THE PRINCIPLES OF ENGLISH VERSIFICATION

BY

PAULL FRANKLIN BAUM

[Illustration]

CAMBRIDGE

HARVARD UNIVERSITY PRESS

1924

LONDON: HUMPHREY MILFORD

OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS

COPYRIGHT, 1922

BY HARVARD UNIVERSITY PRESS

_Third printing_

PRINTED AT THE HARVARD UNIVERSITY PRESSCAMBRIDGE, MASS. , U. S. A. 

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | Transcriber's note | | | | The following symbols have been used in the text: | | | | ‸ CARET a musical rest | | | | ◡ LOWER HALF CIRCLE an unstressed syllable | | | | _̷ COMBINING SHORT SOLIDUS OVERLAY a stressed syllable | | | | ^{x} superscript x | | | | [`] grave accent over the preceding unstressed syllable | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

TOC. H. N. B. 

PREFACE

Most of the older discussions of English versification labored under twodifficulties: an undue adherence to the traditions of Greek and Latinprosody more or less perfectly understood, and an exaggerated formalism. But recently the interest and excitement (now happily abated) overfree-verse have reopened the old questions and let in upon them not alittle light. Even today, however, a great deal of metrical analysis haswrecked itself on the visible rocks of a false accuracy, and it istherefore not only out of caution but also out of mere common sense thatwe should eschew the arbitrary, even at the risk of vagueness and an'unscientific' admission of uncertainty. For the only great andannihilating danger of writing on versification is dogmatism. Ourtheorists, both old and new, are first tempted and then possessed withtheir theories--all else becoming wrong and intolerable. In thefollowing pages I have perhaps erred in a too frequent insistence ondoubts and perplexities; perhaps also, on occasion, in a too plainstatement of opinion where judgments are bound to differ--_sic se reshabent_. 

Now it is plain that rhythm is one of the ultimate facts of nature andone of the universal principles of art; and thus versification, whichis the study of the rhythms of verse, is both a science and an art. Butit differs from the other sciences in that its phenomena are not'regular' and reducible to law, but varying and subject to the dictates, even the whims, of genius; inasmuch as every poem involves a fresh fiatof creation. Of course, no poet when he is composing, either in thetraditional "fine frenzy" or in the more sober process of revision, thinks of prosody as a science, or perhaps thinks of it at all. If hedid he would go mad, and produce nothing. But the phenomena remain, nevertheless, and the analysis of them becomes for us a science. 

This analysis has what Bacon would call two inconveniences. The first iscomplexity. The various ways in which the formal rhythms of versecombine with the infinitely modulated rhythms of natural prose produce aresultant which is complicated to the last degree and which almostprecludes orderly exposition. No system has been devised to express it. The simpler ones fail through omission of important difficulties, themore elaborate totter under their own weight. And thus the Gentle Readeris either beguiled by false prophets--looks up and is not fed--or losesheart and saves himself by flight. There is, to be sure, an arcanum ofprosodic theory which is the province of specialists. It has its placein the scheme of things; but it is no more necessary for the genuineenjoyment of Milton (or the 'moderns') than a knowledge of the formulaefor calculating the parallax of Alpha Leonis is necessary for enjoyingthe pillared firmament. We must then compromise with a system whichreveals the existence of all the phenomena and tries to suggest theirinterrelated workings. 

The other inconvenience is that of seeming to deny the real poetry byour preoccupation with its metrical expression. "Under pretence that wewant to study it more in detail, we pulverize the statue. " This is anold charge, and our answer is easy. For, however it may be with thestatue, a poem is never pulverized; it is still there on the page! Noamount of analyzing can injure the poem. If we think it has injured us, even then we err, and need only recall our natural aversion to hardlabor. In nearly every instance it was the work and not the analysisthat bothered us. 

This is a small book and therefore not exhaustive. And since it is aselementary, especially in the treatment of the principles of rhythm, asis consistent with a measure of thoroughness, the apparatus of merelearning has been suppressed, even where it might perhaps seem needed, as in footnote references to the scientific investigations on which partof the text is based. I have consulted and used, of course, all thebooks and articles I could find that had anything of value to offer; butI have rarely cited them, not because I wish to conceal my indebtedness, but because there is no room for elaborate documentation in such a bookas this. On the other hand, I owe a very great deal, both directly andindirectly, to Professor Bliss Perry--although my manuscript wasfinished before I saw his Study of Poetry; and this debt I wish toacknowledge most fully and gratefully. 

In lieu of a formal bibliography, I think it sufficient (in addition tothe footnotes that occur in their proper place) to refer the reader tothe larger works of Schipper and Saintsbury, to the smaller volumes ofProfessor Perry and Professor R. M. Alden, and particularly to Mr. T. S. Omond's English Metrists, 1921. 

P. F. B. 

CONTENTS

 PAGE I. RHYTHM 3 II. RHYTHM OF PROSE AND VERSE 22 III. METRE 49 IV. METRICAL FORMS: 1. THE LINE 69 2. THE STANZA 88 3. BLANK VERSE 133 4. FREE-VERSE 150 5. EXOTIC FORMS 159 V. MELODY, HARMONY, AND MODULATION 165 GLOSSARIAL INDEX 207

CHAPTER I

RHYTHM

Rhythm, in its simplest sense, is measured motion; but by variousnatural extensions of meaning the word has come to be used almost as asynonym of regularity of variation. Whatever changes or alternatesaccording to a recognizable system is said to be rhythmic, to possessrhythm. In this sense, rhythm is one of the universal principles ofnature. We find it in the stripes of the zebra, the indentation ofleaves, the series of teeth or of crystals, the curves of the horizon;in the tides, the phases of the moon, the rising and setting of the sun, the recurrence of seasons, the revolutions of planets; in the vibrationsof color, sound, and heat; in breathing, the throbbing of the pulse, thestride of walking. All action and reaction whatever is rhythmic, both innature and in man. "Rhythm is the rule with Nature, " said Tyndall; "sheabhors uniformity more than she does a vacuum. " So deep-rooted, intruth, is this principle, that we imagine it and feel it where it doesnot exist, as in the clicking of a typewriter. Thus there is both an_objective rhythm_, which actually exists as rhythm, and a _subjectiverhythm_, which is only the feeling of regularity resulting from anatural tendency of the mind to 'organize' any irregularity that wemeet. 

There are two fundamental forms of rhythm, though these are notaltogether mutually exclusive, (1) spatial, and (2) temporal. 

 * * * * *

_Spatial Rhythms. _ The simplest spatial rhythm is a series ofequidistant points--

 . . . . . . . . . . 

More complex forms are the succession of repeated designs in mouldingsand wainscotings (for example, the alternation of egg and dart), theseries of windows in a wall, or of the columns of a Greek temple, or ofthe black and white keys of a piano. Still more complex is the balancedarrangement of straight lines and curves in a geometrical design, as incertain Oriental rugs or the Gothic rose windows. And probably the mostcomplex spatial rhythms are those of the facades of great buildings likethe Gothic cathedrals or St. Mark's of Venice, where only the trainedeye perceives the subtleties of alternation and balance. 

 * * * * *

_Temporal Rhythms. _ Temporal rhythms, apart from those of planetarymotion, the alternation of seasons, and the like (which are calledrhythmic by a metaphorical extension of the term), manifest themselvesto us as phenomena of sound; hence the two concepts time-rhythm andsound-rhythm are commonly thought of as one and the same. 

The simplest form is the tick-tick-tick of a watch or metronome. Butsuch mechanical regularity is comparatively rare, and in general thetemporal rhythms are all highly complex composites of sounds andsilences. Their highest manifestations are music and language. Therhythm of language, and _a fortiori_ that of verse, is thereforeprimarily a temporal or sound rhythm, and as such is the particularsubject of the following pages. 

 * * * * *

_Combinations. _ Language, however, when addressed to the eye rather thanto the ear, that is, when written or printed rather than spoken, ispartly a spatial phenomenon; and, as will appear presently, thearrangement of words and sentences on the formal page is a real factorin the rhythm of verse. Moreover, most of the rhythms of motion, such aswalking, the ebb and flow of tides, the breaking of waves on the beach, are composites of temporal and spatial. [1]

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [1] One hears sometimes of 'rhythmic thought' and 'rhythmic | | feeling. ' This is merely a further extension or metaphorical | | usage of the term. In Othello, for instance, there is a more | | or less regular alternation of the feelings of purity and | | jealousy, and of tragedy and comedy. In some of the | | Dialogues of Plato there is a certain rhythm of thought. | | This usage is fairly included in the Oxford Dictionary's | | definition: "movement marked by the regulated succession of | | strong and weak elements, or of opposite or different | | conditions. " | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

 * * * * *

_Sound Rhythm. _ These elementary generalizations must be narrowed now tothe special phenomena of sound, and then still more particularly to thesounds of language. 

All musical tones, including the phonetic sounds of words, have fourcharacteristics: pitch, loudness or intensity, quality or tone-color, and duration. The last, of course, needs no definition. 

 * * * * *

_Pitch_ is dependent on the number of vibrations per second. The greaterthe number of vibrations, the higher the pitch and the more 'acute' thetone. The lowest pitch recognizable as a tone (as distinguished fromnoise) is 8 vibrations a second; the highest pitch the ear can hear isbetween 20, 000 and 30, 000 a second. In normal English speech amongadults the voice ranges from about 100 to 300 vibrations, but inanimated speaking this range is greatly increased. 

 * * * * *

_Loudness_ is a comparative term for the strength of the sensation ofsound in the ear. It is determined by the energy or intensity of thevibrations and varies (technically speaking) as the product of thesquare of the frequency and the square of the amplitude (_I=n^{2}A^{2}_). But for ordinary purposes it is sufficient to regard loudness andintensity as the same. The distinction, however, is clear in commonpractice; for whether one says "father" loudly or quietly, there is arelatively greater intensity of sound in the first syllable than in thesecond. In speech this intensity is called _accent_ or _stress_. 

The third characteristic, variously called _quality_, _timbre_, _tone-quality_, _tone-color_, is that which distinguishes sounds of thesame loudness and pitch produced by different instruments or voices. Itis the result of the combination of the partial tones of a sound, thatis, of the fundamental and its overtones. In music, tone-quality is ofthe utmost importance, but as an element of speech rhythm it ispractically non-existent, and may be wholly neglected, though it plays, of course, a prominent part in the oral reading of different persons. [2]

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [2] There is, however, another phenomenon (to be discussed | | later) called by the same name, 'tone-color, ' but having | | only a metaphorical relation to it. Many words--_father_, | | _soul_, _ineluctable_, for example--have emotional | | associations which stand to the literal meaning somewhat | | like overtones to the fundamental. This tone-quality of | | language is one of the primary and most significant sources | | of poetical effect, but it should never be confused with the | | musical term on which it is patterned. | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

What is the relation of these physical attributes of sound to soundrhythm? The answer lies in a closer examination of the nature of rhythm, especially as it concerns the rhythm of speech. 

Rhythm means measured flow or succession. Now first, in order that anysuccession may be measured, there must be something recognizable whichdistinguishes one unit from the next. In spatial rhythms the point ofdivision is almost always easily perceived; hence the greater difficultyof analyzing the simplest time-rhythms as compared with the most complexspace-rhythms. Moreover, the basis of measurement, that by which the'distance' between any point of division and that which follows it isdetermined, must, by definition, be duration of time. Suppose, however, that the time-distance between successive points of emphasis or divisionis equal, is the rhythm therefore necessarily regular? No, because thepoints of emphasis themselves may vary in force or energy. Thus if inthe following scheme (´ = point of emphasis; -= equal time-distance):

 ´-´-´-´-´-´-etc. 

every ´ is not of the same value, the result might be (´´= twice as muchemphasis as ´;´´´ = three times as much):

 ´´-´-´´´-´´-´´´-etc. 

and this could not be called regular. A simple illustration of this isthe difference in music between 3/4 time, where we count 1´ 2 3, 1´ 2 3, 1´ 2 3 and 6/4 or 6/8 time, where we count 1´´ 2 3 4´ 5 6, 1´´ 2 3 4´ 56. Furthermore, apart from any question of force or energy applied inthe production of a sound, it is clear that high notes seem to possess agreater strength than low notes, and must therefore be recognized as anelement in rhythmic emphasis. For example, if the following series ofnotes were sounded on a piano, and each struck with equal force--

[Illustration: Musical notes--A E A E A E] etc. 

a certain 'accent' would probably be felt on the _e_ which was not felton the _a_. And it is well known that shrill sounds and high-pitchedvoices carry farther and _seem louder_ than others. 

In the simplest kind of temporal rhythm, therefore, where the beats are, say, drum-taps of equal force, the primary element is time. But if thereis the added complication of drum-taps of unequal force, the element ofcomparative stress must be reckoned with. And if, finally, the drum-tapsare not in the same key (say, on kettledrums differently tuned), thenthe further element of comparative pitch must be considered as apossible point of emphasis. In a word, pitch may sometimes besubstituted for stress. 

In music rhythmic units may be marked by differences in tone-quality aswell, and thus the potential complexity is greatly increased; but inspoken language, as has been said, this element of rhythm isnegligible. In speech-rhythm, however, the three conditions of time, stress, and pitch are always present, and therefore no consideration ofeither prose rhythm or verse can hope to be complete or adequate whichneglects any one of them or the possibilities of their permutations andcombinations. And it is precisely here that many treatments of therhythm of language have revealed their weakness: they have excludedpitch usually, and often either stress or time. They have tried to buildup a whole system of prosody sometimes on a foundation of stress alone, sometimes of time alone. The reason for this failure is simple, and itis also a warning. Any attempt to reckon with these three forces, eachof which is extremely variable, not only among different individuals butin the same person at different times--any attempt to analyze theseelements and observe, as well, their mutual influences and combinedeffects, is bound to result in a complication of details that almostdefies expression or comprehension. The danger is as great as thedifficulty. But nothing can ever be gained by the sort of simplificationwhich disregards existent and relevant facts. It is to be confessed atonce, however, that one cannot hope to answer in any really adequate wayall or even most of the questions that arise. The best that can beexpected is a thorough recognition of the complexity, together with somerecognition of the component difficulties. 

