Chapter XI: Appendix: 19 (1)

ENGLISH VERSIFICATION.

I n normal English Verse, the most determinate characteristic is uniformity of syllabic structure. RHYME, indeed, is a common but not an essential adjunct, some of our noblest poems being composed in unrhymed or Blank Verse. MEASURE, RHYTHM, ACCENT, and PAUSE, are all features of much moment in English Versification, but they cannot be reduced to absolutely uniform rules. The variations to which they are subject are many and important. Of the positive and correct signification of the terms Rhyme, Measure, Rhythm, Accent, and Pause, it is needful to give some explanation.

RHYME consists in a likeness or uniformity of sound in the closing, syllable, or syllables, of successive or contiguous lines of verse. We find used, in English poetry, three several sorts of Rhymes, namely, Single, Double, and Treble. Of the first, or one-syllabled rhyme, the following is an example:—

"O, mortals, blind in fate, who never know
To bear high fortune, or endure the low!"

The closing word, however, is not necessarily a monosyllable. There may be two syllables, as here:—

"What though his mighty soul his grief contains,
He meditates revenge who least complains."

Or three:—

"Seeking amid those untaught foresters,
If I could find one form resembling hers."

Or four:—

"We might be otherwise—we might be all
We dream of, happy, high, majestical."

Or there might be any number in this kind of verse under ten, if the long and short (accented and unaccented) syllables were rightly placed, and if the penultimate syllable, in particular, was short or unaccented. It is only to be observed further, that it is the sound in which uniformity is required, and not the spelling. Thus the following words make good rhymes:—made, plaid, and stayed; course, force, and hoarse; ride, lied, dyed; be, glee, lea; lo, blow, foe; beer, clear, here, and so forth. The most perfect single rhymes in our language, however, are those in which the rhyming vowels of two lines, and their closing letter or letters (if there be any), are exactly the same. "So" and "no," "day" and "say," "content" and "unbent," "oculist" and "humorist," "ambassadress" and "unhappiness"—all of these are perfect rhymes, seeing that the consonant preceding the rhyming vowel varies in each pair of words, all being alike after it. This is the criterion of an absolutely perfect rhyme.[20] However, such, rhymes as "away" and "sway," "strain" and "drain," "tress" and "dress," are not unfrequently used in good poetry. But those rhymes are held decidedly bad which merely repeat the same sounds, whether the words spell alike or not. Thus "amid" and "pyramid," "light" and "satellite," "maid" and "made," are defective rhymes. In short, it may be laid down as a rule, that, where the immediate consonants are not varied before the vowels in two rhyming lines, the letters before these consonants must be markedly different, as in "strain" and "drain," to make the rhymes at all good. "Away" and "sway," or "loud" and "cloud," though tolerated, are imperfect in a strict sense. No rhymes are more uncertain, it may be observed, than those of words ending in _y_, as "privacy," "remedy," and the like. In monosyllables and dissyllables so ending, as "try" and "rely," the termination always rhymes to _ie_, as in "vie" or "hie;" and it seems right that _y_ should always so be rhymed.[21] Nevertheless, it as often rhymes to an _e_, as in "be" and "she." The plural of nouns in _y_, again, having their termination in "ies," rhyme very uncertainly. They are sometimes placed to correspond with "lies," and sometimes with "lees." There is no fixed rule on this subject.

On many other points, also, the student of English poetry must gather information for himself from reading and observation. Of Double Rhymes it is not necessary to say much here. They are formed by adding a short or unaccented syllable to the measure of ordinary verses of any kind, and composing the rhyme out of it and the preceding syllable, now the penultimate one. Thus—

"Then all for women, painting, rhyming, _drinking_,
Besides ten thousand freaks that died in _thinking_."

In grave poetry, which uses the double rhyme occasionally, but on the whole sparingly, the last or short syllable should be entirely alike in double rhymes, and to the penultimate or accented one the same rules should apply as in the case of perfect single rhymes. That is to say, the consonants preceding the accented vowels should be varied, though licenses are taken in this respect. "Trading" and "degrading," for example, would be held a passable rhyme. The unison of sound,[22] and not the spelling, largely guides the formation of double rhymes, even in serious verse. "Liquor" and "thicker," "ever" and "river," "motion" and "ocean," "debtor" and "better," are instances in proof; and many, many worse cases pass muster occasionally. Faulty double rhymes are rendered faulty much in the same way as single ones. Thus, "minion" and "dominion," "million" and "vermilion," are bad rhymes. In burlesque and satiric poetry, a great deal of freedom is used in the composition of double rhymes.[23] Butler often frames them most amusingly in his "Hudibras." For example—

"When pulpit, drum ecclesi_astic_,
Was beat with fists, instead of _a stick_."

"Though stored with deletery _med'cines_,
Which whosoever took is _dead since_."

Occasionally in the highest serious verse we find the double rhyme composed of two several words, as in the following specimen from Wordsworth:[24]—

"Through many a long blue field of ether,
Leaving ten thousand stars beneath her."

In light or burlesque pieces, however, as Butler shows, the double rhyme is compounded in any way which gives the sound required. The Treble Rhyme is only found in such pieces. Butler says:—

"There was an ancient sage philosopher,
Who had read Alexander Ross over."

But, as the treble rhyme occurs but three or four times even in "Hudibras," it need not be dilated on here.

