countess of Winchilsea contain few instances and those of the ordinary type, a remark which is equally applicable to the poems of Parnell and John Phillips. John Gay (1685-1732), however, though he has many formations found in previous writers, has also some apparently original compound epithets which have a certain charm: “_health-breathing_ breezes” (“A Devonshire Hill,” 10), “_dew-besprinkled_ lawn” (“Fables,” 50), and “the lark _high-poised_ in the air” (“Sweet William’s Farewell,” 13). More noteworthy is John Dyer; “Grongar Hill” has no very striking examples, but his blank verse poems have one or two not devoid of imaginative value: “_soft-whispering_ waters” (“Ruins of Rome”) and “_plaintive-echoing_ ruins” (_ibid._); he has been able to dispense with the “classical” descriptive terms for hills and mountains (“shaggy,” “horrid,” “terrible,” etc.), and his new epithets reflect something at least of that changing attitude towards natural scenery, of which he was a foremost pioneer: “_slow-climbing_ wilds” (“Fleece,” I), “_cloud-dividing_ hill” (_ibid._), and his irregular “_snow-nodding_ crags” (_ibid._, IV).

Neglecting for the moment the more famous of the blank verse poems, we may notice Robert Blair’s “Grave” (published 1743), with a few examples, which mainly allow him to indulge in “classical” periphrases, such as the “_sight-invigorating_ tube” for “a telescope.” David Mallet, who imitated his greater countryman James Thomson, has one or two noteworthy instances: “pines _high-plumed_” (“Amyntor,” II), “_sweetly-pensive_ silence” (“Fragment”), “spring’s _flower-embroidered_ mantle” (“Excursion,” I)—suggested, no doubt, by Milton’s “violet-embroidered”—“the morn _sun-tinctured_” (_ibid._), compound epithets which betray the influence of the “Seasons.” Of the other minor blank verse poems their only aspect noteworthy from our present point of view is their comparative freedom from compounds of any description. John Armstrong’s “Art of Preserving Health” (1744) has only a few commonplace examples, and the same may be said of the earlier “The Chase” (1735) by William Somerville, though he finds a new epithet in his expression “the strand _sea-lav’d_” (Bk. III, 431). James Grainger’s “The Sugar Cane” (1764) shows a similar poverty, but the “_green-stol’d_ Naiad, of the tinkling rill” (Canto I), “_soft-stealing_ dews” (Canto III), “_wild-careering_ clouds” (Canto II), and “_cane-crowned_ vale” (Canto IV) are not without merit. These blank verse poems, avowedly modelled on Milton, might have been expected to attempt the “grandeur” of their original by high-sounding compounds; but it was rather by means of latinized words and constructions that the Miltonic imitators sought to emulate the grand style; and moreover, as Coleridge pointed out, Milton’s great epics are almost free from compound epithets, it being in the early poems that “a superfluity” is to be found.[171]

Before turning to the more famous blank verse poems of the first half of the eighteenth century it will be convenient at this point to notice one or two poets whose work represents, on its formal side at least, a continuation or development of the school of Pope. The first of these is Richard Savage, whose only poem of any real merit, “The Wanderer” (apart perhaps from “The Bastard”), appeared in 1729. He has only one or two new compounds of noun and part-participle, such as “the robe _snow-wrought_” (“The Wanderer,” I, 55), his favourite combination being that of an adjective or adverb with a participle, where, amidst numerous examples of obvious formations, he occasionally strikes out something new: “eyes _dim-gleaming_” (Canto I), “_soft-creeping_ murmurs” (Canto V), etc. Of his other types the only other noteworthy compound is the “past-participle” epithet in his phrase “the _amber-hued_ cascade” (Canto III), though a refreshing simplicity of expression is found in such lines as

The bull-finch whistles soft his _flute-like_ note.

The poetical work of Dr. Johnson contains scarcely any instances of compounds, and none either newly invented or applied. “London” and “The Vanity of Human Wishes” have each not more than two or three instances, and even the four poems, in which he successively treats of the seasons, are almost destitute of compound epithets, “_snow-topped_ cot” (“Winter”) being almost the only example.