Moreover, only a part of the problem has been stated thus far. Not onlyis all spoken language the resultant of the subjectively variableforces of time, stress, and pitch, but these three forces are themselvessubject to and intimately affected by the thought and emotion which theyexpress. Though educated persons probably receive the phenomena oflanguage more frequently through the eye than through the ear, it istrue that words are, in the first instance, sounds, of which the printedor written marks are but conventional symbols. And these symbols and thesounds which they represent have other values also, logical orintellectual and emotional values. Language is therefore a compoundinstrument of both sound and meaning, and speech-rhythm, in its fullestsense, is the composite resultant of the attributes of sound (duration, intensity, and pitch) modified by the logical and emotional content ofthe words and phrases which they represent. 

For example, utter the words: "A house is my fire, " and observe thecomparative duration of time in the pronunciation of each word, thecomparative stress, and the relative pitch (e. G. Of _a_ and _fire_). Now rearrange these nearly meaningless syllables: "My house is afire. "Observe the differences, some slight and some well marked, in time, stress, and pitch. Then consider the different emotional coloring thissentence might have and the different results on time, stress, and pitchin utterance, if, say, the house contains all that you hold mostprecious and there is no chance of rescue; or if, on the other hand, thehouse is worthless and you are glad to see it destroyed. And even herethe matter is comparatively simple; for in reading the followingsentence from Walter Pater, note the manifold variations in your ownutterance of it at different times and imagine how it would be read by aperson of dull sensibilities, by one of keen poetic feeling, and finallyby one who recalled its context and on that account could enjoy itsfullest richness: "It is the landscape, not of dreams or of fancy, butof places far withdrawn, and hours selected from a thousand with amiracle of finesse. "[3]

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [3] Walter Pater, "Leonardo da Vinci, " in The Renaissance. | | For an account of scientific experiments on the time and | | stress rhythm of this sentence, see W. M. Patterson, The | | Rhythm of Prose, New York, 1916, ch. Iv. An idea of the | | complexity may be obtained from Patterson's attempt to | | indicate it by musical notation: | | | | [Illustration: Metrical pattern expressed in musical | | notation] | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

The last step of the complication, which can only be indicated here, andwill be developed in a later chapter, comes with the mutual adjustmentof the natural prose rhythm and the metrical pattern of the verse. Sucha sentence as the following has its own peculiar rhythms: "And, asimagination bodies forth the forms of things unknown, the poet's penturns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing a local habitation and aname. " Now read it as verse, and the rhythms are different; both themeaning and the music are enhanced. 

 And as imagination bodies forth The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing A local habitation and a name. SHAKESPEARE, Midsummer Night's Dream, V, i. 

These then are the problems and the difficulties. The solutions can beonly partial and tentative, but they are the best we are able to obtainwith our present knowledge and our present capabilities of analysis. Asscience today has advanced in accuracy of knowledge and understanding ofthe facts of nature far beyond the powers of our ancestors to imagine, so in the future psychologists may, and let us hope will, enable us tocomprehend the subtleties of metrical rhythm beyond our present power. Yet there will always remain, since the ever-inexplicable element ofgenius is a necessary part of all art, a portion which no science candescribe or analyze. 

 * * * * *

_The Psychology of Rhythm. _ That nearly all persons have a definitesense of rhythm, though sometimes latent because of defective education, is a familiar fact. The origin and source of this sense is a matter ofuncertainty and dispute. The regular beating of the heart, the regularalternation of inhaling and exhaling, the regular motions of walking, all these unconscious or semi-conscious activities of the body have beensuggested; and they doubtless have a concomitant if not a directinfluence on the rhythmic sense. Certainly there is an intimate relationbetween the heart action and breath rate and the external stimulus ofcertain rhythmic forces, as is shown by the tendency of the pulse andbreath to adapt their _tempo_ to the beat of fast or slow music. Butthis can hardly be the whole explanation. More important, from thepsychological point of view, is doubtless the alternation of effort andfatigue which characterizes our mental as well as physical actions. Aperiod of concentrated attention is at once followed by a period ofindifference; the attention flags, wearies, and must be recuperated by apause, just as the muscular effort of hand or arm. In truth, the musclesof the eye play a real part in the alternations of effort and rest inreading. The immediate application of this psychological fact to thetemporal rhythms has been clearly phrased by the French metrist, M. Verrier:

 I hear the first beat of a piece of music or of a verse, and, my attention immediately awakened, I await the second. At the end of a certain time--that is, when the expense of energy demanded has reached a certain degree--this second beat strikes my ear. Then I expect to hear the third when the dynamic sense of attention shall indicate an equal expense of energy, that is, at the end of an equal interval of time. Thus, by means of sensation and of memory of the amount of energy expended in the attention each time, I can perceive the equality of time-interval of the rhythmic units. Once this effort of attention becomes definite and fixed, it repeats itself instinctively and mechanically--by reflex action, so to say, like that of walking when we are accustomed to a stride of a given length and rapidity. Here we have truly a sort of metronome which will beat out the rhythm according as we regulate it. And it goes without saying that with this we can not only note the rhythm in our songs or spoken verse or movements, but also perceive it in the sounds and movements of other persons and other things. 

 This metronome of attention functions, indeed, still more simply. With attention, as with all the psycho-physiological processes, effort alternates with rest: it grows stronger and weaker, contracts and expands in turn. This _pulse of attention_ varies in different persons according to the peculiar rhythm of the organism. In the same person, under normal conditions, it remains nearly constant. It is always subject to modification by the psycho-physiological conditions of the moment, especially by the emotions and by external circumstances. In a series of identical equidistant stresses, those which coincide with the pulse of attention seem the stronger: this is what is called _subjective rhythm_. Since this coincidence is nearly always somewhat inexact, there results an easy accommodation of the pulse of attention, although even in the subjective rhythm there has already occurred an objective influence capable of affecting us sensibly. [4]

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [4] Paul Verrier, Essai sur les Principes de la Métrique | | Anglaise (Paris, 1909), Deuxieme Partie, Livre II, ch. X, | | pp. 56, 57; and cf. P. 90, n. 1. | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

Thus we have always at hand both a more or less efficient bodilymetronome in the pulse and in respiration, and also a "cerebralmetronome" capable not only of easy adjustment to different rates ofspeed but also of that subtlest of modulations which psychologists callthe 'elastic unit, ' and which musicians, though not so definitely orsurely, recognize as _tempo rubato_. 

The sense of rhythm, as has been said, differs remarkably in differentindividuals--just as the sense of touch, of smell, of hearing. [5] Tosome, rhythm appears chiefly as a series of points of emphasis orstresses alternating with points of less emphasis or of none at all;such are called, in scientific jargon, 'stressers. ' To others theprincipal characteristic of rhythm is the time intervals; such arecalled 'timers. ' But this is a practical, not a philosophicaldistinction. For it is the _succession_ of points of emphasis whicheven the most aggressive stresser feels as rhythmic; and successionimplies and involves a temporal element. The stresser's only difficultyis to feel the approximate _equality_ of the interval. The essentialthing, however, is to understand that, while time is the foundation ofspeech-rhythm, stress is its universal adjunct and concomitant. [6]

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [5] A simple experiment will illustrate this. Place two | | persons back to back, so that they cannot see each other, | | and have them beat time to an audible melody; as soon as the | | music ceases they will begin to beat differently. (Verrier, | | II, p. 65. ) The difficulty of keeping even a trained | | orchestra playing together illustrates the same fact. | | | | [6] "If rhythm means anything to the average individual, it | | means motor response and a sense of organized time. " | | Patterson, p. 14. | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

The explanation of this duality is simple. A series of identical tones

[Illustration: Identical notes] etc. 

contains a simple objective rhythm. The pronounced timer will feel itclearly; the extreme stresser will not. Change the series to

[Illustration: Alternate long and short notes] etc. , or

[Illustration: Alternate longer stressed notes and shorter unstressednotes] etc. , and both will feel it; for in the last example both time and stress areobvious, and in the other the longer notes of the series produce theeffect of stress. [7] Most persons, therefore, with a greater or lessdegree of consciousness, allow their physical or cerebral metronome toaffect the simple

[Illustration: Identical notes] etc. , so that they hear or feel either

[Illustration: Alternate stressed and unstressed notes] etc. , or

[Illustration] etc. , It is thus that the clock says tick-_tock_, tick-_tock_, the locomotive_chu_-chu, _chu_-chu. Timers are in the minority. 

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [7] Musicians often 'dot' a note for the sake of emphasizing | | the accent, especially in orchestral music and with such | | instruments as the flute, where variations of stress are | | difficult to produce. | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

A converse phenomenon of the subjective introduction of stress into aseries of identical tones at equal intervals is the subjective'organization' of a series of irregular beats. Some do this more easilyand naturally than others, but the tendency is present in all who arenot absolutely rhythm-deaf. The "minute drops from off the eaves" beatout a tune, the typewriter develops a monotonous song, the publicspeaker 'gets his stride' and continues in a sing-song. 

Thus, when there are equal intervals but stress is absent, we more orless unconsciously supply it; when there are distinct stresses atirregular intervals we organize them into approximately regularintervals. We have in us by instinct and by development both the_ability_ and also the _need_ to draw forth rhythm wherever it islatent. Rhythm becomes one of our physical and mental pleasures, manifest in primitive dancing and balladry, sailors' chanteys, and thesimple _heave-ho_'s of concerted labor. It induces economy of effort, and so makes work lighter; and it has, though perhaps not always, acertain æsthetic value, in making labor more interesting as well aseasier. It is one of the attributes of the god we worship under the nameof System. 

 * * * * *

_Coördination, Syncopation, Substitution. _ The processes of thesubjective organization of rhythm may best be explained under the headsof coördination, syncopation, and substitution. Their application to theparticular problems of verse will be apparent at once, and will, infact, constitute the bulk of the following pages. 

 * * * * *

_Coördination_ has two aspects, according as it is thought of simply asan existing fact or as a process. In the former sense it is theagreement or coincidence (or the perception of agreement or coincidence)between the simple normal recurrence of beats and the actual orpredetermined pattern. Thus in the lines

 And swims, or sinks, or wades, or creeps, or flies, MILTON, Paradise Lost, II, 950. 

 A sable, silent, solemn forest stood, THOMSON, Castle of Indolence, st. 5. 

the 'natural' beat of the words uttered in the most natural andreasonable manner coincides with the 'artificial' beat of the metricalline. 

On the other hand, coordination is the process which results in one'sreduction of irregular beats to an approximately regular series. When wehear a haphazard succession of drum-taps or the irregular click-click ofthe typewriter, most of us soon begin to feel a certain orderlyarrangement, a rhythmical _swing_ in the repeated sounds, a groupingaccording to a sort of unit which recurs with nearly equal intervals. The units are not absolutely equal, but are elastic, allowing of somecontraction and expansion; yet they are so nearly equal, or we feel themso, that the series seems regular. 

Now this process of coördination involves two activities, syncopationand substitution. The workings of both are highly complex and somewhatuncertain; they differ greatly in different individuals, and whenanalyzed scientifically seem to produce more difficulties than theyexplain. But fortunately the outstanding ideas are beyond dispute, anddetailed examination can properly be left to the scientists. 

 * * * * *

_Syncopation_ is the union, or the perception of the union, of two ormore rhythmic patterns. [8] A familiar example is perhaps the 'threeagainst two' in music, where one hand follows a _tum_-te-te, _tum_-te-terhythm, the other a _tum_-te, _tum_-te. This complexity, which strikesus as sophisticated subtlety and is not always easy to reproduce, is infact both simple and familiar to the untutored savage. We must rememberthat the evolution of language and of music has been for the more partin the direction of greater simplicity of structure. Primitive music, aswe find it in the undeveloped Indians and Australasians, is often toocomplex to be expressed by our regular notation. Another familiarexample of syncopation is the negro dance, in which the "dancer tapswith his feet just half-way between the hand-claps of those who areaccompanying his performance. "[9] And of course the commonest example isthe strongly marked syncopation of ragtime. [10]

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [8] Cf. Patterson, p. 3, ". .. The possibility of preserving | | a certain series of time intervals, but of changing in | | various ways the nature of the motions or sensations that | | mark the beats. " This may be tested by a simple experiment. | | With the foot or finger tap evenly, regularly, and rather | | rapidly. Without changing the regularity of the tapping, but | | merely by a mental readjustment, the beats may be felt as | | _tum_-te, _tum_-te, _tum_-te (or te-_tum_, etc. ) or as | | _tum_-te-te, _tum_-te-te, _tum_-te-te (or te-te-_tum_, | | etc. ), or even as _tum_-te-te-te, _tum_-te-te-te (or | | te-te-te-_tum_, etc. ). It is but a step from this successive | | perception of various rhythms from the same objective source | | to a combined and simultaneous perception of them. | | | | [9] Patterson, p. Xx, n. 3. | | | | [10] Experiments have shown that with a little practice one | | can learn to beat five against seven, and thus actually | | though unconsciously count in thirty-fives. (Patterson, p. | | 6. ) | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

In prose, this syncopation is evident in the apparent recognition, andeven reproduction in reading aloud, of a regularity of rhythm where nonereally exists; as when protracted reading or listening develops or seemsto develop a monotonous sing-song. But this phenomenon cannot beexplained briefly, and the details must be omitted here. [11] In versealso syncopation frequently occurs, though it is seldom recognizedexcept as an 'irregularity. ' In the following lines of Paradise Lost thefirst two coincide pretty closely with the normal beats of the measure;while in the third line the series is an entirely different one. 

 So Satan spake, and him Beelzebub Thus answered: "Leader of those armies bright, _Which but th' Omnipotent none could have foil'd_. .. . " MILTON, Paradise Lost, I, 271-273. 

Here to stress distinctly _but_, -_tent_, _could_ utterly ruins both themeaning and the music of the line: to utter the words as if they wereordinary prose would preserve the meaning, but destroy theverse-movement. In Milton's ear, however, and in ours if we do notresist, there is a subtle syncopation of four beats against five. (Ofcourse syncopation alone does not explain the rhythm of this line. ) Amost startling syncopation is ventured by Milton in Samson Agonistes(1071-72):

 I less conjecture than when first I saw _The sumptuous Dálila floating this way_. 