The word MEASURE, when employed in reference to poetry, indicates the length of line and general syllabic structure of peculiar kinds and forms of verse. Thus, a piece written in lines of eight syllables is said to be in the octo-syllabic measure, and one of ten-syllabled lines in the deca-syllabic measure. The term RHYTHM, again, denotes the arrangement of the syllables in relation to one another, as far as accentuation is concerned, and the particular cadence resulting from that arrangement. All the common measures of verse have a prevailing and normal rhythm—that is, long and short, or accented and unaccented, syllables follow each other in a certain order of succession. Thus, the normal octo-syllabic measure consists of short and long alternately, as does also the deca-syllabic. But variations, as will be shown, occur in these respects. What rhythm, again, is to measures of verse in the aggregate, ACCENT nearly is to each line specifically and individually. In one and all has the accent its peculiar seat; and the more that seat is varied, generally speaking, the more beautiful is the verse. The PAUSE is another feature of some importance in English poetry. In every line a point occurs, at which a stop or rest is naturally made, and this independently of commas or periods. It will be found impossible to read poetry without making this pause, even involuntarily. The seat of it varies with the accent, seeing that it always follows immediately after the accent From the want of a right distribution of accent and pause verse becomes necessarily and unpleasingly monotonous.

On the whole, English poetry, as remarked, has not one well-marked and unvariable characteristic of structure, saving that syllabic uniformity which distinguishes it in all its accurate forms and phases. However, this feature of our verse has been far from stamping it with anything like sameness. Though our bards have habitually measured their verses by the syllabic scale—with the exception of our old ballad writers, and a few moderns, who have written professedly after their exemplars—yet no language in the world contains stores of poetry more varied than the English in respect of construction. Lines of all lengths, containing from three syllables to twenty, have been tried by our poets, and, in general, pleasingly and successfully. Fletcher has even attempted tri-syllabic verses, though, as may be supposed, only in a slight choral form.

"Move your feet
To our sound,
Whiles we greet
All this ground."

In verses of four syllables, again, pretty long poems have actually been composed, and particularly by John Skelton, a poet of the time of Henry VIII. Much of what he wrote was sheer doggerel, no doubt being rendered so partly by the nature of his own talent and disposition, and partly because his chosen form of verse would scarcely admit of the conveyance of serious sentiments. Now and then, however, he does contrive to make his miniature lines interesting, as in the following address to Mistress Margaret Hussey:—

"Merry Margaret,
As midsummer flower,
Gentle as falcon,
Or hawk of the tower;
With solace and gladness,
Much mirth and no madness.
All good and no badness;
So joyously,
So maidenly,
So womanly,
Her demeaning,
In every thing
Far, far passing
That I can indite
Or suffice to write
Of merry Margaret,
As midsummer flower,
Gentle as falcon,
Or hawk of the tower."

It will be observed that Skelton, while taking four syllables for the basial structure of his lines, uses five occasionally, forming either a dissyllabic ending, or giving two short syllables for a long one, as in the lines—

"Gentle as _falcon_,
Or hawk _of the_ tower."

At the same time it will be noticed, that the same number of accents, or accented syllables, is kept up throughout. This will be found to be the case with most of our irregular or ballad compositions. They vary as to the number of syllables, but not of long ones or accents. Scott's romantic poetry exemplifies the same fact, which is a striking one, and explains why the melody of ballad-verses is so little affected by their syllabic irregularities. This law of composition should be specially noted by young cultivators of the Muses. Dryden has used four syllables in verses of the choral order. Thus he says—

"To rule by love,
To shed no blood,
May be extoll'd above;
But here below,
Let princes know,
'Tis fatal to be good."

It is obvious that the four-syllabled line is much too curt to allow of its being habitually used in serious compositions. The same thing may be said of lines of five syllables. They have been, and can only be, introduced in minor pieces. And here it may be observed, that the measure of four syllables, when used gravely, is of simple rhythm, consisting of a short and long syllable alternately, as in the verses of Dryden. Skelton, indeed, has confined himself to no rule. The measure of five syllables necessarily changes its rhythm; and the second and fourth lines of the subjoined stanza show what may be called the normal form of the measure:—

"My love was false, but I was firm
From my hour of birth;
Upon my buried body, lie
Lightly, gentle earth."

Long and short syllables (three long or accented) occur here in alternation, and compose the line in its regular rhythmical shape. Some other lines of an odd number of syllables, as seven, are for the most part similarly framed. But, in these respects, variations are often adopted. For instance, the following five-syllabled verses are differently constructed:—

"Now, now the mirth comes,
With cake full of plums,
Where bean's the king of the sport here;
Besides, we must know,
The pëa also[25]
Must revel as queen in the court here.

"Begin then to choose
This night, as ye use,
Who shall for the present delight here;
Be king by the lot,
And who shall not
Be Twelfth-day queen for the night here."

The first, second, fourth, and fifth lines here do not present alternate long and short syllables, as in the former quotation. But, however poets may indulge in such variations, the alternation of longs and shorts constitutes the proper rhythmical arrangement in the measure of verse now under notice. Without three accents, indeed, the five-syllabled verse becomes but a variety of the four-syllabled, as in Skelton's pieces.

In the measure of six syllables, we find many beautiful pieces wholly and continuously composed, grave as well as gay. Drayton, for example, has a fine "Ode written in the Peaks," of which the ensuing stanza may give a specimen:—

"This while we are abroad,
Shall we not touch our lyre?
Shall we not sing an ode?
Shall all that holy fire,
In us that strongly glow'd
In this cold air expire?"

In a mixed and lyrical shape, the six-syllabled line is also used finely by Shakspeare:—

"Blow, blow, thou winter wind,
Thou art not so unkind
As man's ingratitude;
Thy tooth is not so keen,
Because thou art not seen,
Although thy breath be rude.
Heigh ho! sing heigh ho!"