There are many more instances of compound formations in the works of Oliver Goldsmith, most of which, like “_nut-brown_ draughts” (“Deserted Village,” II), “_sea-borne_ gales” (“Traveller,” 121), “_grass-grown_ footway” (“Deserted Village,” 127), had either been long in the language, or had been used by earlier eighteenth century poets. There are, however, instances which testify to a desire to add to the descriptive power of the vocabulary; in “The Traveller” we find mention of “the _hollow-sounding_ bittern” (l. 44), “the _rocky-crested_ summits” (l. 85), “the _yellow-blossomed_ vale” (l. 293), and the “_willow-tufted_ bank” (l. 294). For the rest, Goldsmith’s original compounds are, like so many of this type, mere efforts at verbal condensation, as “_shelter-seeking_ peasant” (“Traveller,” 162), “_joy-pronouncing_ eye” (_ibid._, 10), etc.

Of the more famous blank verse poems of the eighteenth century the first and most important was “The Seasons” of James Thomson, which appeared in their original form between 1726 and 1730. The originality of style, for which Johnson praised him,[172] is perhaps to be seen especially in his use of compound formations; probably no other poet has ever used them so freely.

As a general rule, Thomson’s compounds fall into the well-defined groups already mentioned. He has a number of noun _plus_ noun formations (Type I), where the first element has usually a purely adjectival value; “_patriot-council_” (“Autumn,” 98), “_harvest-treasures_” (_ibid._, 1217), as well as a few which allow him to indulge in grandiose periphrasis, as in the “_monarch-swain_” (“Summer,” 495) for a shepherd with his “_sceptre-crook_” (_ibid._, 497). These are all commonplace formations, but much more originality is found in his compound epithets. He frequently uses the noun _plus_ present participle combinations (Type III), “_secret-winding_, _flower-enwoven_ bowers” (“Spring,” 1058) or “_forest-rustling_ mountains” (“Winter,” 151), etc. Moreover, the majority of his compounds are original, though now and then he has taken a “classical” compound and given it a somewhat curious application, as in “_cloud-compelling_ cliffs” (“Autumn,” 801). A few of this class are difficult to justify logically, striking examples being “_world-rejoicing_ state” (“Summer,” 116) for “the state of one in whom the world rejoices,” and “_life-sufficing_ trees” (_ibid._, 836) for “trees that give sustenance.”

Thomson has also numerous instances of the juxtaposition of nouns and past-participles (Type IV): “_love-enlivened_ cheeks” (“Spring,” 1080), “_leaf-strewn_ walks” (“Autumn,” 955), “_frost-concocted_ glebe” (“Winter,” 706); others of this type are somewhat obscure in meaning, as “_mind-illumined_ face” (“Spring,” 1042), and especially “_art imagination-flushed_” (“Autumn,” 140), where economy of expression is perhaps carried to its very limit.

Thomson’s favourite method of forming compounds however is that of Type V, each book of “The Seasons” containing large numbers, the first element (_full_, _prone_, _quick_, etc.) often repeated with a variant second element. Sometimes constant repetition in this way produces the impression of a tiresome mannerism. Thus “many” joined to present and past-participles is used irregularly with quasi-adverbial force, apparently meaning “in many ways,” “many times,” or even “much,” as “_many-twinkling_ leaves” (“Spring,” 158), “_many-bleating_ flock” (_ibid._, 835), etc. In the same way the word “mazy” seems to have had a fascination for Thomson. Thus he has “the _mazy-running_ soul of melody” (“Spring,” 577), “the _mazy-running_ brook” (“Summer,” 373), “and _mazy-running_ clefts” (“Autumn,” 816), etc. Not all of this type, however, are mere mechanical formations; some have real poetic value and bear witness to Thomson’s undoubted gift for achieving happy expressive effects. Thus the “_close-embowering_ wood” (“Autumn,” 208), “the lonesome muse _low-whispering_” (_ibid._, 955), “the _deep-tangled_ copse” (“Spring,” 594), “the _hollow-whispering_ breeze” (_ibid._, 919), “the _grey-grown_ oaks” (“Summer,” 225), “_flowery-tempting_ paths” (“Spring,” 1109), “the morn _faint-gleaming_” (“Summer,” 48), “_dark-embowered_ firs” (“Winter,” 813), “the winds _hollow-blustering_” (_ibid._, 988), “the _mossy-tinctured_ streams” (“Spring,” 380), as well as such passages as

the long-forgotten strain
At first _faint-warbled_

(“Spring,” 585)

and

Ships _dim-discovered_ dropping from the clouds.

(“Summer,” 946)

Thomson’s compound epithets with a true adverb as the first element (Sixth Type), such as “_north-inflated_ tempest” (“Autumn,” 892), are not particularly striking, and some of them are awkward and result in giving a harsh effect to the verse, as

goodness and wit
In _seldom-meeting_ harmony combined.