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [11] Those who are interested will find the scientific | | experiments discussed in Patterson, ch. I and Appendix III. | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

 * * * * *

_Substitution_ is simpler. It merely means recognizing the equivalence, and therefore the possibility of interchange, of a long interval withtwo or more shorter intervals whose sum equals the one long. That is, inmusic two quarter-notes are equal to a half-note, and they may beanywhere substituted one for the other; or a dotted half-note equalthree quarter-notes, etc. In verse it means that three syllables (orone, or even four) may be substituted for the normal two syllables of afoot if the three (or one or four) are uttered in approximately the sameperiod of time. 

The term _substitution_, however, may be used in a larger sense. Thusfar only the purely temporal element of the rhythm has been thought of. When the two others, stress and pitch, are recalled, it becomes clearthat another sort of substitution is both possible and usual, namely, that of either pitch or stress for duration. In other words, the groupsthat make up a rhythmic series may be determined or marked off byemphasis of pitch or emphasis of stress as well as by duration of time. In fact, it is from this habitual interplay of the three elements thatmost of the complexity of metre arises; as it is the failure torecognize this substitution which has given the older prosodies much oftheir false simplicity and their mechanical barrenness. 

 * * * * *

_Summary. _ The fundamental problems of versification are all involved inthe principles of rhythm, especially the temporal rhythm of language. The rhythm of both prose and verse is a resultant of the threeattributes of sound: stress, duration, and pitch (the first two beingusually the determining elements, the third an accessory element)modified by the thought and emotion of the words. The feeling for thisrhythm, or perception of it, has both physical and psychologicalexplanations, and varies considerably among individuals, some being'timers, ' others 'stressers, ' apparently by natural endowment. Theprocesses of our perception of rhythm are those of coordination, orpartly subjective reduction of actual 'irregularities' to a standard of'regularity'; this reduction being accomplished mainly by syncopationand substitution. 

CHAPTER II

RHYTHM OF PROSE AND VERSE

It is clear now that all language is more or less definitely rhythmical;and that the two fundamental and determining elements of speech-rhythmare time and stress. It is clear also that the essential thing in ourperception of rhythm is the experience or recognition of groups, thesegroups being themselves distinguished and set off by stress and time. When there is an easily felt regularity of the groups, when thealternation of stress and unstress and the approximate equality of thetime intervals are fairly apparent, then the rhythm is simple. When theregularity is not obvious, the rhythm is complex, but none the lessexistent and pleasing. [12] In other words, the character of languagerhythm is determined by the relative proportion of coincidence andsyncopation. In verse, coincidence preponderates; in prose, syncopation(and substitution). Between absolute coincidence, moreover, and thefreest possible syncopation and substitution, infinite gradations arepossible; and many passages indeed lie so close to the boundary betweenrecognizable preponderance of the one or of the other that it isdifficult to say _this_ is verse, _that_ is prose. Various standardsand conventions enter into the decision. 

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [12] When no organization of the irregularity is possible, | | the language is unrhythmical; and such, of course, is often | | the case in bad prose and bad verse. | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

For practical convenience three main sorts of rhythmic prose may bedistinguished: (1) _characteristic prose_, or that in which noregularity (coincidence) is easily appreciable; (2) _cadenced prose_, orthat in which the regularity is perceptible, but unobtrusive, and (3)_metrical prose_, or that in which the regularity is so noticeable as tobe unpleasing. No very clear lines can be drawn; nor should one try toclassify more than brief passages in one group or another. And, obviously, longer selections will combine two or more sorts insuccession. A few examples will serve to show what is meant. 

 * * * * *

_Characteristic Prose. _ No prose, as has been said above, is withoutrhythmic curves; but the best prose, that which always keeps in view thebest ideals of prose, carefully avoids consecutive repetitions of thesame rhythmic patterns. It is the distinction of verse to follow achosen pattern, with due regard to the artistic principles of varietyand uniformity; it is the distinction of prose to accomplish its object, whether artistic or utilitarian, without encroaching on the boundariesof its neighbor. Prose may be as 'poetic, ' as charged with powerfulemotion, as possible, but it remains true prose only when it refuses toborrow aids from the characteristic excellences of verse. 

To be sure, it is not always easy to avoid regular patterns in writingthe most ordinary prose. They come uncalled; they seem to be inherent inthe language. Here is, chosen casually, the first sentence of a currentnews item, written surely without artistic elaboration, and subjected, moreover, to the uncertainties of cable transmission. It was no doubtfarthest from the correspondent's intention to write 'numerous' prose;but notice how the sentence may be divided into a series of rhythmicgroups of two stresses each, with a fairly regular number ofaccompanying unstressed syllables:

 A general mobilization | in Syria has been ordered | as a reply to the French | ultimatum to King Feisal | that he acquiesce in the French | mandate for Syria, | according to a dispatch | to the London Times | from Jerusalem. 

No one would read the sentence with a very clear feeling of thisdefinite movement; in fact, to do so rather obscures the meaning. Butthe potential rhythm is there, and the reader with a keen rhythmic sensewill be to some extent aware of it. 

Again, there is in the following sentence from Disraeli's Endymion alatent rhythm which actually affects the purely logical manner ofreading it:

 She persisted in her dreams of riding upon elephants. 

Here one almost inevitably pauses after _dreams_ (or prolongs the wordbeyond its natural length), though there is no logical reason for doingso. Why? Partly, at least, because _persisted in her dreams_ and _ofriding upon el_-have the same 'swing, ' and the parallelism of mere soundseems to require the pause. 

For these reasons, then, among others, the most 'natural' spontaneousand straightforward prose is not always the best. Study and carefulrevision are necessary in order to avoid an awkward and unpleasantmonotony of rhythmic repetition, and at the same time obtain a flow ofsound which will form a just musical accompaniment to the ideasexpressed. Only the great prose masters have done this with completesuccess. Of the three following examples the first is from Bacon; thesecond is from Milton, who as a poet might have been expected to fallinto metre while writing emotional prose; the third is from WalterPater--the famous translation into words of the Mona Lisa painted byLeonardo da Vinci. The first is elaborate but unaffected, the second isprobably spontaneous, the third highly studied. 

 This kind of degenerate learning did chiefly reign amongst the schoolmen: who having sharp and strong wits, and abundance of leisure, and small variety of reading, but their wits being shut up in the cells of a few authors (chiefly Aristotle their dictator) as their persons were shut up in the cells of monasteries and colleges, and knowing little history, either of nature or time, did out of no great quantity of matter and infinite agitation of wit spin out unto us those laborious webs of learning which are extant in their books. For the wit and mind of man, if it work upon matter, which is the contemplation of the creatures of God, worketh according to the stuff and is limited thereby; but if it work upon itself, as the spider worketh his web, then it is endless, and brings forth indeed cobwebs of learning, admirable for the fineness of thread and work, but of no substance or profit. Advancement of Learning, Bk. I, iv, 5. 

 Truth indeed came once into the world with her divine Master, and was a perfect shape most glorious to look on; but when he ascended, and his Apostles after him were laid asleep, then straight arose a wicked race of deceivers, who, as that story goes of the Egyptian Typhon with his conspirators how they dealt with the good Osiris, took the virgin Truth, hewed her lovely form into a thousand pieces, and scattered them to the four winds. From that time ever since, the sad friends of Truth, such as durst appear, imitating the careful search that Isis made for the mangled body of Osiris, went up and down gathering up limb by limb still as they could find them. Areopagitica. 

 Hers is the head upon which all "the ends of the world are come, " and the eyelids are a little weary. It is a beauty wrought from within upon the flesh, the deposit, little cell by cell, of strange thoughts and fantastic reveries and exquisite passions. . .. She is older than the rocks among which she sits; like the vampire, she has been dead many times, and learned the secrets of the grave; and has been a diver in deep seas, and keeps their fallen day about her; and trafficked for strange webs with Eastern merchants: and, as Leda, was the mother of Helen of Troy, and, as Saint Anne, the mother of Mary; and all this has been to her but as the sound of lyres and flutes, and lives only in the delicacy with which it has moulded the changing lineaments, and tinged the eyelids and the hands. "Leonardo da Vinci, " in The Renaissance. 

Here no continuous patterns are recognizable, yet the whole is felt tobe musically and appropriately rhythmic. In the next excerpt, however(from John Donne), and in many passages in the Authorized Version of thePsalms, of Job, of the Prophets, there is a visible balance of phrasesand of clauses, a long undulating swing which one perceives at once, though only half consciously, and which approaches, if it does notactually possess, the intentional coincidence of cadenced prose. 

 If some king of the earth have so large an extent of dominion in north and south as that he hath winter and summer together in his dominions; so large an extent east and west as that he hath day and night together in his dominions, much more hath God mercy and justice together. He brought light out of darkness, not out of a lesser light; He can bring thy summer out of winter though thou have no spring; though in the ways of fortune, or of understanding, or conscience, thou have been benighted till now, wintered and frozen, smothered and stupefied till now, now God comes to thee, not as in the dawning of the day, not as in the bud of the spring, but as the sun at noon to illustrate all shadows, as the sheaves in harvest to fill all penuries. All occasions invite His mercies, and all times are His seasons. 

 * * * * *

_Cadenced Prose. _ Cadenced prose is in English chiefly an historicalphenomenon of the seventeenth century. It is part of the lateRenaissance literary movement, when prose, after vaguely classic models, was held worth cultivating on its own account; and is in some degree atempered afterglow of the crude brilliance of euphuistic balance andalliteration. It made no effort to conceal its definite rhythmicmovements--rather, it gloried in them; but was always careful that theyshould not become monotonous or too palpable. 

In the following examples the rhythmic units are for the sake ofclearness indicated by separate lines, after the fashion of'free-verse. ' The passages should be read first with the line-divisionuppermost in the attention; then as continuous prose. The result of thesecond reading will be perhaps a fuller appreciation of the rhythmicrichness of the sentences, both as to variety and uniformity. Sing-songand 'pounding' are by all means to be deprecated. 

(_a_) Simple two-and three-beat rhythms--

 O eloquent just and mighty Death! whom none could advise thou hast persuaded; what none hath dared thou hast done; and whom all the world hath flattered thou only hast cast out of the world and despised. Thou hast drawn together all the far-stretched greatness all the pride cruelty and ambition of man, and covered it all over with these two narrow words _Hic jacet_. SIR WALTER RALEIGH, History of the World, Bk. V, ch. Vi. 

(_b_) Simple three-and four-beat rhythms--

 They that have great intrigues of the world have a yoke upon their necks and cannot look back. And he that covets many things greedily and snatches at high things ambitiously that despises his neighbor proudly and bears his crosses peevishly or his prosperity impotently and passionately he that is a prodigal of his precious time and is tenacious and retentive of evil purposes is not a man disposed to this exercise: he hath reason to be afraid of his own memory and to dash his glass in pieces because it must needs represent to his own eyes an intolerable deformity. JEREMY TAYLOR, Holy Dying, ch. Ii, sect. 2. 

(_c_) Mainly two-beat rhythms--

 Now since these dead bones have already outlasted the living ones of Methuselah and in a yard under ground and thin walls of clay outworn all the strong and spacious buildings above it, and quietly rested under the drums and tramplings of three conquests; what Prince can promise such diuturnity unto his reliques or might not gladly say 'Sic ego componi versus in ossa velim. ' SIR THOMAS BROWNE, Urn Burial, ch. V. 

(_d_) Mainly three-beat rhythms--

 What song the Syrens sang or what name Achilles assumed when he hid himself among women though puzzling questions are not beyond all conjecture. What time the persons of these ossuaries entered the famous nations of the dead and slept with princes and counsellors might admit a wide solution. But who were the proprietaries of these bones or what bodies these ashes made up were a question above antiquarism; not to be resolved by man nor easily perhaps by spirits except we consult the provincial guardians or tutelary Observators. Ibid. 

 * * * * *

_Metrical Prose. _ The above passages are daring, but greatly daring. Sogreat is the subtlety, the variety, the art, that they never fail oftheir intended effect. They are justifiable because they justifythemselves--partly by their lofty and dignified content, partly ofcourse by their sheer artistry. But when the same thing is attempted byunskilful hands it fails ingloriously. We say it has "a palpable designupon us, " and balk. Gibbon and Burke, as inheritors of theseventeenth-century tradition, sometimes fell into the error; Ruskin, with his 'poetical' style, was sometimes guilty; but the worst and mostconspicuous offenders were Dickens and Blackmore. Examples are abundant. Not all are equally unpleasant; the individual taste of some readerswill approve passages which others will reject. With Dickens andBlackmore, however, the phenomenon approaches downright deliberatetrickiness. 

 The calculation of profit in all such wars is false. On balancing the account of such wars, ten thousand hogsheads of sugar _are purchased at ten thousand times their price_. The blood of man should never _be shed but to redeem the blood of man_. It is well shed for our family, for our friends, for our God, for our country, for our kind. _The rest is vanity; the rest is crime. _ BURKE, Letters on a Regicide Peace, I. 

 When Death strikes down the innocent and young for every fragile form from which he lets the panting spirit free a hundred virtues rise in shapes of mercy, charity, and love, to walk the world and bless it. Of every tear that sorrowing mortals shed on such green graves some good is born some gentler nature comes. DICKENS, Old Curiosity Shop, ch. 72

 "I wear the chain I forged in life, " replied the Ghost, "I made it link by link, and yard by yard. " DICKENS, Christmas Carol. 

 I cannot rest, I cannot stay, I cannot linger anywhere. Ibid. 

 Much they saw and far they went, and many homes they visited, but always with a happy end. DICKENS, Christmas Carol. 

 But above the curved soft elbow, where no room was for one cross word (according to our proverb) three sad gashes edged with crimson spoiled the flow of the pearly flesh. BLACKMORE, Lorna Doone, ch. 38. 