It is only as we come to consider verses of some length, that the subject of Accent and Pause can be clearly illustrated by examples. The Accent practically consists in either an elevation or a falling of the voice, on a certain word or syllable of a word, when verse is read; and that word or syllable is called the seat of the Accent. The term Rhythm has nothing to do with the sense; whereas the Accent rests mainly on the sense; and on the sense, moreover, of each individual line. The Pause, again, was before stated to be a rest or stop, made in pronouncing lines of verse, and dividing each, as it were, into two parts or hemistiches. Though, in the six-syllabled measure, the brevity of the lines confines the reader in a great degree to the ordinary rhythm, which consists of a short and long syllable alternately, or three unaccented and three accented, yet, in Drayton's ode, though the lines cannot well exemplify the Pause, there is a slight variation in the seat of the Accent—

"Shall we not touch our lyre?
Shall we not sing an ode?"

The accent here plainly falls on the initial "shall," giving force to the interrogation. Shakspeare's "Under the green-wood tree" is similarly accented.

The seven-syllabled measure is one in which many exquisite poems have been composed by English writers. Raleigh used it, as did likewise Shakspeare many incidental passages in his plays, and afterwards Cowley, Waller, and other bards of note. But it was by Milton that the seven-syllabled verse was developed, perhaps, to the greatest perfection, in his immortal "L'Allegro" and "Il Penseroso." In its systematic shape, this species of verse consists of a long and short syllable in alternation, the long beginning and closing each line, and therefore giving four accents. The measure is graceful and easy exceedingly, though apt to become monotonous in enunciation. To obviate this effect, Milton, who, either from natural fineness of ear, or from observation and experience, had acquired a consummate mastery of rhythm, roughened his lines purposely, sometimes by introducing eight syllables, and sometimes by varying the seat of the accent. This will partly be seen in the following brief extracts, which will also show how admirably he could make the measure the vehicle either of the gay or the grave:—

"Haste thee, nymph, and bring with thee
Jest and youthful Jollity,
Quips, and cranks, and wanton wiles,
Nods, and becks, and wreathed smiles,
Such as hang on Hebe's cheek,
And love to live in dimple sleek;
Sport that wrinkled care derides,
And Laughter holding both his sides."

So speaks the poet to Euphrosyne; and now he addresses "divinest Melancholy:"—

"Come, pensive nun, devout and pure,
Sober, steadfast, and demure,
All in a robe of darkest grain,
Flowing with majestic train,
And sable stole of cypress lawn,
Over thy decent shoulders drawn.
Come, but keep thy wonted state,
With even step and musing gait,
And looks commercing with the skies."

It will be observed how finely the dancing effect of the seven-syllabled verse is brought out, in accordance with the sense, in the first quoted passage, and with what skill it is repressed in the second, principally by the use of the graver octosyllabic line. John Keats employed the measure now under consideration very beautifully in his "Ode to Fancy," and gave it variety chiefly by changing the ordinary rhythm. Thus—

"Sit thou by the ingle, when
The sear faggot blazes bright,
Spirit of a winter's night."

The second line, from the position of "sear faggot," is rendered so far harsh, and tends to prevent the "linked sweetness" from being too long drawn out, and cloying the ear. Shakspeare—what under the sun escaped his eye?—had noticed the sing-song proclivities of the seven-syllabled measure, since he makes Touchstone say, on hearing a sample, "I'll rhyme you so eight years together; dinners, and suppers, and sleeping hours excepted; it is the right butter-woman's rank (trot) to market. For a taste." And he gives a taste:—

"If a hart do lack a hind,
Let him seek out Rosalind,
If the cat will after kind,
So, be sure, will Rosalind.
Sweetest nut hath sourest rind,
Such a nut is Rosalind."

"This is the very false gallop of verses," continueth the sententious man of motley. He is partly in the right; but the reader has now been told in what way the great poets, who have employed this measure of verse effectively, overcame the difficulties attending its perfect composition. In speaking of long syllables, they were before called accents; but the reader must guard against confounding these with the proper single accent, occurring in each line, and connected with the sense, as well as with the pause. As exemplifying both such accent and pause in the seven-syllabled line, the following couplets may be cited from Cowley. The accent is on the third syllable, the pause at third and fourth, as marked:—

"Fill the bowl—with rosy wine,
Round our temples—roses twine;
Crown'd with roses—we contemn
Gyges' wealthy—diadem."

These pauses must not be deemed arbitrary. The tongue is compelled to make them in the act of utterance.

The octosyllabic measure has been long the most common, if not the most popular, of all forms of English verse. It was in use among the Romancers of the Middle Ages, before England possessed a national literature, or even a proper national language. "Maister Wace" composed in this measure his "Roman de Rou;" and it was adopted by many of the early "Rhyming Chroniclers," and "Metrical Romancers" of Great Britain. Father Chaucer also, though his noblest efforts were made in what became the heroic verse (the decasyllabic) of his country, produced many pieces in the eight-syllabled measure; and Gower used it solely and wholly. So likewise did Barbour in his famous history of the Bruce, and Wyntoun in his Metrical Chronicle of Scotland. Since their days to the present, it has been ever a favourite form of verse among us, and, indeed, has been at no period more popular than during the current century. At the same time, poems of the very highest class, epic or didactic, have never been composed in the octosyllabic measure. It wants weight and dignity to serve as a fitting vehicle for the loftiest poetic inspirations. It has been the basis, however, of much of the finest lyrical poetry of England. It has likewise been splendidly wielded for the purposes of satire, as witness the burlesque or comic epos of Butler, and the works of Swift. And, in our own immediate age, it has been magnificently employed by Scott, Moore, Byron, Campbell, and others, in the composition of poetical romances.