(“Summer,” 25-6)

Finally, in “The Seasons” there are to be found many examples of the type of compound epithet, already referred to, modelled on the form of a past-participle; here Thomson has achieved some of his happiest expressions, charged with real suggestive power.[173] Among his instances are such little “word-pictures” as “_rocky-channelled_ maze” (“Spring,” 401), “the _light-footed_ dews” (“Summer,” 123); “the _keen-aired_ mountain” (“Autumn,” 434) “the _dusky-mantled_ lawn” (_ibid._, 1088), “the _dewy-skirted_ clouds” (_ibid._, 961) Even when he borrows a felicitous epithet he is able to apply it without loss of power, as when he gives a new setting to Milton’s “meek-eyed” applied to “Peace” as an epithet for the quiet in-coming of the dawn; the “_meek-eyed_ Morn” (“Summer,” 47).

Thomson makes good and abundant use of compound epithets, and in this respect, as in others he was undoubtedly a bold pioneer. His language itself, from our present point of view, apart from the thought and outlook on external nature it reflects, entitles him to that honourable position as a forerunner in the Romantic reaction with which he is usually credited. He was not content to accept the stereotyped diction of his day, and asserted the right of the poet to make a vocabulary for himself. There is thus justice in the plea that it is Thomson, rather than Gray, whom Wordsworth should have marked down for widening the breach between the language of poetry and that of prose.

No doubt the prevalence of the compound epithets in “The Seasons” is due, to some extent at least, to the requirement of his blank verse line; they helped him, so to speak, to secure the maximum of effect with the minimum of word-power; and at times we can almost see him trying to give to his unrhymed decasyllabics something of the conciseness and polish to which Pope’s couplet had accustomed his generation. But they owe their appearance, of course, to other causes than the mere mechanism of verse. Thompson’s fondness for “swelling sound and phrase” has often been touched upon, and this predilection finds full scope in the compound epithets; they play their part in giving colour and atmosphere to “The Seasons,” and they announce unmistakably that the old dead, descriptive diction is doomed.

Of the blank verse poems of the period only “The Seasons” has any real claim to be regarded as announcing the Romantic revolt that was soon to declare itself unmistakably. But three years after the appearance of Thomson’s final revision of his poem the first odes of William Collins were published, at the same time as those of Joseph Warton, whilst the work of Thomas Gray had already begun.

There are some two score of compound formations in the poems of Collins, but many of these—as “_love-darting_” (“Poetic Character,” 8), “_soul-subduing_” (“Liberty,” 92)—date from the seventeenth century. One felicitous compound Collins has borrowed from James Thomson, but in doing so he has invested it with a new and beautiful suggestiveness. Thomson had written of

Ships _dim-discovered_ dropping from the clouds.

(“Summer,” 946)

The compound is taken by Collins and given a new beauty in his description of the landscape as the evening shadows gently settle upon it:

Hamlets brown and _dim-discovered_ spires

(“Evening,” 37)

where the poetic and pictorial force of the epithet is perhaps at its maximum.[174]

Collins, however, has not contented himself with compounds already in the language; he has formed himself, apparently, almost half of the examples to be found in his poems. His instances of Types I, as of Types V and VI, are commonplace, and he has but few examples of Type II, the most noteworthy being “_scene-full_ world” (“Manners,” 78), where the epithet, irregularly formed, seems to have the meaning of “abounding in scenery.” Most of his instances of Type III are either to be found in previous writers, or are obvious formations like “_war-denouncing_ trumpets” (“Passions,” 43).

Much more originality is evident in his examples of Type IV, which is apparently a favourite method with him. He has “_moss-crowned_ fountain” (“Oriental Ecl.,” II, 24), “_sky-worn_ robes” (“Pity,” II), “_sedge-crowned_ sisters” (“Ode on Thomson,” 30), “_elf-shot_ arrows” (“Popular Superstitions,” 27), etc. Some instances here are, strictly speaking, irregular formations, for the participles, as in “_sphere-descended_,” are from intransitive verbs; in other instances the logical relation must be expressed by a preposition such, as “_with_” in “_moss-crowned_,” “_sedge-crowned_”; or “_by_” in “_fancy-blest_,” “_elf-shot_”; or “_in_” in “_sphere-found_,” “_sky-worn_.” He has some half-dozen examples of Type VII, three at least of which—“_gay-motleyed_ pinks” (“Oriental Eclogues,” III, 17), “_chaste-eyed_ Queen” (“Passions,” 75), and “_fiery-tressed_ Dane” (“Liberty,” 97)—are apparently his own coinage, whilst others, such as “_rosy-lipp’d_ health” (“Evening,” 50) and “_young-eyed_ wit,” have been happily used in the service of the personifications that play so great a part in his Odes.