A peculiar instance of metrical prose, avowedly an experiment andfortunately (as most will think) not repeated, is the passage near theend of Kingsley's Westward Ho! Kingsley called it 'prose shaped intosong. ' The objection is simply that in such a situation song is out ofplace. Let prose do the legitimate work of prose; and when the intensityof feeling justifies song, let there be song. No hybrids, nocross-breeding--unless, as here, for purposes of experiment. Here is apart of the passage:

 Then he took a locket from his bosom; and I heard him speak, Will, and he said: "Here's the picture of my fair and true lady; drink to her, Señors, all. " Then he spoke to me, Will, and called me, right up through the oar-weed and the sea: "We have had a fair quarrel, Señor; it is time to be friends once more. My wife and your brother have forgiven me; so your honour takes no stain. "

 * * * * *

_Elements of Prose Rhythm. _ Thus far the discussion of language rhythmhas been confined to a general perception of rhythmic movement. When anattempt is made to carry the investigation into greater detail, moredifficult and from a prosodic point of view really crucial problemspresent themselves. The essential thing in any perception of rhythm isthe experience of groups; but what are the nature and determiningqualities of these groups? In music there are bars--the primary rhythmicgroup, comprising a single rhythmic wave, that is, covering thetime-distance from one point of division to another--phrases, cadences, etc. The dual nature of language, however, its union of sound elementsand thought elements, gives the question another aspect. Correspondingto the musical bar there is the metrical foot; to the musical phrase, the logical phrase; to the musical cadence, a similar melodious flow ofword-sounds. But there are also in prose what are called breath-groupsand attention-groups, series of words bound together by thephysiological requirements of utterance and the mental requirements ofperception and understanding. [13] The first step towards clearness willbe a closer distinction between prose and metrical rhythms. 

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [13] Compare the sentence from Disraeli on page 24, above. | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

 * * * * *

_Syllable. _ The simplest and smallest unit of speech-sound is thesyllable; then follow, in increasing magnitude, the word, the phrase(that is, words held together by their meaning or by their sound), theclause, the sentence, the paragraph. These units exist in verse as wellas in prose, but while verse has other units (which are arbitrary andartificial), prose rhythm has only these. The rhythm of a paragraph isdetermined by the length, structure, content, and arrangement of thesentences; that of a sentence by the length, structure, content, andarrangement of the phrases; that of the phrase by the length, structure, content, and arrangement of the words; that of a word by the characterof the syllables. Now syllables, as has been explained above, have thesound attributes of duration, intensity (or lack of intensity), andpitch--called, however, in the terminology of phonetics, length orquantity, accent (or no accent), and pitch. These must be studiedindividually before their combined effects can be understood. 

 * * * * *

_Length. _ Length is of course comparative. Some vowels require a longertime to enunciate than others: the _e_ in _penal_ than the _i_ in _pin_, the _o_ in _coat_ than the _o_ in _cot_, etc. Again, some consonants areshorter by nature than others: the explosives, _p_, _t_, _k_, etc. , thanthe continuants _s_, _z_, _th_, _f_, _m_, _n_, _l_, etc. When vowels andconsonants are combined into syllables the comparative length is stillmore apparent: thus _form_ is longer than _god_, _stole_ than _poke_, _curl_ than _cut_, etc. Moreover, it is not alone the natural quantityof vowels and consonants that affects or determines their length, butalso their position in a word and in a sentence. Thus, for example, thesame sounds are uttered more rapidly when closely followed by one ormore syllables than when alone: as _bit_, _bitter_, _bitterly_; _hard_, _hardy_, _hardily_. This elasticity of syllabic quantity is clearlyshown in Verrier's examples:[14]

 [Illustration: They come fast--faster yet--faster and faster Barren mountain tracts--barren affections. ]

These indications, moreover, cover normal utterance only; in emotionallanguage or elocutionary delivery there are deliberate and arbitrarylengthenings and shortenings. [15]

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [14] Vol. I, pp. 79, 80. The musical notation must be taken | | as merely approximate. | | | | [15] Experiments have been made to obtain absolute | | measurements of syllabic quantity, and elaborate rules | | formulated for determining longs and shorts. Thus far, | | however, the results have been very variable and | | unsatisfactory, and should be accepted with great caution. | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

 * * * * *

_Accent and Stress. _ The term _accent_ may best be reserved forgrammatical or dictionary accent--the greater emphasis placed accordingto standard usage upon one syllable of a word as compared with theothers. Thus _portion_ has an accent on the first syllable, _material_on the second, _apprehension_ on the third, _deliberation_ on thefourth. The other syllables are either unaccented, as the first of_material_ and the second of _portion_, or have a secondary accent, asthe second of _deliberation_. 

Accent should be distinguished from _stress_, which is the rhythmicalemphasis in a series of sounds. In prose the rhythmical stress isdetermined almost wholly by accent; in verse the two sometimes coincideand sometimes differ markedly. 

In certain words whose accent is somewhat evenly divided between twosyllables, and in certain combinations of monosyllables, there is atendency to subject even grammatical accent to rhythmical stress. Hencethe common pronunciations _Newfound_land, _Hawthorn_den; the alternationof stress in _poor old man_, _sad hurt heart_; and the shift of accentin "In a _Chi_nese restaurant the waiters are Chi_nese_. "

 * * * * *

_Pitch. _ Pitch is a very uncertain and variable phenomenon. For the mostpart it is an ornament or aid to simple language rhythms, but under someconditions it plays an important rôle which cannot be neglected. Becauseof the physical structure of the vocal organs pitch is constantlychanging in spoken discourse, though often the changes are not readilyperceptible. Usually it coincides with accent. [16] It is also a frequentbut by no means regular means of intensifying accent: compare "That wasdone simply" (normal utterance) with "That was simply wonderful"(intensive utterance). On the other hand pitch and accent sometimesclash: compare "The idea is good" (normal utterance) with "The _i_dea!"(exclamatory). Other examples of pitch as a significant factor in proseare: "One should not say 'good' but 'good_ly_, ' not 'brave' but'brave_ly_'"; "Not praise but prais_ing_ gives him delight. "[17]

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [16] To adduce Greek in explanation of English pitch would | | be a clear case of _ignotum per ignotius_. But interesting | | parallels have been noted by Mr. Stone (in R. Bridges, | | Milton's Prosody, 2d ed. ). "The ordinary unemphatic English | | accent, " he says, "is exactly a raising of pitch, and | | nothing more" (p. 143); and there are similar habits in | | English and Greek of turning the grave accent into acute, as | | in _to gèt money_ and _to gét it_. The Greeks recognized | | three degrees of pitch: the acute (high), and the grave | | (low), (which, according to Dionysius, differed by about the | | musical interval of a fifth), and midway, the circumflex. | | Compare _thát?_ (acute, expressing surprise); _thât?_ | | (circumflex, expressing doubt); and _thàt book_ | | (grave--'book' and not 'table'). The main difference between | | the two languages is that so far as we can tell classical | | Greek had (very much like modern French) a pitch-accent and | | very little or no stress-accent, whereas English has both | | (though stress-accent preponderates). | | | | [17] Cf. J. W. Bright, "Proper Names in Old English Verse, " | | Publications of the Modern Language Association, vol. 14 | | (1899), pp. 347 ff. ; especially pp. 363-365. | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

Another aspect of pitch is that which in the rhetorics is usually calledinflection. A question is uttered with rising inflection, that is, witha higher pitch at the end. Declarative sentences usually have a fallinginflection just before the final period, that is, a lower pitch. Exclamations often have a circumflex inflection, as "Really!" spoken ina sarcastic tone; that is, the pitch rises and falls. 

Experimental attempts to indicate variations of pitch by our commonmusical notation are given by Verrier. A single example will sufficehere. [18]

[Illustration: "I come from haunts of coot and hern"]

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [18] Verrier, vol. Iii, p. 229. A more ambitious attempt, | | from Pierson, Métrique naturelle du langage (Paris, 1884), | | pp. 226, 227, is given by Verrier, vol. Ii, p. 14--a musical | | transcription of the opening verses of Racine's Athalie. | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

Perhaps the most important aspect of pitch from the point of view ofrhythm is its actual influence upon accent. We say naturally: "He was_fif_teen years old"; but place the numeral for emphasis at the end ofthe sentence and it receives a kind of pitch accent: "His age wasfif_teen_. " Compare also _Chi_nese and Chi_nese_ in the example above. 

Observe carefully the elements of duration, stress, accent, and pitch inthe following sentences:

 Now he's a great big man. 

 He was a _re_markable young fellow, but he had an _un_governable temper. 

 Off went Joy; on came Despair. 

 * * * * *

_Word and Phrase Rhythm. _ The next larger unit after the syllable is theword; after the word, the phrase. Something has already been said in theprevious paragraphs on word and phrase rhythm: it remains to examinethem more closely. 

Words vary in length from one to eight or even ten syllables; and theaccents (main and secondary) may fall on any of these syllablesaccording to the origin and historical development of the word--thuswords of two syllables: _ápple_, _alóne_; of three syllables:_béautiful_, _accéssion_, _appercéive_; of four syllables: _ápoplexy_, _matérial_, _evolútion_, _interreláte_. But generally in polysyllablesthe tendency to rhythmic alternation of stress produces one or moresecondary accents more or less distinctly felt; thus on the firstsyllable of _apperceive_ and on the third of _apoplexy_ there is anobvious secondary accent; on the third syllable of _beautiful_ and thefourth of _material_ there are potential accents, not regularly felt assuch but capable, under certain circumstances, of rhythmic stress. Forexample, in the phrase 'beautiful clothes' there is no accent and nostress on -_ful_; but in 'beautiful attire' the syllable -_ful_receives a very slight accent (properly not recognized by thedictionaries) which can well serve as a weak rhythmic stress. Long wordsillustrate the same principle: _antitranssubstantionalistic_, _pseudomonocotyledonous_, _perfectibiliarianism_. This potential stressis of the utmost importance in verse--as when Milton out of three words, two of which have no recognized secondary accent, makes a 5-stress line:

 Immutable, immortal, infinite. Paradise Lost, III, 373. 

The result of this tendency to alternation, or in other words of thedifficulty of pronouncing more than three consecutive syllables withoutintroducing a secondary accent or stress, is that English phrases fallnaturally into four rhythmic patterns or movements (and theircombinations): 1. Accent + no-accent (_a. _ one syllable, _b. _ twosyllables); 2. No-accent (_a. _ one syllable, _b. _ two syllables) +accent. Examples: 1a _beauty_, 1b _beautiful_, 2a _relate_, 2b_intercede_. These four movements are variously named: the first two arecalled _falling_, the second two _rising_; 1a and 2a are called _duple_or _dissyllabic_, 1b and 2b _triple_ or _trisyllabic_; 1a is called_trochaic_, 1b _dactylic_, 2a _iambic_, 2b _anapestic_ (after the namesof the metrical feet in classical prosody). _Beauty_, by this usage, isa trochee, _beautiful_ a dactyl, _relate_ an iamb, _intercede_ ananapest. But these patterns alone are by no means sufficient to explainor register all the phrasal movements of English prose--as a singlesentence will show. 

 He that hath wife and children | hath given hostages | to fortune, | for they are impediments | to great enterprises | either of virtue | or of mischief. BACON, Essay VIII. 

Here the first phrase is in falling rhythm, the second (probably) inrising rhythm, the third is--rising or falling? To some readers it willappear of one sort, to others of another. The fourth phrase is probablyrising, the fifth doubtful, the sixth falling, the seventh probablyrising. To say that the first phrase is made up of a dactyl and twotrochees means very little. The primary fact to be recognized andunderstood is that these four patterns exist in English speech not asabsolute entities but as tendencies. In prose they are discontinuous, irregularly alternating, often hardly perceptible; but they are there aspotential forces whose latent effects are brought out by regular metre. 

Another problem at once obvious is to determine the limits of a phrase. Some readers will feel "to fortune" in the above sentence as a separatephrase, others will join it to the three words that precede. No rulescan be laid down. Two tentative but useful criteria are possible, however. A phrase may be regarded as purely musical, a group of soundsthat either by their own nature or by their possibility of utterance ina single expulsion of breath seem to belong together. But this is anuncertain criterion, since we separate the sounds of words with greatdifficulty from their meaning, and the periods of breathing are subjectto arbitrary control. And some phrases are uttered in much less than thetime required in normal breathing. The other criterion, sometimessupporting sometimes contradicting the former, is the logical content ofwords. But this also is uncertain, since logical content ought to holdsubject and verb together, whereas in the example above it clearly doesnot. And neither breath grouping nor logical grouping will enable us todetermine whether "either of virtue or of mischief" is two phrases orone. 

The limits of the sentence, with its clauses, are, largely through themodern conventions of printing, more distinctly felt and observed. Butits rhythm is none the less complex. For it is not only the sum of thesmaller rhythmic movements of word and phrase and clause, but forms anew entity of itself, created by the union of the lesser elements--justas a building is more than its component bricks, stones, and timbers. 

 * * * * *

_Composite Speech Rhythm. _ Such, briefly described, are the rhythmicelements of spoken English prose. When only small sections are analyzedsingly, it is possible to understand something, at least, of theintricate pattern of forces which are interwoven in the rhythms ofordinary language. When one undertakes to analyze and express thecombined rhythms--musical, logical, emotional--of connected sentencesand paragraphs, one finds no system of notation adequate; the melodiesand harmonies disappear in the process of being explained. Those whowish to enjoy to the fullest the rhythmic beauties of English prose mustpatiently scrutinize the smallest details, then study the details inlarger and still larger combinations--the balance and contrast ofphrases, the alternation of dependent and independent clauses, thevarieties of long and short sentences, of simple, compound, periodicsentences--and finally endeavor to rejoin the parts into a completewhole. To pursue the subject further would be to encroach upon thedomain of formal rhetoric and would be out of place here. The bestcounsel is the old counsel: try to _understand_ and _feel_ the greatpassages of the great prose masters. A few examples have been given onpages 25 ff. , above; they should be studied diligently. 

 * * * * *

_Prose and Verse Rhythm. _ It is but a short step from the occasionalregularity of rhythm in the passages on pages 27-29 to the deliberatelycontinuous regularity of verse. A tendency to rhythmic flow, it hasalready been shown, is inherent in ordinary language. When the words aremade to convey heightened emotion this tendency is increased, and "thedeeper the feeling, the more characteristic and decided the rhythm"(John Stuart Mill). Then, as Coleridge says, "the wheels take fire fromthe mere rapidity of their motion, " and finally we have

 high and passionate thoughts To their own music chanted. 