Byron spoke of the octosyllabic verse as having about it "a fatal facility"—meaning that, from its simple brevity of construction, it was too apt to degenerate into doggerel. It is almost needless to give examples of a species of poetry so well known. Though the lines thereof are too short to permit of very full variety of cadence or emphasis, yet these are always marked and traceable, more or less. As graceful and flowing octosyllables, the following lines from the "Tam o' Shanter" of Burns have not many equals in our poetry:—

"But pleasures are like poppies spread;
You seize the flower—its bloom is shed;
Or like the snow-falls in the river,
A moment white, then gone for ever;
Or like the Borealis race,
That flit ere you can point their place;
Or like the rainbow's lovely form,
Evanishing amid the storm."

Long and short syllables alternately form the regular rhythm of this kind of verse; but occasional changes of rhythm and accentuation are used by all good writers. In the following lines Andrew Marvel introduces finely such a change:—

"He hangs in shades the orange bright,
_Like golden lamps in a green night_."

The emphasis is sometimes placed on the first syllable, as in the subjoined:—

"Fling but a stone—the giant dies."
"Smoothing the rugged brow of night."

The decasyllabic verse, however, will allow more fully of the illustration of the subjects of Accent and Pause.

In the meantime, a word, and only a word, requires to be said regarding verses of nine syllables. Such verses, in their normal and most natural shape, start with two short syllables, followed by a long one; and the same arrangement, repeated twice afterwards successively, completes the line. It has thus but three accented to six unaccented vowel-sounds. Few poets of any repute have used this measure extensively, if we except Shenstone, to whose style it gives an almost unique caste. For example—

"Not a pine in my grove is there seen,
But with tendrils of woodbine is bound;
Not a beech's more beautiful green,
But a sweet-briar entwines it around.
One would think she might like to retire
To the bower I have labour'd to rear;
Not a shrub that I heard her admire,
But I hasted and planted it there."

Shenstone often introduces eight syllables only, as in the following stanza:—

"Ye shepherds, so cheerful and gay,
Whose flocks never carelessly roam,
Should Corydon's happen to stray,
Oh! call the poor wanderers home."

But he here retains the proper rhythm of the measure of nine syllables, and the lines just quoted may rightly be looked on as still in that verse, though defective in a syllable. There are several modes of writing the same measure, different from that of Shenstone, but it may suffice to notice one instance:—

"When in death I shall calmly recline,
Oh bear my heart to my mistress dear;
Tell her it lived upon smiles and wine
Of the brightest hue, while it linger'd here."

These lines are far from being very musical in themselves, and were only so written to suit precomposed music. They are indeed positively harsh, if read without a recollection of that music, and confirm the remark made, that each numerical assemblage or series of syllables appears to have only one kind of rhythm proper and natural to it, and apart from which it is usually immelodious.

The ten-syllabled line is the heroic one of the English language, and a noble one it is, rivalling the lofty hexameter of Greece and Rome, and casting utterly into the shade the dancing, frivolous epic measure of French poetry. The latter runs in this rhythmical fashion:—

"She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps."

And in this measure is composed the "Henriade" of Voltaire, with all the famed tragedies of Corneille and Racine, as well as the pungent satires of Boileau. How characteristic of the Gaul the adoption and use of such a sing-song form of heroic verse! The decasyllabic line of England is of a more dignified caste, while, at the same time, capable of serving far more numerous and varied purposes. "All thoughts, all passions, all delights, whatever stirs this mortal frame," it has been found fitted to give expression to in a manner worthy of the themes. A glorious vehicle it proved for the inspirations of Chaucer, Spenser, Shakspeare, Jonson, Beaumont, Fletcher, Milton, Dryden, Pope, Thomson, Akenside, Young, Goldsmith, Cowper, and other bards of past generations; while scarcely less magnificent has been the handling of the same measure by the poets of the last age, the third great one in our literary annals. Crabbe, Wordsworth, Coleridge, Rogers, Campbell, Southey, Byron, Shelley, and Keats, with other recent poets of deserved renown, have all wielded the decasyllabic line, with or without rhyme, with success, as well as with singularly varied ability. A long list of dramatists of the Elizabethan, Annean, and Georgean eras, has of course to be added to the roll now given.

The heroic or epic measure of English verse consists of ten-syllabled lines, each of which, in its ordinary rhythmical form, presents a short and long syllable alternately. The length of the line enables us distinctly to trace in it both accent and pause; and it is upon frequent changes in the seats of these that the varied harmony of the heroic measure depends. The general accentuation falls on the long syllables, the sense, however, always directing the reader to accent some single syllable specially in each line. The pause uniformly follows the syllable or word so accented specially, unless that syllable be the first part of a long word, or be followed by short monosyllables. Thus, in the following lines the accent is severed from the pause.[26] Both are marked:—

"As bu´sy—as intentive emmets are."
"So fresh the wou´nd is—and the grief so vast."
"Those seats of lu´xury—debate and pride."

The pause is usually marked by a comma or period, but this, as before said, is not necessarily the case. In reading the decasyllabic line, a pause must somewhere be made, whether or not the sense be divided by points of any kind. The writings of Pope exemplify strikingly the formal or normal rhythm, accent, and pause of the heroic line, and a quotation may be made to exhibit these fully. The pause is marked in each line, and the same mark shows the seat of the accent:—

"Here as I watch'd´ the dying lamps around,
From yonder shrine´ I heard a hollow sound.
Come, sister, come´! (it said, or seem'd to say)
Thy place is here´; sad sister, come away;
Once like thyself´, I trembled, wept, and pray'd,
Love's victim then´, though now a sainted maid:
But all is calm´ in this eternal sleep;
Here grief forgets to groan´, and love to weep;
Even superstition´ loses every fear,
For God, not man´, absolves our frailties here."