There is some evidence that the use of compounds by certain writers was already being noticed in the eighteenth century as something of an innovation in poetical language. Thus Goldsmith, it would seem, was under the impression that their increasing employment, even by Gray, was connected in some way with the revived study of the older poets, especially Spenser.[175] This supposition is unfounded. Gray, it is true, uses a large number of compounds, found in previous writers, but it is chiefly from Milton—e.g. “_solemn-breathing_ airs” (“Progress of Poesy,” 14; cp. “Comus,” 555), “rosy-bosomed hours” (“Spring,” I), or from Pope—e.g. “_cloud-topped_ head” (“Bard,” 34) that he borrows. Moreover, he has many compounds which presumably he made for himself. Of Type I he has such instances as “the _seraph-wings_ of Ecstasy” (“Progress,” 96), “the _sapphire-blaze_” (_ibid._, 99), etc.; he has one original example of Type II in his “_silver-bright_ Cynthia” (“Music,” 32), and two of Type III, when he speaks of the valley of Thames as a “_silver-winding_ way” (“Eton Ode,” 10), and he finds a new epithet for the dawn in his beautiful phrase “the _incense-breathing_ Morn” (Elegy XVII). Of Type IV, he has some half-dozen examples, only two of which, however, owe their first appearance to him—the irregularly formed “_feather-cinctured_ chiefs” (“Progress,” 62) and “the _dew-bespangled_ wing” (“Vicissitude,” 2). The largest number of Gray’s compound epithets belong to Type V, where an adjective is used adverbially with a participle: “_rosy-crowned_ loves” (“Progress,” 28) and “_deep-toned_ shell” (“Music,” 23). One of Gray’s examples of this class of compound, evidently formed on a model furnished by Thomson, came in for a good deal of censure. He speaks of “_many-twinkling_ feet” (“Progress,” 35), and the compound, which indeed is somewhat difficult to defend, aroused disapproval in certain quarters. Lyttleton was one of the first to object to its use, and he communicated his disapproval to Walpole, who, however, at once took sides for the defence. “In answer to your objection,” he wrote,[176] “I will quote authority to which you will yield. As Greek as the expression is, it struck Mrs. Garrick; and she says that Mr. Gray is the only poet who ever understood dancing.” Later, the objection was revived in a general form by Dr. Johnson. “Gray,” he says,[177] “is too fond of words arbitrarily compounded. ‘Many-twinkling’ was formerly censured as not analogical: we may say ‘_many-spotted_’ but scarcely ‘_many_-spotting.’” The incident is not without its significance; from the strictly grammatical point of view the epithet is altogether irregular, unless the first element is admitted to be an adverb meaning “very much” or “many times.” But Gray’s fastidiousness of expression is a commonplace of criticism, and we may be sure that even when he uses compounds of this kind he has not forgotten his own clearly expressed views on the language fit and proper for poetry.

Johnson also objected to another device by which Gray had sought to enrich the vocabulary of poetry, as reflected in his use of the “participal” epithet in -_ed_.[178] If this device for forming new epithets cannot be grammatically justified, the practice of the best English poets at least has always been against Johnson’s dictum, and, as we have seen, it has been a prolific source of original and valuable compound epithets. Of this type Gray has some six or seven examples, the majority of which, however, had long been in the language, though in the new epithet of “the _ivy-mantled_ tower” (Elegy IX) we may perhaps see an indication of the increasing Romantic sensibility towards old ruins.

Though not admitted to the same high rank of poets as Collins and Gray, two of their contemporaries, the brothers Warton, are at least of as great importance in the history of the Romantic revival.[179] From our present point of view it is not too fanciful to see a reflection of this fact in the compound epithets freely used by both of the Wartons. Thomas Warton is especially noteworthy; probably no other eighteenth century poet, with the exception of James Thomson, has so many instances of new compound formations, and these are all the more striking in that few of them are of the mechanical type, readily formed by means of a commonplace adjective or adverb. Instances of compound substantives (Type I) are almost entirely lacking, and the same may be said of the noun _plus_ adjective epithets (Type II). There are, however, a few examples of Type III (noun _plus_ present participle), some of which, as “_beauty-blooming_ isle” (“Pleasures of Melancholy”), “_twilight-loving_ bat” (_ibid._), and “the woodbines _elm-encircling_ spray” (“On a New Plantation”), no doubt owe something to the influence of Thomson. Instances of Type IV are plentiful, and here again there is a welcome freshness in Warton’s epithets: “Fancy’s _fairy-circled_ shrine” (“Monody Written near Stratford-on-Avon”), “morning’s _twilight-tinctured_ beam” (“The Hamlet”), “_daisy-dappled_ dale” (“Sonnet on Bathing”). One instance of this class of compound epithet, “the _furze-clad_ dale,” is certainly significant as indicative of the changes that were going on from the “classical” to the Romantic outlook towards natural scenery.[180]