Intensified, regularized rhythm is reciprocally both a result ofimpassioned feeling and a cause of it: hence its double function inpoetry. It springs, on the one hand, from "the high spiritual instinctof the human being impelling us to seek unity by harmonious adjustmentand thus establishing the principle that _all_ the parts of an organizedwhole must be assimilated to the more _important_ and _essential_parts. " On the other hand, it "resembles (if the aptness of the similemay excuse its meanness) yeast, worthless or disagreeable by itself, but giving vivacity and spirit to the liquor with which it isproportionally combined. "[19]

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [19] Coleridge, Biographia Literaria, ch. Xviii. Compare the | | more poetical expression of the same truth in Carlyle's | | Heroes, Hero-Worship, and the Heroic in History: "Observe | | too how all passionate language does of itself become | | musical--with a finer music than the mere accent; the speech | | of a man even in zealous anger becomes a chant, a song. All | | deep things are Song. It seems somehow the very central | | essence of us, Song; as if all the rest were but wrappings | | and hulls! The primal element of us; of us, and of all | | things. The Greeks fabled of Sphere-Harmonies: it was the | | feeling they had of the inner structure of Nature; that the | | soul of all her voices and utterances was perfect music. .. . | | See deep enough, and you see musically; the heart of Nature | | _being_ everywhere music, if you can only reach it. " (The | | Hero as Poet. ) | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

The question is as old as Aristotle, whether metre, that is, regularizedrhythm, is an inalienable and necessary concomitant of poetry. Theanswer rests on a precise understanding of terms; for the rightantithesis, so far as there is one, is not between prose and poetry, butbetween prose and verse. High and passionate thoughts, true poeticalfeeling and expression may and do exist in prose, but their most naturaland characteristic expression is in verse. The old question has beenlately reopened, however, by the anomalous form called 'free-verse. 'Only the name is new; the thing itself is, at its best, but a carefullyrhythmed prose printed in a new shape: an effort to combine in aneffective union some of the characteristics of spatial rhythm with theestablished temporal rhythms of language. Free-verse will be discussedmore fully on a later page; it is mentioned here because it is a naturaltransition between prose and verse, claiming as it does the freedom ofthe one and the powers of the other. 

Another means of recognizing the close relations of verse and prose isto try to determine which of several passages of similarly heightenedemotion, printed in the same form, was originally verse and which prose. 

 Yet, as I would not catch your love with a lie, but force you to love me as I am, faulty, imperfect, human, so I would not cheat your inward being with untrue hopes nor confuse pure truth with a legend. This only I have: I am true to my truth, I have not faltered; and my own end, the sudden departure from the virile earth I love so eagerly, once such a sombre matter, now appears nothing beside this weightier, more torturing bereavement. 

 But follow; let the torrent dance thee down to find him in the valley; let the wild lean-headed eagles yelp alone, and leave the monstrous ledges there to slope, and spill their thousand wreaths of dangling water-smoke, that like a broken purpose waste in air. So waste not thou; but come; for all the vales await thee; azure pillars of the hearth arise to thee; the children call, I thy shepherd pipe. 

 A late lark twitters from the quiet skies; and from the west, where the sun, his day's work ended, lingers as in content, there falls on the old, gray city an influence luminous and serene, a shining peace. The smoke ascends in a rosy-and-golden haze. The spires shine, and are changed. In the valley shadows rise. The lark sings on. The sun, closing his benediction, sinks, and the darkening air thrills with a sense of the triumphing night--night with her train of stars and her great gift of sleep. 

 There, suddenly, within that crimson radiance, rose the apparition of a woman's head, and then of a woman's figure. The child it was--grown up to woman's height. Clinging to the horns of the altar, voiceless she stood--sinking, rising, raving, despairing; and behind the volume of incense, that, night and day, streamed upwards from the altar, dimly was seen the fiery font, and the shadow of that dreadful being who should have baptized her with the baptism of death. But by her side was kneeling her better angel, that hid his face with wings; that wept and pleaded for _her_; that prayed when _she_ could _not_; that fought with Heaven by tears for _her_ deliverance; which also, as he raised his immortal countenance from his wings, I saw, by the glory of his eye, that from Heaven he had won at last. 

 Dost thou already single me? I thought gyves and the mill had tamed thee. Oh that fortune had brought me to the field where thou art famed to have wrought such wonders with an ass's jaw! I should have forced thee soon wish other arms, or left thy carcass where the ass lay thrown; so had the glory of prowess been recovered to Palestine. 

 And when, in times made better through your brave decision now, --might but Utopia be!--Rome rife with honest women and strong men, manners reformed, old habits back once more, customs that recognize the standard worth, --the wholesome household rule in force again, husbands once more God's representative, wives like the typical Spouse once more, and Priests no longer men of Belial, with no aim at leading silly women captive, but of rising to such duties as yours now, --then will I set my son at my right hand and tell his father's story to this point. [20]

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [20] The first is from a poem in free-verse, Meditation, by | | Richard Aldington; the second is blank verse, from the Small | | Sweet Idyl in Tennyson's Princess; the third is from | | Henley's Margaritae Sorori (also in free-verse); the fourth | | is from DeQuincey's English Mail-Coach, Dream Fugue IV | | (prose); the fifth is from Milton's Samson Agonistes, ll. | | 1092 ff. (blank verse); the sixth is from Browning's The | | Ring and the Book, Bk. V (blank verse). | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

On the other hand, it is worth observing what effect metricalarrangement has upon the emotional quality and power of words andphrases. Hardly anyone would, perhaps, find the following passagesstrikingly melodious:

 Prince Lucifer uprose on a starr'd night. The fiend, tired of his dark dominion, swung above the rolling ball, part screen'd in cloud, where sinners hugg'd their spectre of repose. 

 Here there is sweet music that falls softer on the grass than petals from blown roses, or night-dews on still waters in a gleaming pass between walls of shadowy granite; music that lies gentlier on the spirit than tired eyelids upon tired eyes. 

But turn these words back to their original metrical order, and it isalmost a miracle performed. One recalls Coleridge's definition of poetryas the best words in the best places. 

 On a starr'd night Prince Lucifer uprose. Tired of his dark dominion swung the fiend Above the rolling ball in cloud part screen'd, Where sinners hugg'd their spectre of repose. MEREDITH, Lucifer in Starlight. 

 There is sweet music here that softer falls Than petals from blown roses on the grass, Or night-dews on still waters between falls Of shadowy granite in a gleaming pass, Music that gentlier on the spirit lies Than tired eyelids upon tired eyes. TENNYSON, Lotos Eaters. 

It should now be clear that prose and verse are not so antithetical asis often supposed; that they are only different forms of the samesubstance, language; two branches from the same root. At certain pointsthey overlap and are practically one; at other points the divergence isobvious but not great; and even in their extreme differences the commonbasis of the rhythms is the same. In both prose and verse are the samerelations of time, stress, and pitch, except that in verse thearrangement and order of them are according to a perceptible pattern. _Verse is but prose fitted over a framework of metre. _ Herein lies thewhole art of versification, the whole psychology of poetic rhythm, thewhole problem of metrical study and investigation. 

We must always remember that "a line of verse is a portion ofspeech-material with all its phonetic features (corresponding to itsethos as well as its logos) _adjusted_, without violence, to a fixed anddefinite metrical scheme. The two entities, metrical scheme and portionof speech-material adjusted thereto, are distinct and the chief study ofthe metricist is the manner of adjustment of the latter to the former, the way in which a suitable portion of phonetic liquid is chosen andpoured into metrical bottles. "[21] Only after having grasped what can begrasped of the subtleties of prose rhythm, and having learned the commonforms and patterns of metre, can we put the two together, recognizetheir new unity, perceive the new rhythmic beauties, harmonies, modulations that spring from their mutual adjustment. 

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [21] Thomas Rudmose-Brown, "English and French Metric, " in | | Modern Language Review, vol. 8 (1913), p. 104. | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

A word may be added here, though the subject is one rather of æstheticsthan of prosody, on the function of metre in emphasizing and reinforcingthe beauties of thought, emotion, and expression that poetry offers. Twopractical illustrations have just been given above. Every writer onpoetics, from Aristotle down, has had something to contribute, but thesubstance of it all may be found in the eighteenth chapter ofColeridge's Biographia Literaria, from which a few sentences havealready been quoted. [22] It is not merely that verse by its externalappearance notifies the reader, or by its perceptible regularitynotifies the listener, that the writer is putting forth his highestefforts, that language is being driven to its highest possibilities; itis not that the use of verse signalizes greater aims and intentions thanthe use of prose; but rather that the higher efforts, the greater aims, turn by a natural, spontaneous, but partly mysterious instinct tometrical forms for adequate or fit expression. The poets themselves haveproved this. No one, barring a few notable exceptions, who felt thecreative powers of poetry within him has dared neglect or refuse theadded difficulties and the potential beauties of metre. Not the sense ofobstacles overcome, but of possibilities realized prompts to formalrhythms. Music, in Dryden's phrase, is inarticulate poetry; but poetry, while it remains articulate and endeavors to accomplish its owndestinies, will always approach as close as its own conditions permit tothe powers of music. Some poets are inclined more powerfully to musicthan others. Burns composed with definite melodies in mind; Shelleyoften began with a little tune which he gradually crystallized intowords; Schiller tells us that inspiration often came to him first in theform of music. Tennyson, Swinburne, and others, have chanted rather thanread their poetry aloud. And even Browning, who sometimes appears toprefer discord to music, is found to have studied not only the scienceof music, but also the musical effectiveness of words. 

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [22] A convenient collection of extracts from various | | writers is made by Professor R. M. Alden in Part IV of his | | English Verse, New York, 1903. | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

While it is unquestionably going too far to insist as Hegel does that"metre is the first and only condition absolutely demanded by poetry, yea even more necessary than a figurative picturesque diction"; or evento say that the finest poetry is always metrical; still it remains asimple fundamental truth that metre is the natural form of poeticlanguage. The great exceptions to this--the poetic prose of a Sir ThomasBrowne, a Pater, a Carlyle, or the free-verse of Whitman--do but proveits soundness; for we always feel them to be something exceptional, something not quite natural though not quite amiss, something wonderful, like _tours de force_. We would not wish them otherwise, perhaps; but weshould doubt them if we did not actually have them before us. 

CHAPTER III

METRE

_Elements of verse rhythm. _ The simplest metrical unit is the syllable;the next higher unit is the foot, a group of syllables; the next higherunit the line, a group of feet; then the stanza or strophe. 

In some prosodies--as the French and Italian, for example--the standardunit of verse is the syllable. The first essential of a line is that ithave a certain number of syllables; the accents or stresses may, theoretically at least, fall anywhere in the line. In English verse alsothe syllable has sometimes been regarded as the unit, but for the mostpart only by a few poets and prosodists of the late sixteenth, theseventeenth, and eighteenth centuries. 

The foot corresponds in English verse to what has been described inChapter I as the rhythmic unit of all rhythms, namely that which recursin regular sequence. It comprises, therefore, a point of emphasis andall that occupies the time-distance between that point of emphasis andthe following one. In other words, a foot is a section of speech-rhythmcontaining a stressed element and an unstressed element, usually one ortwo unaccented syllables. So much is clear and undisputed in theory. Butthere are few single topics on which writers on English prosody are somuch at variance as on the further, more accurate definition of thefoot. One of the main sources of difficulty, however, is easily removed. The metrical foot is not a natural division of language, like the wordor the phrase, but an arbitrary division, like the bar in music, anabstraction having no existence independent of the larger rhythm ofwhich it is a part. The analogy between the metrical foot and themusical bar is very close: they are both artificial sections of rhythmwhich either in whole or in part may be grouped into such phrases as theideas or melodies may require. [23] They may be isolated and treated bythemselves only for the purposes of analysis, for they are merelytheoretical entities, like the chemical elements. There is no reason, therefore, that the foot should correspond with word divisions, noobjection to the falling of different syllables of one word intodifferent feet. Thus in Gray's line

 The cur | few tolls | the knell | of part | ing day

both _curfew_ and _parting_ are divided. [24] Further, the divisionbetween clauses may fall in the middle of a foot, as in Wordsworth'slines

 The world | is too | much with | us; late | and soon Getting and spending we lay waste our powers. 

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [23] The chief difference perhaps between the foot and the | | bar is that the latter always begins with a rhythmic stress, | | whereas the foot may begin with an unstressed element. | | | | [24] Some metrists, holding that every foot should begin | | with a stress, divide thus: | | | | The | curfew | tolls the | knell of | parting | day. | | | | Such a division can be justified on several grounds, but it | | remains awkward and obscures the plain fact of rising | | rhythm. It does not affect the division of word and foot; | | for compare Shelley's line: | | | | Ne | cessi | ty! thou | mother | of the | world. | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

But another difficulty remains, which is apparent in the second linejust quoted from Wordsworth. The general rhythm of the whole sonnet ofwhich these two lines are the beginning is plainly duple rising, oriambic. The first line and the latter part of the second are easilydivisible into iambs; but how shall _Getting and spend_- be divided?Clearly _and spend_- is an iamb, but _Getting_ is not. Can trochees andiambs occur together in the same line without either obscuring oractually destroying the rhythm? The simpler solution would be to keepthe whole line in rising rhythm by regarding -_ing and spend_- as thesecond foot and ‸ _Gett_- as the first. (The sign ‸ indicates a missingsyllable or musical rest. See below, page 63. )

The most common feet are the iamb, the trochee, the anapest, and thedactyl (see above, page 38), to which may be added the spondee. Thenames are borrowed, not quite felicitously, from classical prosody. Various symbols are in use:

 FOOT SYMBOLS EXAMPLES

 iamb ◡_̷ X ̷ _xa_ alone, despair, to walk. Trochee _̷◡ ̷ X _ax_ study, backward, talk to. Anapest ◡◡_̷ X X ̷ _xxa_ interdict, to permit, dactyl _̷◡◡ ̷ X X _axx_ tenderly, after the. Spondee _̷_̷ ̷ ̷ _aa_ stone deaf, broad-browed. 

Classical prosody distinguished several other feet, some of which areoccasionally mentioned in treatises on English verse: amphibrach ◡_◡, tribrach ◡◡◡, pyrrhic ◡◡, paeon _◡◡◡, choriamb _◡◡_. 