This passage contains the secret of that smoothness which so peculiarly characterises the versification of Pope. In the preceding fourteen lines, the accent and the pause are seated, in all save three instances, at the same or fourth syllable; or rather the seat of the accent is only once altered (at the twelfth line), while the pause, changed there, is also changed in the fourth and thirteenth lines, where it occurs on the fifth and short syllables in the words "echoes" and "superstition," the accent remaining on the fourth in both cases. Now, the versification of Pope is by no means so monotonous at all times, but it is sufficiently marked by the peculiar features exhibited here—that is, the reiterated location of the accent and pause near the middle of each line, with the pause most frequently at long syllables—to render his verses smooth even to a wearisome excess. It is this characteristic of structure, often felt but seldom understood, which distinguishes the poetry of Pope from that of almost every other writer of note in the language. Darwin resembles him most closely, though the latter poet had marked peculiarities of his own. He emphasised more particularly nearly one-half the first syllables of his lines. Verse after verse runs thus:—

"Sighs in the gale, and whispers in the grot."
"Spans the pale nations with colossal stride."

The sweetness here is great, but, most undoubtedly, verse possessed of a much more perfect and uncloying species of melody has been produced by those poets who have admitted greater variety into the composition of their lines. The licence used by Shakspeare, for example, in respect of rhythm, accent, and pause, is unlimited; and beautiful, indeed, are the results:—

"The quality of mercy´ is not strain'd.
It droppeth´ as the gentle dew from heaven
Upon the place beneath´. It is twice bless'd:
It blesseth him that gives´, and him that takes;
'Tis mightiest in the mightiest´; it becomes
The throned monarch´ better than his crown;
It is an attribute´ to God himself."

"Sweet´ are the uses of adversity,
Which, like a toad´, ugly and venomous,
Wears yet a precious jewel´ in his head."

"I know a bank´ whereon the wild thyme blows,
Where oxlips´ and the nodding violet grows,
Quite over-canopied´ with lush woodbine,
With sweet musk-ro´ses, and with eglantine."

It is unnecessary to multiply examples of this sort. The decasyllabic line of Shakspeare is varied in structure, as said, almost unlimitedly, the seat of the accent and pause being shifted from the first word to the last, as if at random, but often, in reality, with a fine regard to the sense. Ben Jonson, and indeed all our older writers, indulge in the like free variations of the heroic measure; and the poets of the present day, in imitating their higher qualities, have also followed their example in respect of mere versification. Wordsworth and Keats, perhaps, may be held as having excelled all the moderns, their contemporaries, in the _art_ of "building the lofty rhyme." Both attended specially to the subject, deeming it by no means beneath them to meditate well the melody of single lines, and the aptitude even of individual words. Hence may Coleridge justly praise Wordsworth for "his austere purity of language," and "the perfect appropriateness of his words to the meaning"—for his "sinewy strength" in isolated verses, and "the frequent _curiosa felicitas_ of his diction." But Wordsworth himself owns his artistic care and toil in composition even more strongly:—

"When happiest fancy has inspired the strains,
How oft the malice of one luckless word
Pursues the Enthusiast to the social board,
Or haunts him lated on the silent plains!"

The beauties of the Bard of Rydal are, at the same time, too widely spread to render him the best example for our present purpose. Keats attended more closely to the minutiæ of pure versification in single passages, and may furnish better illustrations here. The subjoined Arcadian picture displays exquisite ease and freedom of composition:—

"Leading the way´, young damsels danced along,
Bearing the burden´ of a shepherd's song;
Each having a white wicker´, overbrimm'd
With April's tender younglings´; next well trimm'd,
A crowd of shepherds´ with as sunburn'd looks
As may be read of´ in Arcadian books;
Such´ as sat listening round Apollo's pipe.
When the great deity´, for earth too ripe,
Let his divinity´ o'erflowing die
In music through the vales of Thessaly."

Equally fine is the varied melody of the young poet's blank verse:—

"As when´, upon a trancèd summer night,
Those green-robed senators´ of mighty woods,
Tall oaks´, branch-charmèd by the earnest stars,
´ Dream', and so dream all night without a stir,
Save from one gradual´ solitary gust
Which comes upon the silence´, and dies off,
As if the ebbing air´ had but one wave;
So came these words and went."

Before adverting to other characters and peculiarities of English Versification generally, a very few words may be said in reference to those measures that exceed the decasyllabic in length. Lines of eleven feet have never been used in the composition of great or extended poems. When employed in lyrics and occasional pieces, the rhythm has usually been thus regulated:—

"Oh! breathe not his name, let it sleep in the shade,
Where, cold and unhonour'd, his relics are laid;
Sad, silent, and dark be the tears which we shed
As (the) night-dew that falls on the grass o'er his head."

This rhythmical arrangement seems to be the natural one, and composes merely the normal line of nine syllables, with a prefix of two others. Some other forms of the eleven-syllabled line may be found in lyrical collections, and more particularly in the works of Thomas Moore, who, writing to pre-existing music, has produced specimens of almost every variety of rhythm of which the English language is capable.

The measure of twelve syllables has been employed by one eminent and true poet in the composition of a work of importance. The "Polyolbian" of Drayton is here alluded to. As in the case of other verses of an even number of syllables, the regular alternation of short and long seems most suitable to lines of twelve. Drayton thought so, as the following brief extract descriptive of Robin Hood will show:—

"Then, taking them to rest, his merry men and he
Slept many a summer's night beneath the greenwood tree.
From wealthy abbots' chests, and churls' abundant store,
What oftentimes he took he shared among the poor;
No lordly bishop came in lusty Robin's way,
To him before he went, but for his pass must pay;
The widow in distress he graciously relieved,
And remedied the wrongs of many a virgin grieved."

It is superfluous to dwell on accentuation or pauses here, the line being commonly divided into two even parts, or, in truth, two six-syllabled lines. The rhythm, however, is often arranged differently in lyrics, as the first lines of some of those of Moore will evince:—

"As a beam o'er the face of the waters may glow."
"We may roam through this world like a child at a feast."
"Like the bright lamp that shone in Kildare's holy fane."