Of the other class of compound epithets, Warton has only a few instances, but his odes gave plenty of scope for the use of the “participial epithet” (Type VII), and he has formed them freely: “Pale Cynthia’s _silver-axled_ car” (“Pleasures of Melancholy”), “the _coral-cinctured_ stole” (“Complaint of Cherwell”), “Sport, the _yellow-tressed_ boy” (_ibid._). No doubt many of Thomas Warton’s compound formations were the result of a conscious effort to find “high-sounding” terms, and they have sometimes an air of being merely rhetorical, as in such instances as “_beauty-blooming_,” “_gladsome-glistering_ green,” “_azure-arched_,” “_twilight-tinctured_,” “_coral-cinctured_,” “_cliff-encircled_,” “_daisy-dappled_,” where alliterative effects have obviously been sought. Yet he deserves great credit for his attempts to find new words at a time when the stock epithets and phrases were still the common treasury of the majority of his contemporaries.

His brother, Joseph Warton, is less of a pioneer, but there is evident in his work also an effort to search out new epithets. His compounds include (Type II) “_marble-mimic_ gods” (“The Enthusiast”); (Type III) “_courage-breathing_ songs” (“Verses, 1750”), with many instances of Type IV, some commonplace, as “_merchant-crowded_ towns” (“Ode to Health”), others more original, as “mirth and youth nodding _lily-crowned_ heads” (“Ode to Fancy”), joy, “the _rose-crowned, ever-smiling_ boy” (“Ode Against Despair”), “the _beech-embowered_ cottage” (“On The Spring”). Moreover, there are a number in “The Enthusiast,” which reflect a genuine love of Nature (“_thousand-coloured_ tulips,” “_pine-topp’d_ precipice”) and a keen observation of its sights and sounds.

It is not forcing the evidence of language too much to say that a similar increasing interest in external nature finds expression in some of the compound epithets to be found in much of the minor poetry of the period. Thus Moses Mendez (_d._ 1758)[181] has in his poem on the various seasons (1751) such conventional epithets as

On every hill the _purple-blushing_ vine,

but others testify to first hand observation as

The _pool-sprung_ gnat on sounding wings doth pass.

Richard Jago (1715-1781)[182], in his “Edgehill” (1767), has such instances as “the _woodland-shade_,” “the _wave-worn_ face,” and “the tillag’d plain _wide-waving_.” The Rev. R. Potter,[183] who imitated Spenser in his “Farewell Hymn to the Country” (1749), has happy examples like “_mavis-haunted_ grove” and “this _flowre-perfumed_ aire.” In William Whitehead’s poems[184] there are numerous formations like “_cloud-enveloped_ towers” (“A Hymn”) and “_rock-invested_ shades” (“Elegy,” IV). A few new descriptive terms appear in the work of John Langhorne (1735-1779),[185] “_flower-feeding_ rills” (“Visions of Fancy,” I), “_long-winding_ vales” (“Genius and Valour”), etc. Michael Bruce (1746-1767) in his “Lochleven”[186] has, e.g., “_cowslip-covered_ banks,” and fresh observation of bird life is seen in such phrases as “_wild-shrieking_ gull” and “_slow-wing’d_ crane.” James Graeme (1749-1772)[187] has at least one new and happy compound in his line

The _blue-gray_ mist that hovers o’er the hill.

(“Elegy written in Spring”)

John Scott (1730-1783)[188] makes more use of compound formations than most of his minor contemporaries. He has many instances of Type IV (noun _plus_ participle), including “_rivulet-water’d_ glade” (Eclogue I), “_corn-clad_ plain,” “_elder-shaded_ cot” (“Amwell”). His few instances of Type VI (e.g. “_wildly-warbled_ strain,” (“Ode” IV)), and of Type VII (e.g. “_trefoil-purpled_ field” (“Elegy,” III)); “_may-flower’d_ hedges” (“Elegy,” IV); and “_golden-clouded_ sky,” (“Ode,” II), are also worthy of notice.