The objection to the use of these classical terms is not so serious asis frequently supposed. Since Greek and Latin prosody was primarilyquantitative, that is, based upon syllabic length, and every longsyllable was theoretically equal to two short syllables, an iamb or◡-had the musical value of ♪♩, a trochee of ♩♪, a dactyl of ♩♪♪, etc. And since no such definite musical valuation can be given to Englishfeet, a Greek iamb and an English iamb are obviously different. Butafter all there was inevitably an element of stress in the classicalfeet, and there is a very positive element of time in the English, sothat the difference is not so great, and no confusion need result oncethe facts are recognized. Another set of terms, however, borrowed fromthe Greek and Latin is open to more grave objection, for no realequivalence exists between the classical and the modern phenomena. The_iambic trimeter_ in Greek consists of three dipodies or six iambs; asused by English prosodists it consists of three iambs. The Greek_trochaic tetrameter_, similarly, contains eight trochees, the English'trochaic tetrameter' but four. The common term _iambic pentameter_ isnot so objectionable, but is to be rejected because of its similarity tothe others, which are actually confusing. 

The next larger metrical unit after the foot is the _line_ or _verse_. It is distinguished (1) mechanically by the custom of printing, (2)phonetically by the pause usual at the end, and (3) structurally by itsuse as a unit in forming the stanza. Lines are of one, two, three, ormore feet, according to the metrical form used by the poet (see ChapterIV). In rimed verse the end of the line is so emphasized that the lineitself stands out as a very perceptible rhythmic unit; in unrimed verse, however, the line is frequently not felt as a unit at all, but is sointerwoven with the natural prose rhythm of the words as to be almostindistinguishable to the ear, though of course visible to the eye on theprinted page. This fact is easily apparent in reading the second, fifth, and sixth illustrative selections on pages 43, 44. 

The _stanza_ or _strophe_ is a combination of two or more lines of thesame or varying lengths, according to a regular pattern chosen by thepoet. 'Irregular' stanzas sometimes occur, in which the thought rhythmis said to control and determine the stanzaic rhythm; that is, thelength of line and position of rimes are regulated by the logical andemotional content of the words. On the various kinds of stanzaicstructure, see pages 88 ff. , below. 

 * * * * *

_Metrical Patterns. _ It must be fully understood that these metricalpatterns of line and stanza are purely formal. They are the bottles intowhich the poet pours his liquid meaning, or better, the sketched-insquares over which the painter, copying from an old masterpiece, drawsand paints his figures. They have no literal or concrete existence. Theyare no more the music of verse than

[Illustration: Waltz rhythm]

is the music of a waltz. They are absolutely fixed and predetermined(though the poet may invent new patterns if he chooses). But he usesthem _only as forms_ on which he arranges his words and phrases. For therhythm of language is extremely soft and malleable: by skilful handlingit can be moulded into an infinite variety of shapes. Perhaps thecomparison of a stanza by John Donne with a stanza by W. B. Yeats, bothbased on the same metrical scheme, will help to make this clear. Theformal scheme is

 ◡_̷◡_◡_̷◡_̷◡_̷

 Death, be not proud, though some have callèd thee Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so: For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow Die not, poor Death; nor yet canst thou kill me. JOHN DONNE, Death. 

 When you are old and gray and full of sleep And nodding by the fire, take down this book, And slowly read, and dream of the soft look Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep. W. B. YEATS, When You are Old. 

Even more striking is the difference of rhythmical effect observable inreading, one after the other, a page of Pope's heroic couplets in theEssay on Man, of Keats's same couplets in Endymion, and Browning's samecouplets in My Last Duchess. 

While the formal pattern remains fixed and inflexible, over its surfacemay be embroidered variations of almost illimitable subtlety and change;but _always the formal pattern must be visible, audible_. The poet'sskill lies largely in preserving a balance of the artistic principles ofvariety in uniformity and uniformity in variety. Once he lets go thedesign, he loses his metrical rhythm and writes mere prose. Once wecease to hear and feel the faint regular beating of the metronome wefail to get the enjoyment of sound that it is the proper function ofmetre to give. On the other hand, if the mechanical design stands outtoo plainly, if the beat of the metronome becomes for an instant moreprominent than the music of the words, then also the artistic pleasureis gone, for too much uniformity is as deadly to art as too muchvariety. 

 The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea, The plowman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me. 

These verses are regular (as is appropriate for the theme), and varycomparatively little from the formal metrical pattern. The coincidenceof prose rhythm and metrical rhythm is almost complete. Yet by means ofsmall subtleties of variation in pause, word order, long and shortsyllables, Gray always saves the poem from monotony. How far thevariations may be carried, how much the ear may be depended upon forrhythmic substitution and syncopation, is determined by many things. Certain lines are unmistakably metrical to all ears and in allpositions--such as these verses of Gray's Elegy. Certain lines aregenerally felt to contain daring variations and yet be successful andeffective--such as

 The blue Mediterranean, where he lay. SHELLEY, Ode to the West Wind. 

 Myriads of rivulets hurrying thro' the lawn. TENNYSON, Small Sweet Idyl, in The Princess. 

Other lines stretch our metrical sense to the breaking point, andaccording to individual taste we judge them bold or too bold--such asTennyson's

 Take your own time, Annie, take your own time. Enoch Arden. 

or Milton's

 Burnt after them to the bottomless pit. Paradise Lost, VI, 866. 

In all of these examples the metrical pattern is the same: fiveconsecutive iambs. The modifications illustrate plainly theextraordinary flexibility of language. 

 * * * * *

_Time and Stress. _ Probably the most disputed point in all prosodictheory is the relative importance of time (duration, syllabic length)and stress (accent) in English verse. Some writers have attempted toexplain all the phenomena entirely by stress; others entirely by time. Neither side, of course, has been very successful. [25] The difficulty ispartly one of theory and partly one of correct analysis of the facts. Thanks, now, to the attention paid in recent decades by the experimentalpsychologists to rhythm and metre, we are in a position to reach atleast approximate clearness on this vexed point. Since the oldertheorists have mostly started either from the traditional conceptions ofclassical prosody or from examination of but a part of the phenomena, their work may be left out of account here. Certainly no great blameattaches to them; they are the Bacons and Harveys and Newtons ofmetrical science. A more nearly correct analysis of the facts ispossible now because with the minutely accurate instruments of thescientists to aid us we need no longer trust to the uncertainties ofperception and statement of separate individuals. Of course no one todayholds the extreme belief that science explains everything; and of coursethe scientific experiments on the nature and effect of rhythm must havea starting point in the personal equations of those who have submittedthemselves to the scientific tests. With all its patience andthoroughness of investigation, experimental psychology is only nowestablishing itself. But it does offer, on this one mooted point ofversification, invaluable help. 

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [25] An historical survey of the problems and theories, | | somewhat colored by the author's own theory, may be found in | | English Metrists, Oxford, 1921, by T. S. Omond. | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

The theory presented in the previous pages states that sound rhythmconsists of a succession of points of emphasis separated by equal timedivisions. This is the ideal rhythm. When subjected to the conditions ofmetrical language it suffers two alterations. In the first place, ournotions of time are extremely untrustworthy. Days vanish in a moment andthey drag like years. Very few of us can estimate correctly the passageof five minutes: syllables are uttered in a few hundredths of a second. We are satisfied with the accuracy shown by an orchestra in keepingtime; but if we took a metronome to the concert we should find theorchestra very deficient in its sense of time. The fact is that theorchestra knows better than the metronome, that perfectly accurate timeintervals become unpleasantly monotonous, that we rebel at 'mechanical'music. Thus the time divisions of pleasurable rhythm are notmathematically equal, nor even necessarily approximately equal, but aresuch as are _felt to be equal_. The second alteration of ideal rhythmis that which results from the conformity of fluid language to itsmetrical mould. This metrical scheme, based theoretically on equal timeunits marked by equal stresses, becomes a compromise of uneven stressesand apparently equal time divisions. 

Almost every line of verse is a proof of this: both the fact and theexplanation are clear when approached from the right angle, and may betested by carefully prepared statistics. In the following examples thefigures beneath each syllable give the time of utterance in tenths andone-hundredths of a second; the figures in parentheses representpauses. [26] The first, from Paradise Lost, II, 604-614, is in blankverse, with five iambic feet to a line; the second, from Shelley's TheCloud, is apparently irregular, but the basis is clearly anapestic. Theideal rhythm or metrical pattern of the first is

 ◡_̷◡_̷◡_̷◡_̷◡_̷

regularly repeated. The ideal rhythm of the second is

 ◡◡_̷◡◡_̷◡◡_̷◡◡_̷ ◡◡_̷◡◡_̷(◡◡_̷)

six times repeated. [27]

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [26] I take these figures from the two articles by Professor | | Ada L. F. Snell in the Publications of the Modern Language | | Association for September, 1918, pp. 396-408, and September, | | 1919, pp. 416-435. For the first example I have made an | | average from the records of three different readers; for the | | second Miss Snell gives only one set of figures. | | | | [27] The second and fourth lines have two feet each, the | | alternate lines throughout the rest of the poem have three | | feet each; but it is noteworthy that the average length of | | these two short lines (1. 61) is only . 37 less than the | | average of the four longer lines (1. 98). The first, third, | | fifth, etc. , lines have four feet each. | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

 They fer-ry o - ver this Le-the-an sound . 29 . 36 . 15 . 24 . 13 . 26 . 23 . 23 . 23 . 62 (. 18)

 Both to and fro, their sor-row to aug-ment, . 41 . 27 . 2 . 63 (. 36). 26 . 4 . 16 . 24 . 32 . 43 (. 6)

 And wish and strug-gle, as they pass, to reach . 2 . 47 . 25 . 33 . 25 (. 13) . 21 . 21 . 57 (. 4) . 24 . 35

 The tempt-ing stream, with one small drop to lose . 14 . 32 . 3 . 69 (. 44) . 24 . 37 . 53 . 47 (. 09). 21 . 47

 In sweet for-get-ful-ness all pain and woe, . 2 . 37 . 19 . 28 . 17 . 25 (. 1) . 39 . 53 . 17 . 52 (. 59)

 All in one mo-ment and so near the brink; . 42 . 2 . 21 . 34 . 3 (. 47) . 27 . 28 . 37 . 11 . 57 (. 49)

 But Fate with-stands, and, to op - pose the attempt . 23 . 39 . 28 . 66 (. 49). 22 . 18 . 11 . 48 . 23 . 52 (. 33)

 Me - du - sa with Gor-go-nian ter-ror guards . 15 . 33 . 15 . 21 . 3 . 3 . 23 . 28 . 21 . 51

 The ford, and of it-self the wa - ter flies . 14 . 6 (. 3) . 27 . 2 . 2 . 48 . 13 . 25 . 22 . 64

 All taste of liv-ing wight, as once it fled . 26 . 48 . 16 . 19 . 18 . 43 (. 5) . 29 . 39 . 16 . 43

 The lip of Tan - ta -lus. . 1 . 32 . 14 . 33 . 15 . 3

 * * * * *

 I bring fresh showers for the thirst-ing flowers, . 25 . 35 . 15 . 8 (. 15) . 15 . 15 . 3 . 2 . 6 (. 2)

 From the seas and the streams; . 2 . 18 . 42 . 15 . 15 . 62 (. 75)

 I bear light shade for the leaves when laid . 2 . 35 . 3 . 5 . 18 . 18 . 34 . 4 . 45

 In their noon-day dreams. . 18 . 2 . 22 . 2 . 7 (. 6)

 From my wings are shak-en the dews that wak - en . 25 . 35 . 44 . 22 . 3 . 2 . 1 . 6 . 2 . 25 . 25

 The sweet buds ev - ery one, . 1 . 35 . 53 (. 15) . 2 . 21 . 5 (. 55)

 When rocked to rest on their moth - er's breast, . 18 . 47 . 2 . 4 (. 2) . 18 . 2 . 22 . 18 . 47 (. 4)

 As she danc - es a - bout the sun. . 2 . 2 . 45 . 2 . 1 . 25 . 2 . 5 (. 85)

 I wield the flail of the lash - ing hail, . 22 . 22 . 1 . 5 . 15 . 15 . 25 . 15 . 45 (. 3)

 And whit - en the green plains un - der, . 2 . 22 . 18 . 1 . 32 . 5 . 2 . 2 (. 5)

 And then a - gain I dis - solve in rain, . 22 . 38 . 1 . 55 . 15 . 2 . 7 . 15 . 55 (. 07)

 And laugh as I pass in thun - der. . 2 . 4 (. 2) . 15 . 18 . 39 . 18 . 22 . 25

Two facts emerge from these statistics at once: (1) that in about 90 percent of the feet the ◡ or unstressed element is shorter than the _̷ orstressed element, or, in other words, stress and syllabic length nearlyalways coincide; and (2) that while there is very great variation in theabsolute lengths of short syllables and long syllables, the proportionof average lengths is about 2:4. [28] One need not suppose that theconscious mind always hears or thinks it hears the syllables pronouncedwith these quantitative proportions. Though we deceive ourselves veryreadily in the matter of time, it is not true that we have no sense ofduration whatever. Quite the contrary. Our cerebral metronome is setwhen we read verse for about . 6 seconds for a foot (. 2 seconds for theunstressed element;. 4 seconds for the stressed element). If we readfaster or more slowly the proportions remain the same. When, however, inParadise Lost, II, 607, ◡ _̷ ◡ _̷ with one small drop . 24 . 37 . 53 . 47

the normal proportions are so patently departed from that thetheoretically unstressed syllable _small_ is actually longer than thetheoretically stressed syllable _drop_, and the foot _small drop_ takes1. Second, or 2/5 longer than the average foot beside it (_with one_, . 61 seconds)--when divergences so great as this are both possible andpleasurable, the conclusion should be, not that the ear makes norecognition of the time, but that it is capable, by syncopation andsubstitution, of adjusting itself to a very great possibility ofvariation without losing hold of the rhythmic pattern. Looked at fromone point of view, the extreme variations would appear to beirregularities and warrant the judgment that no element of durationexists as a principle of English verse; but from the right point of viewthese variations mean only that the metrical time unit isextraordinarily elastic while still remaining a unit; that the ear iswilling and able to pay very high for the _variety_ in uniformity whichit requires. 