In these instances, two short syllables and a long one occur in alternation throughout the twelve. Moore has given other varieties of this measure, as—

"Through grief and through danger, thy smile hath cheer'd my way;"

but these are merely capriccios to suit certain music, and need not occupy our time here. The same poet has even a line of thirteen syllables.[27]

"At the mid-hour of night, when stars are weeping I fly."

This measure is a most awkward one, certainly. The line of fourteen syllables is more natural, and was used in at least one long piece called "Albion's England," by Thomas Warner, a rhymer of the sixteenth century. A maid is advised whom to love in these terms:—

"The ploughman's labour hath no end, and he a churl will prove;
The craftsman hath more work on hand than fitteth one to love;
The merchant trafficking abroad, suspects his wife at home;
A youth will play the wanton, and an old will play the mome:
Then choose a shepherd."

This is but the lumbering dodecasyllabic verse rendered more lumbering still by two fresh feet, it will be generally allowed. In fact, these lines of twelve and fourteen feet have only been used effectually as "Alexandrines," or single lines introduced to wind up, or heighten the force of passages, in the heroic or the octosyllabic measure. Pope ridicules this practice, though it was a favourite one with Dryden:—

"A needless Alexandrine ends the song,
That, like a wounded snake, drags its slow length along."

In Dryden's "Ode to music," the following instances of the two kinds of Alexandrines occur:—

"Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle soft desire."
"And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice he slew the slain."

By giving lines of ten, twelve, and fourteen syllables in succession, as he occasionally does in his translation of Virgil, Dryden brings passages with artistic skill to a very noble climax. But the Alexandrine is now nearly obsolete in our poetry.

The most common features and peculiarities of English Versification have now received a share of attention. Measure and Rhythm,—Accent and Pause, have all been duly noticed. There are yet other points, however, connected with the subject, which merit equal attention from the student of poetical composition. Every rule that has been mentioned may be preserved, and still most inharmonious verse may be the result. The greatest poets, either from experience or innate musical taste, adopted additional means to arrive at perfect versification. Pope points to some of these in his well-known lines:—

"The sound must seem an echo to the sense.
Soft is the strain when zephyr gently blows,
And the smooth stream in smoother numbers flows;
But when loud surges lash the sounding shore,
The hoarse rough verse should like the torrent roar."

The poet, as all will of course see, here exemplifies the meaning of his lines practically in their structure. The Greek and Roman writers were quite aware of the effect of congruous sound and sense. Virgil has several famous lines constructed on this principle, as—

"Monstrum, horrendum, informe, ingens cui lumen ademptum."
(A monster, horrid, formless, gross, and blind.)

To give a better idea of the efficient way in which the poet has roughened the above verse to suit the picture of a monster, one of his ordinary lines may be quoted:—

"Formosam resonare doces Amaryllida silvas."

But it is wrong to call this an ordinary line, since Dr. Johnson considered it to be the most musical in any human language. Ovid, again, has made the sense and sound (and also construction) agree finely in the following passage:—

"Sponte sua carmen numeros veniebat ad aptos,
Et quod tentabam dicere versus erat."

Pope has imitated these lines, and applied them to himself, the signification being simply—

"I lisp'd in numbers, for the numbers came."

Among our own great bards, Milton stands peculiarly distinguished for success in the use of this ornament of verse. The "Allegro" and "Penseroso" exhibit various exquisite instances.

"Swinging slow with sullen roar."
"On the light fantastic toe."
"Through the high wood echoing shrill."
"And the busy hum of men."
"Most musical, most melancholy."
"Lap me in soft Lydian airs."

In the "Paradise Lost," again, there occur many passages rendered forcible in the extreme by the adaptation of sound to sense. Thus—

"Him the Almighty power
Hurl'd headlong flaming from the ethereal sky,
With hideous ruin and combustion, down
To bottomless perdition."

Still more remarkable is the following passage, as expressive of slow and toilsome travel:—

"The fiend
O'er bog or steep, through straight, rough, dense, or rare,
With head, hands, wings, or feet, pursues his way,
And swims, or sinks, or wades, or creeps, or flies."

The chief mean of attaining _general harmony_ in verse is _a free and happy distribution of the vowel-sounds_. For producing a _special harmony_, consonant with _special signification_, other rules require to be followed. But, in the first place, let us look particularly to the means of rendering verse simply and aggregately melodious. It must not be supposed, as many are apt to do, that even the most illustrious poets considered it beneath them to attend to such minutiæ as the distribution of the vowels in their verses. Look at the grand opening of "Paradise Lost." It is scarcely conceivable that the remarkable variation of the vowels there, on which the effect will be found largely to depend, can have been the result of chance. No one line almost, it will be seen, gives the same vowel-_sound_ twice.

"Of man's first disobedience, and the fruit
Of that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste
Brought death into the world, and all our woe,
With loss of Eden, till one greater Man
Restore us, and regain the heavenly seat,
Sing, heavenly Muse."

The following stanza of Leyden was considered by Scott one of the most musical in the language, and it is rendered so mainly by its vowel variety:—

"How sweetly swell on Jura's heath
The murmurs of the mountain bee!
How sweetly mourns the writhèd shell,
Of Jura's shore, its parent sea!"

A passage from the "Laodamia" of Wordsworth may be pointed to as an equally striking illustration of the same rule:—

"He
Spake of heroic arts in graver mood
Revived, with finer harmony pursued;
Of all that is most beauteous—imaged there
In happier beauty; more pellucid streams,
An ampler ether, a diviner air,
And fields invested with purpureal glaems;
Climes which the sun, who sheds the brightest day
Earth knows, is all unworthy to survey."