Meanwhile another aspect of the rising Romantic movement was revealing itself in the work of Chatterton. With the “antiquarianism” of the Rowley poems we are not here concerned, but the language of both the “original” work and of the “discovered” poems contains plenty of material relevant to our special topic. Chatterton, indeed, seems to have had a predilection for compound formations, though he has but few instances of compound substantives (e.g. “_coppice-valley_” (“Elegy”), and instances of Type II (noun _plus_ adjective) are also rare. The other types of epithets are, however, well represented: “_echo-giving_ bells” (“To Miss Hoyland”), “_rapture-speaking_ lyre” (“Song”), etc. (Type III), though it is perhaps in Type IV that Chatterton’s word-forming power is best shown: “_flower-bespangled_ hills” (“Complaint”), “_rose-hedged_ vale” (“Elegy at Stanton-Drew”), etc., where the first compound epithet is a new and suggestive descriptive term. His examples of Type V are also worth noting: “_verdant-vested_ trees” (“Elegy,” V), “_red-blushing_ blossom” “Song”), whilst one of the best of them is to be found in those lines, amongst the most beautiful written by Chatterton, which reflect something of the new charm that men were beginning to find in old historic churches and buildings:

To view the cross-aisles and the arches fair
Through the half-hidden _silver-twinkling_ glare
Of yon bright moon in foggy mantle dress’d.

(“Parliament of Sprites,” Canto XXI)

The remaining examples of Chatterton’s compound formations do not call for much attention, though “_gently-plaintive_ rill” (“Elegy on Phillips”) and “_loudly-dinning_ stream” (“Ælla,” 84) are new and fresh. Chatterton has much of the conventional poetical language and devices of his time throughout his work, and his compound epithets do not in the mass vary much from contemporary usage in this respect. But some of them at least are significant of the position which he occupies in the history of the Romantic revival.

The greatest figure in this revival, as it appears to us now, was William Blake, but from our present point of view he is almost negligible. It may safely be said that few poets of such high rank have made less use of compound formations: in his entire poetical work scarcely half a dozen instances are to be found. Yet the majority of these, such as “_angel-guarded bed_” (“A Dream,” 2), “_mind-forg’d_ manacles” (“London,” 8), “Winter’s _deep-founded_ habitation” (“Winter,” 3), “_softly-breathing_ song” (“Song,” 2: “Poetical Sketches”) are a sufficiently striking tribute to his ability to form expressive compounds had he felt the need. But in the beautiful purity and simplicity of his diction, for which he has in our own time at least received adequate praise, there was no place for long compound formations, which, moreover, are more valuable and more appropriate for descriptive poetry, and likely to mar the pure singing note of the lyric.

It is curious to find a similar paucity of compound formations in the poems of George Crabbe, the whole number being well represented by such examples as “_dew-press’d_ vale” (“Epistle to a Friend,” 48), “_violet-wing’d_ Zephyrs” (“The Candidate,” 268), and “_wind-perfuming_ flowers” (“The Choice”). No doubt the narrative character of much of Crabbe’s verse is the explanation of this comparative lack of compounds, but the descriptions of wild nature that form the background for many of “The Tales” might have been expected to result in new descriptive terms.

Two lesser poets of the time are more noteworthy as regards our especial topic. William Mickle (1735-1788), in his “Almada Hill” (1781) and his “May Day,” as well as in his shorter poems, has new epithets for hills and heights, as in such phrases as “_thyme-clad_ mountains” and “_fir-crown’d_ hill” (“Sorcerers,” 4). His Spenserian imitation “Syr Martyn,” contains a few happy epithets:

How bright emerging o’er yon _broom-clad_ height
The silver empress of the night appears

(Canto II, 31)

and “_daisie-whitened_ plain,” “_crystal-streamed_ Esk” are among his new formations in “Eskdale Braes.”

James Beattie has a large number of compounds in his poems, and though many of these are mechanical formations, he has a few new “nature” epithets which are real additions to the vocabulary of poetical description, as “_sky-mixed_ mountain” (“Ode to Peace,” 38), the lake “_dim-gleaming_” (“Minstrel,” 176), “the _wide-weltering_ waves” (_ibid._, 481), the wave “_loose-glimmering_” (“Judgment of Paris,” 458). He has also a few instances of Type VII chiefly utilized, as often with compounds of this type, as personifying epithets: “the frolic moments _purple_-pinioned” (“Judgment of Paris,” 465) and “_loose-robed_ Quiet” (“Triumph of Melancholy,” 64).