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [28] This statement is based on Miss Snell's computations | | from analysis of several records for blank verse and several | | kinds of lyric verse. The short syllables range in blank | | verse from . 02 to . 54, in lyrics from . 09 to . 7; the long | | syllables range in blank verse from . 08 to . 84, in lyrics | | from . 11 to . 92. The average length of all long syllables is | | . 4, of all short syllables is . 21. | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

 * * * * *

_Pause. _ The time element of English verse is affected also by differentkinds of pauses. Three kinds may be distinguished, two of which belongproperly to prose rhythm as well. (1) The _logical_ pause is thatcessation of sound which separates the logical components of speech. Ithelps hold together the members of a unit and separates the units fromeach other, and never occurs unless a break in the meaning is possible. It is usually indicated in printed language by punctuation. (2) The_rhythmical_ pause separates the breath groups of a sentence andtherefore concerns language chiefly as a series of sounds independentfor the most part of logical content or symbolism. Though its origin isprimarily physiological, it soon induces a psychological state andresults in an overuse or overdevelopment of the cerebral metronome. Bothreaders and writers get into a certain 'swing' which turns to monotonyand sing-song in reading and to excessive uniformity of sentence lengthand structure in writing--what is called a jog-trot style. This pause asit affects the reading of verse is only slightly dependent upon thelogical content of words, for it takes its pace, especially in rimedverse, from the normal line length, and tends to make every line soundlike every other, regardless of the meaning. (3) _Metrical_ pause isprimarily independent of the other two, but most frequently falls inwith them. It belongs to the formal metrical pattern, and serves usuallyto mark off the line units. There is thus theoretically a pause at theend of every line, and a greater pause at the end of every stanza. Whenverses are 'run on, ' i. E. , when there is no logical pause at the end, many readers omit the metrical pause or reduce it to a minimum. Others, whose rhythmic sense is very keen, preserve it, making it very slightbut still perceptible. The metrical pause is greatly emphasized by rime. 

There are two other time elements in English verse, related in differentways to each of these three pauses, one which is nearly equivalent tothe musical _rest_; the other which is nearly equivalent to the musical_hold_. The latter is common to both verse and prose, and is emotionalor elocutionary in origin; "If. .. . , " "Well----?" "'_These_ roses?' shedrawled. " In verse it often coincides with and supports a metricalpause, especially on rime words. Many readers in fact combine the holdand the metrical pause or use them interchangeably. The former, the_rest_, is a pause used to take the place of an unstressed element. Assuch, however, it does not altogether compensate the break in the normaltime-space, but fills in the omission sufficiently to preserve therhythm of the verse. 

These various pauses are all well illustrated in Tennyson's lyric, Break, Break, Break. 

 Break, break, break, . 5 (. 6) . 5 (. 28) . 6 (. 3)

 On thy cold grey stones, O sea! . 35 . 3 . 6 . 5 . 7 (. 15) . 3 . 55 (. 65)

 And I would that my tongue could ut - ter . 2 . 2 . 4 . 2 . 25 . 4 . 18 . 18 . 3 (. 35)

 The thoughts that a - rise in me. . 2 . 5 . 3 . 2 . 4 . 3 . 5 (. 8)

 O, well for the fish - er - man's boy . 6 . 6 . 2 . 2 . 22 . 15 . 45 . 6 (. 55)

 That he shouts with his sis - ter at play! . 2 . 18 . 55 . 25 . 2 . 35 . 18 . 2 . 6 (. 9)

 O, well for the sail - or lad . 5 (. 3) . 61 . 25 . 3 . 55 . 2 . 5 (. 45)

 That he sings in his boat on the bay. . 18 . 18 . 55 . 25 . 2 . 45 . 15 . 15 . 6

Logical pauses occur at the end of ll. 2, 4, 6, 8; and probably after_stones_ in l. 2. After _stones_ there would be also a rhythmic pause, but it is reinforced and practically replaced by the logical pause. Another rhythmic pause might occur after _tongue_ in l. 3, but it isabsorbed partly by the length of _tongue_ and partly by the necessity ofpreserving the line rhythm through _utter_. It will be felt, however, ifthe lines are read thus:

 And I would that my tongue Could utter the thoughts That arise In me. 

The metrical pause appears clearly after _utter_ in l. 3. The pausesafter _boy_ (l. 5) and _lad_ (l. 7) are both metrical and logical. Thehold is illustrated by _O_ in l. 5 and l. 7. [29] The rest appearsdistinctly in l. 1. From reading the whole poem we know that themovement is anapestic. The pattern rhythm for the first line would be

 ◡◡_̷ ◡◡_̷ ◡◡_̷ Break break break

The number of syllables is three, whereas the other lines have fromseven to nine syllables each. That is, before each _break_ two lightsyllables, or their time equivalent, are lacking, their place beingsupplied by the rest-pause (which is also logical and emotional). [30]

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [29] In the latter case it is supplemented by a pause in | | Miss Snell's marking. Many readers would no doubt combine | | the hold and pause; as was done in fact in l. 5. | | | | [30] It should be noted that the average line length here | | (including pauses within the line, excluding those at the | | end of the line) is 2. 8, and the first line is therefore | | only . 32 shorter than the average. If additional allowance | | (omitted in Miss Snell's computation) be made for the | | theoretical initial ◡◡ the average would be 2. 85 and l. 1 | | would total 2. 92. If the end pause is included the average | | would be 3. 38 and l. 1 2. 78--a difference of . 66; or with | | the additional allowance the average would be 3. 44 and l. 1 | | 3. 22. While too much faith is not to be placed in the mere | | figures, the inference is plain that the rests practically | | compensate here for the omitted ◡◡. | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

The reader may analyze the comparative lengths of foot, line, pause, andrest in the following record:[31]

 Kent-ish Sir Bing stood for the king, . 4 . 32 . 46 . 8 (. 2) . 5 . 18 . 16 . 8 (. 6)

 Bid-ding the crop-head-ed par-lia-ment swing; . 26 . 2 . 12 . 45 . 3 . 2 . 4 . 1 . 35 . 72 (. 6)

 And, press-ing a troop un - ab - le to stoop, . 2 . 38 . 12 . 1 . 55 (. 2) . 18 . 26 . 12 . 2 . 58 (. 5)

 And see the rogues flour-ish and hon - est folk droop; . 22 . 35 . 15 . 5 . 6 . 2 (. 2) . 26 . 45 . 18 . 35 . 48 (. 75)

 Marched then a - long fif - ty - score strong . 52 . 22 . 12 . 8 (. 14) . 35 . 25 . 5 . 7 (. 7)

 Great-heart-ed gent-le-men, sing-ing this song. . 35 . 3 . 2 . 3 . 12 . 3 (. 45) . 44 . 25 . 28 . 68 (. 9)

 God for King Charles! Pym and such carles . 6 . 46 . 5 . 8 (. 5) . 38 . 26 . 3 . 85 (. 42)

 To the Dev - il that prompts them their treas-on-ous parles! . 18 . 18 . 35 . 25 . 42 . 5 . 38 . 2 . 38 . 1 . 32 . 75 (. 55)

 Cav - a - liers, up! Lips from the cup. . 35 . 15 . 5 (. 4) . 5 (. 4) . 6 . 3 . 12 . 4

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [31] Miss Snell, Pause; a Study of its Nature and its | | Rhythmical Function in Verse (Ann Arbor, 1918), pp. 78, 79. | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

 * * * * *

_Pitch. _ Pitch appears to be sometimes a determining element in rhythm, as has been shown above; but since its chief function in verse is thatof supporting the recognized determinants and adding grace-notes to themusic, it is omitted here and discussed in Chapter V, below. 

 * * * * *

_Balance of Forces. _ It is not to be inferred from the foregoingsections that the basis of English metre is time. For the basis ofEnglish metre is dual: time and stress are inextricable. Beneath allmetrical language runs the invisible current of time, but the surface ismarked by stress. The warp of the metrical fabric is time; stress is thewoof. And from the surface, of course, only the woof is visible. Moreover, the poet's point of view in composing and generally thereader's point of view in reading has always been that of the'stresser. ' No poet ever wrote to a metronome accompaniment; extremelyfew readers are fully conscious--few can be, from the nature of ourhuman sense of time--of the temporal rhythm that underlies verse. Thusit has come about, historically, that modern English verse is writtenand regarded as a matter of stress only, because to the superficial viewstress is predominant. [32] Probably the truth is that most poets composeverse with the ideal metrical scheme definitely in mind and trust (asthey well may) to their rhythmical instinct for the rest. Whateverdevice they employ for keeping the pattern always before them, they dokeep it distinctly before them--except perhaps in the simpler measureswhich run easily in the ear--and build from it as from a scaffolding. They may not know and may not need to know that this metrical schemedoes itself involve equal time units as well as equal stresses. Theyvary and modulate both time and stress according to the thought andfeeling the words are asked to express. And though it is a point onwhich no one can have a dogmatic opinion, one inclines to the beliefthat usually the finest adaptations of ideas and words to metre arespontaneous and intuitive. Skill is the result of habit and training, and metrical skill like any other; but there is also the faculty divine. One is suspicious of the

 Laborious Orient ivory sphere in sphere;

for when we can see how the trick is done we lose the true thrill. 

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [32] Modern English verse theory may be dated from | | Coleridge's famous manifesto in the prefatory note to | | Christabel in 1816: "I have only to add that the metre of | | Christabel is not, properly speaking, irregular, though it | | may seem so from its being founded on a new principle: | | namely, that of counting in each line the accents, not the | | syllables. Though the latter may vary from seven to twelve, | | yet in each line the accents will be found to be only four. | | Nevertheless, this occasional variation in number of | | syllables is not introduced wantonly, or for mere ends of | | convenience, but in correspondence with some transition in | | the nature of the imagery or passion. " Even here there is | | implied a vague perception of the time unit, but Coleridge | | was apparently unaware of its significance. See Leigh Hunt's | | comments in "What is Poetry?" in Imagination and Fancy. | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

It would be absurd to imagine a prosody which was independent of its ownmaterials. It would be absurd therefore not to find in all language theelements out of which verse is made. Indeed, M. Jourdain, havingrecovered from his first shock on learning that he had actually beentalking prose, must prepare for a second: that he has actually beentalking potential verse. The three acoustic properties ofspeech--duration, intensity, pitch--modified by the logical andemotional content of which the sounds are symbolic, combine to producean incredibly subtle and elastic medium which the poet moulds to hismetrical form. In this process of moulding and adjustment, each element, under the poet's deft handling, yields somewhat to the other, thenatural rhythm of language and the formal rhythm of metre; and theresult is a delicate, exquisite compromise. When we attempt to analyzeit, its finer secrets defy us, but the chief fundamental principles wecan discover, and their more significant manifestations we can isolateand learn to know. In all the arts there is a point at which techniquemerges with idea and conceals the heart of its mystery. The greatestpoetry is not always clearly dependent upon metrical power, but it israrely divorced from it. No one would venture to say how much the metrehas to do with the beauty of the

 magic casements opening on the foam Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn. 

CHAPTER IV

METRICAL FORMS

I. THE LINE

_Line Length. _ A line of English verse may contain from one to eightfeet. Theoretically, of course, more than eight feet would be possible;but just as there are sounds which the human ear cannot hear and colorswhich the eye cannot see, so there appears to be a limit beyond which wedo not recognize the line as a unit. The most frequently used lines areof four and five feet, most conveniently called, respectively, 4-stressand 5-stress lines;[33] those of one, two, and three feet tend to becomejerky, those of more than five to break up into smaller units. 

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [33] The expression '4-foot line' is too suggestive of | | fishing or surveying; 'tetrameter' is confusing because of | | its different usage in classical prosody; '4-stress line' is | | open to objection because it seems to overlook the temporal | | quality of the foot. On the whole, however, the last seems | | preferable. | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

 * * * * *

_Line Movement. _ The movement of a line is determined primarily by thefoot of which it is composed. It is iambic, trochaic, anapestic, dactylic, according as the metrical pattern is made up of iambs, trochees, etc. Thus

 That time of year them mayst in me behold When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs that shake against the cold-- Bare ruin'd choirs where late the sweet birds sang. SHAKESPEARE, Sonnet 73. 

is plainly iambic. 

 You and I would rather see that angel, Painted by the tenderness of Dante, Would we not?--than read a fresh Inferno. 

 You and I will never see that picture. While he mused on love and Beatrice, While he soften'd o'er his outlined angel, In they broke, those "people of importance": We and Bice bear the loss forever. BROWNING, One Word More. 

is plainly trochaic. 

 I have found out a gift for my fair, I have found where the wood-pigeons breed. SHENSTONE, Pastoral Ballad. 

is plainly anapestic. 

 Take her up tenderly, Lift her with care; Fashion'd so slenderly, Young, and so fair! HOOD, Bridge of Sighs. 

is plainly dactylic. 

But very few poems conform exactly to the metrical pattern. For example, Blake's

 Tiger, tiger, burning bright In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

seems clearly to be trochaic; yet the last trochee of each line lacksits unstressed element, and the fourth line has an extra-metricalsyllable, _Could_. By itself the fourth line would be called iambic: inthis context it is called trochaic with 'anacrusis, ' i. E. , with one ormore extra-metrical syllables at the beginning. [34] Or again in Clough'sstanza, And not by eastern windows only, When daylight comes, comes in the light; In front the sun climbs slow, how slowly! But westward, look, the land is bright! 'Say Not, the Struggle Naught Availeth. '

the movement is clearly iambic, yet the first and third lines have anextra-metrical syllable at the end. This is called 'feminine ending. '

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [34] From the point of view of stanzaic rhythm _Could_ may | | be said to complete the final trochee of the previous line: | | | | What immortal hand or eye Could | | Frame, etc. | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

Moreover, sometimes the word or phrase rhythm clashes with the metricalrhythm and makes the resultant seem doubtful. Thus

 Of hand, of foot, of lips, of eye, of brow. SHAKESPEARE, Sonnet 106. 

 I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance. TENNYSON, The Brook. 

are unmistakably iambic, and Wordsworth's

 Pansies, lilies, kingcups, daisies. To the Small Celandine. 

is unmistakably trochaic; but in Tennyson's

 This pretty, puny, weakly little one. Enoch Arden. 

 With rosy slender fingers backward drew. Œnone. 

there are metrically five iambs in each line, but also in each fourwords that are trochaic. The result is a conflict of rhythms, a kind ofsyncopation, which produces a very pleasing variant of the formalrhythm. 

Furthermore, in a passage like the following, which everyone recognizesas exquisitely musical, it is not obvious whether the rhythm is iambicor anapestic or trochaic. 