Wordsworth, who in truth is the perfect master of this species of Melody, as the "Excursion" will prove to all those who look thereinto attentively, has scarcely once repeated the same exact sound in any two words, of any one line, in the preceding quotation. One more passage (from "Lycidas") may be given to undeceive yet more completely those who have been want to ascribe the rich Miltonic melody to mere chance:—

"Alas! what boots it with incessant care
To tend the homely, slighted shepherd's trade.
And strictly meditate the thankless Muse?
Were it not better done, as others use,
To sport with Amaryllis in the shade,
Or with the tangles of Neæra's hair?"

This most melodious passage has often been quoted, but the source of its melody has not been generally recognised by ordinary readers. The key which unlocks the secret has here been given. Let it be applied to our poetry at large, and it will be found to explain the effect of many of its grandest and sweetest passages.

The proper distribution of the vowels, then, so effective in the hands of Milton and Wordsworth, may be decisively viewed as a main help to harmony of versification generally. But when the poet desires to make his language express _particular_ meanings by sounds, he studies more specially, in the first place, the right disposition of accent and pause, and so advances partly to his object. Thus Milton, in describing the fall of Mulciber or Vulcan from heaven, leaves him, as it were, tumbling and tumbling in the verse, by a beautiful pause:—

"From morn
To noon he fell, from noon to dewy eve,
A summer's day."

A similar and not less exquisite pause is made in the famed passage, otherwise beautiful from variety of vowels, where, after swelling allusions to

"What resounds
In fable or romance of Uther's son
Begirt with British and Armoric knights,
And all who since, baptized or infidel,
Jousted in Aspramount or Montalbalm,"

a dying and most melodious close is attained—

"When Charlemain with all his peerage fell
_By Fontarabia_."

Often are similar pauses made effectively at the opening of lines:—

"The schoolboy, wandering through the wood,
To pull the primrose gay,
_Starts_, the new voice of spring to hear,
And imitates thy lay."

"My song, its pinions disarray'd of night,
_Droop'd_."
"The carvèd angels, ever eager eyed,
_Stared_."

"Liberty,
From heart to heart, from tower to tower, o'er Spain
Scattering contagious fire into the sky,
_Gleam'd_."

Much more striking instances of the effect of laying marked and compulsory pauses on first syllables might be adduced, but these, taken by chance, may suffice as illustrations. Such aids to impressive versifying must not be overlooked by young poets. The pause and accent, however, may both be similarly employed and fixed without the help of positive periods. Thus Wordsworth, in lines likewise beautiful from vowel-variety:—

"What time the hunter's earliest horn is heard,
_Startling_ the golden hills."

The voice accents the word "startling" naturally; and mind and ear both own its peculiar aptitude where it is placed. Not less marked is the force of the same word in the middle of the Miltonic line:—

"To hear the lark begin his flight,
And singing _startle_ the dull night."

And again, in the case of the word "start"—

"The patriot nymph _starts_ at imagined sounds."

The following are examples of sense brought clearly out, by placing the pause and accent at different points of the verses:—

"My heart _aches_, and a drowsy numbness pains
My sense."
"Cut mercy with a sharp _knife_ to the bone."

The strong effect of these lines arises from the accent being thrown on syllables usually short or unaccented in the decasyllabic verse. This is a common stroke of art with Milton, when he would lay force on particular words. Most of our great poets, indeed, knew and practised the same rule.

So much for the effects of the structure of the verse, and the location of the accent and pause. But the simple choice of _apt diction_ is still more important to the art of effective versification, as far as the evolution of special meanings is concerned. Reference is not here made to diction that is apt through signification merely, but such, more particularly, as by its _sound_ enhances the force of the thoughts or images which it conveys. In this shape is the congruity of sound and sense best developed. To the instances given from Pope and Milton others may now be added, with an explanation of the artistic rules employed in the case.

Observe how finely appropriate is the sound to the sense in the line:—

"The surgy murmurs of the lonely sea."

By the use of the _rs_ here it is, that the very sound of the surge seems to be brought to the ear; and even the open vowels at the close give something like the sense of a great and cold waste of waters beyond the surge. Equally apt is the impression made by the lines:—

"The murmurous haunt of flies on summer-eves."
"Couches of rugged stone, and slaty ridge
Stubborn'd with iron."
"A ghostly under-song,
Like hoarse night-gusts sepulchral briars among."
"The snorting of the war-horse of the storm."

These are instances in which the roughening effect of the _r_ is felt to aid the meaning powerfully. The actual and direct meaning of the words chosen, beyond a doubt, is by far the most important point in all kinds of composition; but the art of the poet may be more or less evinced in his selection of such as have a fit and correspondent sound. All great poets have recognised this law. The art, however, must not be too palpable. Pope, in exemplifying the harsh effect of the letter _r_, allowed the art to be too easily seen.

"The hoarse rough verse should like the torrent roar."

Keats, before quoted, manages the matter more delicately.