The “Pleasures of Memory” (1792) by Samuel Rogers has one or two compound formations: “_moonlight-chequered_ shade” (Part II). Hope’s “_summer-visions_” (_ibid._) and “the _fairy-haunts_ of long-lost hours” (_ibid.)_, have a trace at least of that suggestive power with which Keats and Shelley were soon to endow their epithets. Brief reference only need be made to the works of Erasmus Darwin, which have already been mentioned as the great example of eighteenth century stock diction used to the utmost possible extent. He has plenty of instances of compound epithets of every type, but his favourite formation appears to be that of a noun _plus_ part-participle, as “_sun-illumined_ fane” (“Botanic Garden,” I, 157), “_wave-worn_ channels” (_ibid._, I, 362), and as seen in such lines as

Her _shell-wrack_ gardens and her _sea-fan_ bowers.

(“Economy of Vegetation,” VI, 82)

Many of Darwin’s compounds have a certain charm of their own; in the mass they contribute towards that dazzling splendour with which eighteenth century diction here blazed out before it finally disappeared.

Cowper, like Blake and Crabbe, is not especially distinguished for his compound epithets. Though he has a large number of such formations, very few of them are either new or striking, a remark which applies equally to his original work and his translations. Many instances of all the types are to be found in the “Homer,” but scarcely one that calls for special mention, though here and there we come across good epithets well applied: “accents _ardour-winged_” (IV, 239) or “_silver-eddied_ Peneus” (II, 294).

Before attempting to sum up the use of compound epithets in eighteenth century poetry, brief reference may be made to their use in the early work of the two poets who announced the definite advent of the new age. Wordsworth in his early poems has many instance of compound words, most of which are either his own formations, or are rare before his time. The original and final drafts both of the “Evening Walk” and the “Descriptive Sketches” show some divergence in this respect, compounds found in the 1793 version being omitted later, whilst on the other new formations appear in the revised poems. Besides imitative instances such as “_cloud-piercing_ pine trees” (D.S., 63), there are more original and beautiful compounds, such as the “_Lip-dewing_ song and the _ringlet-tossing_ dance” (_ibid._, 132), which does not appear until the final draft.

Examples of Type IV are “_holly-sprinkled_ steeps” (E.W., 10), “The sylvan cabin’s _lute-enlivened_ gloom” (D.S., 134, final); and of Types V and VI, “_green-tinged_ margin” (D.S., 122), “_clear-blue_ sky” (D.S., 113), “_dim-lit_ Alps” (D.S., 1793 only, 217), and “the _low-warbled_ breath of twilight lute” (D.S., 1793, 749). Wordsworth’s early poems, it has been noted, are almost an epitome of the various eighteenth century devices for producing what was thought to be a distinctively poetical style,[189] but he soon shakes off this bondage, and “Guilt and Sorrow,” perhaps the first poem in which his simplicity and directness of expression are fully revealed, is practically without instances of compound epithets.

The critics, it would appear, had already marked down as a fault a “profusion of new coined double epithets”[190] in a “small volume of juvenile poems” published by Coleridge in 1794. In replying to, or rather commenting on, the charge, Coleridge makes an interesting digression on the use of such formations, defending them on “the authority of Milton and Shakespeare,” and suggesting that compound epithets should only be admitted if they are already “denizens” of the language, or if the new formation is a genuine compound, and not merely two words made one by virtue of the hyphen. “A Language,” he adds, “which like the English is almost without cases, is indeed in its very genius unfitted for compounds. If a writer, every time a compounded word suggests itself to him, would seek for some other mode of expressing the same sense, the chances are always greatly in favour of his finding a better word.” Though there is a good deal of sound sense in these remarks, we have only to recall the wealth of beautiful compound epithets with which Keats, to take only one example, was soon to enrich the language, to realize that English poetry would be very much the poorer if the rule Coleridge lays down had been strictly observed. It would perhaps be truer to say that the imaginative quality of the compound epithets coined by a poet is a good test of his advance in power of expression.[191]

As regards his own practice, Coleridge goes on to say[192] that he “pruned the double epithets with no sparing hand”; but the pruning was not very severe, judging from a comparison of the two volumes. Yet these early poems are not without examples of good compound epithets: “_zephyr-haunted_ brink,” (“Lines to a Beautiful Spring”), “_distant-tinkling_ stream” (“Song of the Pixies,” 16), “_sunny-tinctured_ hue” (_ibid._, 43), “_passion-warbled_ strain,” (“To the Rev. W. J. H.”), etc.

When we review the use of compound epithets in the poetry of the eighteenth century we are bound to admit that in this, as in other aspects of the “purely poetical,” the eighteenth century stands apart from other periods in our literary history. Most readers could probably at will call to their mind half a dozen compound epithets of Shakespeare and the Elizabethan period, of Milton, or of more modern writers, such as Keats, that are, as it were, little poems in themselves, Shakespeare’s “_young-eyed cherubim_,” or Milton’s “_grey-hooded even_,” or Keats’s “_soft-conched shell_.” It is safe to say that few eighteenth century words or phrases of this nature have captured the imagination to a similar degree; Collins’s “_dim-discovered spires_” is perhaps the only instance that comes readily to the mind.

There are, of course, as our study has shown, plenty of instances of good compound epithets, but in the typical eighteenth century poetry these are rarely the product of a genuine creative force that endows the phrase with imaginative life. Even the great forerunners of the Romantic revolt are not especially remarkable in this respect; one of the greatest of them, William Blake, gave scarcely a single new compound epithet to the language, and whilst this fact, of course, cannot be brought as a reproach against him, yet it is, in some respects at least, significant of the poetical atmosphere into which he was born. It has often been remarked that when Latin influence was in the ascendant the formation of new and striking compound epithets has been very rare in English poetry, whilst it has been always stimulated, as we know from the concrete examples of Chapman and Keats, by the influence of a revived Hellenism.

Another fact is worthy of attention. Many of the most beautiful compound epithets in the English language are nature phrases descriptive of outdoor sights and sounds. The arrested development, or the atrophy of the sense of the beauty of the external world, which is a characteristic of the neo-classical school, was an unconscious but effective bar to the formation of new words and phrases descriptive of outdoor life. The neo-classical poet, with his eye fixed on the town and on life as lived there, felt no necessity for adding to the descriptive resources of his vocabulary, especially when there was to his hand a whole _gradus_ of accepted and consecrated words and phrases. It is in the apostles of “the return to Nature” that we find, however inadequately, to begin with, a new diction that came into being because these poets had recovered the use of their eyes and could sense the beauty of the world around them.

And this fact leads to a further consideration of the use of compound epithets from the formal viewpoint of their technical value. It has already been suggested that their use may not be unconnected with the mechanism of verse, and the æsthetic poverty of eighteenth century poetry in this respect may therefore be not unjustly regarded as an outcome of the two great prevailing vehicles of expression. In the first place, there was the heroic couplet as brought to perfection by Pope. “The uniformity and maximum swiftness that marked his manipulation of the stopped couplet was achieved,” says Saintsbury, “not only by means of a large proportion of monosyllabic final words, but also by an evident avoidance of long and heavy vocables in the interior of the lines themselves.”[193] Moreover, perhaps the commonest device to secure the uniform smoothness of the line was that use of the “_gradus_ epithet” which has earlier been treated; these epithets were for the most part stock descriptive adjectives—_verdant_, _purling_, _fleecy_, _painted_, and the like—which were generally regarded by the versifiers as the only attendant diction of the couplet. If we compare a typical Pope verse such as

Let _vernal_ airs through trembling osiers play

with the line already quoted,

Love-whisp’ring woods and lute-resounding waves

we may perhaps see that the free use of compound epithets was not compatible with the mechanism of the couplet as illustrated in the greater part of Pope’s practice; they would tend to weaken the balanced antithesis, and thus spoil the swing of the line.

The most formidable rival of the heroic couplet in the eighteenth century was blank verse, the advent of which marked the beginning of the Romantic reaction in form. Here Thomson may be regarded as the chief representative, and it is significant that the large number of compound epithets in his work are terms of natural description, which, in addition to their being a reflex of the revived attitude to natural scenery, were probably more or less consciously used to compensate readers for the absence of “the rhyme-stroke and flash” they were accustomed to look for in the contemporary couplet. “He utilizes periodically,” to quote Saintsbury again,[194] “the exacter nature-painting, which in general poetic history is his glory, by putting the distinctive words for colour and shape in notable places of the verse, so as to give it character and quality.” These “distinctive words for colour and shape” were, with Thomson, for the most part, compound epithets; almost by the time of “Yardley Oak,” and certainly by the time of “Tintern Abbey,” blank verse had been fully restored to its kingdom, and no longer needed such aid.