We refer to the use of the letter _r_ simply in illustration of a principle of great consequence in poetical composition. It is also of the widest application. Not a letter, or combination of letters, in the English language, is without some peculiar force of sound of its own, enhancing sense; and above all does this assertion hold good in respect to the Anglo-Saxon elements or portions of our vernacular tongue. This circumstance arises from the fact of the Anglo-Saxon being a very pure dialect of a primitive language, the earliest words of which languages are ever mere descriptions, as far as sound goes, of the acts or objects implied or spoken of. _Hiss_ and _howl_, for instance, are clearly imitative of the noises of hissing and howling; and thousands of similarly derived vocables are not less expressive in a kindred way. Our most eminent national poets, whether taught by the ear or by experience, have shown themselves well aware of these things, and have turned to fine account the Anglo-Saxon constituents of the mother-tongue. In those languages, again, which have passed through various shapes since their first invention by man—as the French, Spanish, and Italian—nearly all traces of congruous sound and sense have been lost, and general modulation has taken place of specific expressiveness. The gain here, which practically rests on the use of a multiplicity of vowels, cannot be held to counterbalance the loss. Exquisitely melodious as are the verses of Tasso and Ariosto, for example, no one wholly ignorant of Italian could ever even guess at the meaning of a single line or word from the mere hearing. The English language stands placed, in the main, very differently: and happily does it do so, as far as force, impressiveness, and picturesque beauty are concerned. No doubt, we have many words founded on the Latin and its modern derivations; and these are far from unserviceable, inasmuch as they lend general harmony to our tongue, spoken and written. But our special strength of diction comes from the Anglo-Saxon; and fortunate is it, that that primitive form of speech still forms the chief constituent of the national language of Britain.

The reader now understands by what means our best national poets have striven to render sound and sense congruous in their verses. It has mainly been, as said, by the use of Anglo-Saxon words which could scarcely fail to suit the end well, since they were actually formed, primarily, upon that very principle. Much of the power, of course, lies in the consonants which occur so freely in the language; and yet the vowels, while essential to the use and force of the consonants, are not without their individual and respective kinds and shades of expressiveness. The _o_, for instance, has a breadth and weight not pertaining to the other vowels, as in the last of these two lines—

"Some words she spake
In solemn tenour and deep organ tone."

The other vowels have also their respective degrees of depth, lightness, and other qualities. But mere general harmony only, or chiefly, can be attained by the use of vowel-sounds unaided by consonants of particular powers; and it has already been pointed out, that, to develop that harmony fully, an extensive variation of the said sounds is the principal thing required, and has ever been employed by the greatest poets.

With regard to Consonants, there is scarcely one in the alphabet without some well-marked and special force of its own. By conjunction with others, or with vowels, this special force may likewise be modified vastly, giving rise to numberless varieties of expression, or rather expressiveness. The roughening power of the letter _r_ has been adverted to, and other consonants may now be noticed, with exemplifications, of their efficient use in poetry. The consonants are noticeable for their peculiar powers, at once at the beginning, in the middle, and at the close of words; but the present purpose will be best served by taking them up successively, as initial letters.

The consonant _b_, at the opening of words, has no very marked force; but it originates many expressive terms, often finely employed in poetry.

"He _babbled_ of green fields."

Here the word paints the act to perfection. "_Beslubbered_ all with tears." "A _blubbering_ boy." "Fire burn, and caldron _bubble_." All of these words exemplify sound and sense clearly combined; and our poets have also used, with like effect, _bawl_, _brawl_, _bray_, and many other common terms, beginning with _b_. But on the whole, its initial power is not great; and it is, indeed, rather a soft consonant, like the labials generally. _C_, again, sounded as _k_, has really a special power, quick, sharp, and cutting, at the commencement of words, and more particularly when followed by _l_ and _r_, and aided by apt terminations. Well did Milton and others of our bards know this fact, as the subjoined lines may partly show:—

"_Clash'd_ their sounding shields the din of war."
"Till all his limbs do _crack_."
"I _cleave_ with rapid fin the wave."
"In one wild havoc _crash'd_."
"The moonbeams _crisp_ the _curling_ surge."
"By the howling of the dog."
"By the _croaking_ of the frog."

All these are effective terms, both in the opening and close. Those who recollect any great actor in "Hamlet," must have noticed the splendid emphasis placeable on the words—

"What should such fellows as I do,
_Crawling_ betwixt earth and heaven!"

The following is most aptly heavy:—

"Save that a _clog_ doth hang yet at my heel."

And we have here a fine expression, with an equally good pause:—

"I plead a pardon for my tale,
And having hemmed and _cough'd_—begin."

But _cough_ must be pronounced in the old Anglo-Saxon way, and not as _coff_. The power of the letter _d_, at the commencement of words, is not quick and sharp like the _c_, but rather slow and heavy; and this effect is vastly increased when an _r_ is added. Thus, for instance:—

"_Drags_ its slow length along."

"Not all the _drowsy_ syrups of the world."

"The _dreary_ melody of bedded reeds."

"Snivelling and _drivelling_ folly without end."

"Good shepherds after shearing _drench_ their sheep."

"And _dropping_ melody with every tear."

Such words, too, as _drawl_, _droop_, _drip_, _drizzle_, _drum_, and others, may be, have been used excellently in poetry. The _f_ is a letter expressive of a light and rapid action, at least when conjoined with other consonants. Campbell uses it finely in both ways:—

"But see! 'mid the _fast-flashing_ lightnings of war.
What steed to the desert _flies frantic and far_?"

The quick action is also signified in _flay_, _flog_, _fling_, _flitter_, and other vocables. Coriolanus portrays verbally the very deed, when he tells how,

"Like an eagle in a dovecot, he
_Flutter'd_ their Volsces in Corioli."

_G_, by itself, is rather a soft consonant; and, followed by _l_, it has also a mild effect, as in the very expressive words, _gleam_, _glide_, _glitter_, _glisten_, _gloom_, and the like. _Gr_, again, is singularly heavy and harsh, as in the succeeding cases:—

"And _grinn'd_, terrific, a sardonic look."

"_Grinn'd_ horribly a ghastly smile."

"_Grapple_ him to thy soul with hooks of steel."

"In came Margaret's _grimly_ ghost."

Of kindred force are _grasp_, _gripe_, _grope_, and others. _Gnash_ and _gnaw_ have a sort of convulsive twist in sense, and so should they have in sound, when rightly pronounced, and after the original mode. By the way, though _grin_ be a strong word, in its old shape it is stronger; and that _girn_, still used in Scotland.