 When the hounds of spring are on winter's traces, The mother of months in meadow or plain Fills the shadows and windy places With lisp of leaves and ripple of rain; And the brown bright nightingale amorous Is half assuaged for Itylus, For the Thracian ships and the foreign faces, The tongueless vigil, and all the pain. SWINBURNE, Atalanta in Calydon. 

If the first two syllables be regarded as anacrusis, the first linewould be trochaic, with a dactyl substituted for a trochee in the secondfoot. The third line is apparently trochaic. But only three lines of theeight have a feminine or trochaic ending, and all except the third haveiambic or rising rhythm in the first foot; so that it is more simple andnatural to consider the last syllable of the first, third, and seventhlines as extra-metrical, and call the rhythm iambic-anapestic, orrising. Since the ◡_̷ and ◡◡_̷ are both rising rhythm they may bereadily substituted one for the other--the appearance of equal timevalues being preserved--without disturbing the musical flow of sounds. Thus of the thirty-two feet in the eight lines, seventeen are iambs andeleven anapests, two are weak iambs (-_orous_, -_ylus_), one a spondee(_bright night_-), and one monosyllabic with a rest (‸ _Fills_). Tennyson's Vastness may also be studied for its combinations oftrochees, dactyls, and spondees. Here is one stanza:

 Stately purposes, valour in battle, glorious annals of army and fleet, Death for the right cause, death for the wrong cause, trumpets of victory, groans of defeat. 

Similar combinations, still freer, with frequent anacrusis as well, arecharacteristic of Swinburne's Hesperia; e. G. --

 Shrill | shrieks in our | faces the | blind bland | air that was | mute as a | maiden, Stung into | storm by the | speed of our | passage, and | deaf where we | past; And our | spirits too | burn as we | bound, thine | holy but | mine heavy | laden, As we | burn with the | fire of our | flight; ah, | love, shall we | win at the | last?

The first line of a poem is not always a good criterion of the metre ofthe whole poem--though Poe declared that it should be. For Tennyson'sThe Higher Pantheism is chiefly in triple falling rhythm, but it begins

 The sun, the moon, the stars, the seas, the hills and the plains. 

The first stanza of Campbell's famous Battle of the Baltic runs:

 Of Nelson and the North, Sing the glorious day's renown, When to battle fierce came forth All the might of Denmark's crown, And her arms along the deep proudly shone; By each gun the lighted brand, In a bold determined hand, And the Prince of all the land Led them on. 

Here the first line might be 3-stress or 2-stress; the second, third, fourth, sixth, seventh, eighth might have three stresses or four; thefifth five or six; the ninth two or one. It is not, in fact, until wereach the

 Again! again! again!

of the fourth stanza that we are sure how the poem ought to be read. ButCampbell was not a faultless artist. There is the same metricalambiguity, however, in Tennyson's

 Come into the garden, Maud, until the second line shows us we should read it with three stresses, not four. There is a curious verse in Gay's Beggar's Opera which wellillustrates the necessity of consulting the context to determine thepattern, for it can, taken by itself, be scanned in three differentways:

 How happy could I be with either. Air XXXV. 

viz. , ◡_̷◡◡_̷◡_̷◡_̷◡ or ◡_̷◡◡◡_̷◡_̷◡ or ◡_̷◡◡_̷◡◡◡_̷◡. 

But sometimes it is difficult, if not impossible, to say whether a lineor series of lines is in rising or falling rhythm, or what sort of footis predominant--in other words, what is the formal metrical pattern. This difficulty is, of course, no fault of the poet's: it lies in thecomplexity of the phenomena, and is after all a weakness of our power ofanalysis. In the spectrum blue merges into green, red into yellow, andthough we invent names for various tints, others still escapeclassification. And just as some verses combine iambic and anapestic(rising), or dactylic and trochaic (falling) movements, so otherscombine rising and falling rhythms. For example, The mountain sheep are sweeter, But the valley sheep are fatter; We therefore deemed it meeter To carry off the latter. PEACOCK, War-song of Dinas Vawr, from The Misfortunes of Elphin. 

This may be trochaic with anacrusis or iambic with feminine endings, butneither quite adequately describes it. Is Shelley's To Nightprevailingly iambic or trochaic? All of the twenty-five long lines endwith an iamb, but only eleven begin with rising rhythm (thirteen beginwith falling or trochaic rhythm, and one is ambiguous). Two of the shortlines are definitely iambic, the other eight are doubtful, butapparently trochaic. If it is read as iambic, eleven of the hundred feetin the long lines will be 'irregular'; if it is read as trochaic, elevenlikewise will be 'irregular. ' Milton's L'Allegro and Il Penserosocontain lines that are purely iambic, as

 And oft, as if her head she bow'd;

some that are purely trochaic, as

 Whilst the landskip round it measures;

and others which are a combination, as

 Bosom'd high in tufted trees. Then to the spicy nut-brown ale. The melting voice through mazes running. 

Again, how shall the following stanza from F. W. H. Myers's Saint Paulbe classified?

 Lo, if some strange intelligible thunder Sang to the earth the secret of a star, Scarce could ye catch, for terror and for wonder, Shreds of the story that was peal'd so far. 

The metrical scheme appears to be

 _̷◡◡_̷◡_̷◡_̷◡_̷◡ _̷◡◡_̷◡_̷◡_̷◡_̷ _̷◡◡_̷◡_̷◡_̷◡_̷◡ _̷◡◡_̷◡_̷◡_̷◡_̷

that is, 5-stress trochaic, with dactylic substitution in the first footand truncation or catalexis of the last foot in the second and fourthlines; or perhaps iambic, with anapestic substitution in the second footand a feminine ending in the first and third lines. But when many ofthese stanzas are read in succession, the movement is found to be

 _̷◡◡_̷◡_̷◡◡◡_̷◡ _̷◡◡_̷◡_̷◡◡◡_̷ _̷◡◡_̷◡_̷◡◡◡_̷◡ _̷◡◡_̷◡◡◡_̷◡_̷

that is, 4-stress falling rhythm, with intermixed duple, triple, andquadruple time. 

This introduces a new question, whether English verse admits of a footresembling the Greek paeon, _̷◡◡◡. The answer seems to be thattheoretically it does not, but practically it does. [35] It would, doubtless, be more accurate to describe the foot as _̷◡◡[`]◡, for somestress, however slight, is regularly felt on the third syllable. But thepoets have had their way, and written what certainly try to be paeonicfeet. Thus Macaulay's The Battle of Naseby begins:

 Oh! wherefore come ye forth in triumph from the north, With your hands, and your feet, and your raiment all red? And wherefore doth your rout send forth a bitter shout? And whence be the grapes of the wine-press that ye tread?[36]

And Mr. Kipling's The Last Chantey:

 Thus said the Lord in the vault above the Cherubim, Calling to the angels and the souls in their degree: "Lo! Earth has passed away On the smoke of Judgment Day. That Our word may be established, shall We gather up the sea?"

And Mr. E. A. Robinson's The Valley of the Shadow is in this samerhythm, the first four lines being almost perfectly regular:

 There were faces to remember in the Valley of the Shadow, There were faces unregarded, there were faces to forget; There were fires of grief and fear that are a few forgotten ashes, There were sparks of recognition that are not forgotten yet. 

Some have read Browning's A Toccata of Galuppi's to the same tune, butat grave risk of destroying the music. 

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [35] Apparent paeons occur now and then, where the usual | | contraction would reduce them to triple time. Mr. Omond, | | Study of Metre, pp. 96, 97, gives among others these | | examples: | | | | The leaves they were _withering and_ sere. | | Our _memories were treacherous and_ sere. | | POE. | | | | The rags of the sail | | Are _flickering in_ ribbons within the fierce gale. | | SHELLEY. | | | | A land that is _lonelier than_ ruin. | | SWINBURNE. | | | | [36] In the last stanza occurs the foot: | | | | _̷ ◡ ◡ ◡ ◡ | | she of the seven | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

Rightly described, this movement is a discontinuous syncopation of foursand twos; the prevailing formal unit is _̷◡◡◡, but it is varied now by_̷◡_̷◡, and now by simply _̷◡, with the usual substitution of _̷◡◡ for_̷◡. It is an excellent exercise to analyze Jean Ingelow's Like aLaverock in the Lift and observe the pauses, holds, and substitutions. The most notable are _̷_̷◡ for _̷◡◡◡ (_we too, it's_), and _̷◡_̷ (_lass, my love_, l. 5; _thou art mine_, l. 6; _missed the mark_, l. 7, etc. ). The third line may be read

 Like a | laverock in the | lift ‸ etc. 

or

 Like a laverock | in the lift | etc. 

The former seems preferable. [37]

 It's we two, it's we two, it's we two for aye, All the world, and we two, and Heaven be our stay. Like a laverock in the lift, sing, O bonny bride! All the world was Adam once, with Eve by his side. 

 What's the world, my lass, my love!--what can it do? I am thine, and thou art mine; lift is sweet and new. If the world have missed the mark, let it stand by, For we two have gotten leave, and once more we'll try. 

 Like a laverock in the lift, sing, O bonny bride! It's we two, it's we two, happy side by side. Take a kiss from me, thy man; now the song begins: "All is made afresh for us, and the brave heart wins. "

 When the darker days come, and no sun will shine, Thou shalt dry my tears, lass, and I'll dry thine. It's we two, it's we two, while the world's away. Sitting by the golden sheaves on our wedding day. 

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [37] See Sidney Lanier's scansion of the first stanza, in | | his Science of English Verse, p. 228. | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

How musical and effective this rhythm is, judgments will differ. It isclearly capable of great variety, but the large proportion of lightsyllables forces heavier stress on some of the accents, and the numberof naturally heavy syllables which do not coincide with the metricalstress is excessive; and the almost inevitable result is a thumpingwhich only the deftest manipulation can avoid. [38]

 +--------------------------------------------------------------------+ | [38] An interesting variation of this rhythm (though perhaps to be | | related to the Middle English descendant of the Anglo-Saxon | | long line) occurs in Shelley's Prometheus Unbound, Act I, | | | | O sister, desolation is a difficult thing. | | | | Compare also Shelley's earlier poem, Stanzas--April, 1814; | | and for a more recent example: | | | | Ithaca, Ithaca, the land of my desire! | | I'm home again in Ithaca, beside my own hearth-fire. | | Sweet patient eyes have welcomed me, all tenderness and truth, | | Wherein I see kept sacredly, the visions of our youth. | | AMELIA J. BURR, Ulysses in Ithaca. | | | +--------------------------------------------------------------------+

Probably the most striking and successful use of the 4-beat movement isthat of Meredith's Love in a Valley. So marked is the time element, withthe compensatory lengthenings and pauses, that the poem almost demandsto be chanted rather than read; but when well chanted it is peculiarlymusical, and when ill read it is horribly ragged and choppy. The wholepoem will repay study for the metrical subtleties, but the first stanzais sufficient to illustrate the rhythm (there are normally four _̷◡◡◡ ineach line). [39]

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [39] This metre has been used, e. G. , by George Darley | | (1795-1846) in The Flower of Beauty (four stanzas) and | | (rather monotonously) by Charles Swain (1803-74) in Tripping | | down the Field-Path (cf. Stedman's Victorian Anthology, pp. | | 17, 76); and more recently by Mr. Alfred Noyes. | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

 Under yonder beech-tree single on the greensward, Couch'd with her arms behind her golden head, Knees and tresses folded to slip and ripple idly, Lies my young love sleeping in the shade. Had I the heart to slide an arm beneath her, Press her parting lips as her waist I gather slow, Waking in amazement she could not but embrace me: Then would she hold me and never let me go?

 * * * * *

_Examples. _ There occur examples of 1-, 2-, 3-, 4-, 5-, 6-, 7-, 8-stressiambic, trochaic, anapestic, and dactylic lines, sometimes usedcontinuously and sometimes used in combinations with other lengths. Butmany of these are unusual, and may be found only by diligent search. [40]Some have already been illustrated in the previous section, others occurhere and there throughout this volume, especially in the paragraphs onthe stanza; some of the more important, however, are given below. But, of course, the line rhythm is significant mainly as a unit of the longercomposition, and brief selections cannot well represent the rhythmicmovement of a whole poem. Whenever possible the poem should be readcomplete. 

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [40] For a classified collection see Alden, English Verse, | | pp. 24 ff. | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

Attempts have been made to characterize the different feet as slow orrapid, solemn or light, and so on, but they are generally unsuccessful. For though certain measures seem to be inherently unsuitable fordignified themes, or for humorous subjects, there are always contraryinstances to be adduced, and it is dangerous to be dogmatic. Anapestsare said to be characteristically rapid, hurried, because they crowdmore syllables than iambs do into a line; but anapests are oftenslow-moving, because there is frequent iambic substitution and becausemany important words--monosyllables, for the most part--have to do dutyfor light syllables metrically. Perfect anapests, like perfect dactyls, are comparatively few in English. 

Two-stress and 6-stress anapestic:

 Canst thou say in thine heart Thou hast seen with thine eyes With what cunning of art Thou wast wrought in what wise, By what force of what stuff thou wast shapen, and shown on my breast to the skies? SWINBURNE, Hertha. [41]

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [41] This whole poem abounds in substitutions. See Shelley's | | The Cloud, above, pages 59 f. , which may be regarded as 2-and| | 3-stress anapestic lines, though two 2-stress lines are | | printed as one. | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

Three-stress anapestic:

 If you go over desert and mountain, Far into the country of Sorrow, To-day and to-night and to-morrow, And maybe for months and for years; You shall come with a heart that is bursting For trouble and toiling and thirsting, You shall certainly come to the fountain At length, --to the Fountain of Tears. ARTHUR O'SHAUGHNESSY, The Fountain of Tears. 

 Though the day of my destiny's over, And the star of my fate hath declined, Thy soft heart refused to discover The faults which so many could find; Though thy soul with my grief was acquainted, It shrunk not to share it with me, And the love which my spirit hath painted It never hath found but in _thee_. BYRON, Stanzas to Augusta. 

Four-stress anapestic:

 The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold; And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee. BYRON, The Destruction of Sennacherib. 

Five-stress anapestic. This is a peculiar metre, usually felt to bechoppy and harsh. It has been said that no one can read Browning's Sauland follow both metre and meaning at the same time:

 As I sang, -- Oh, our manhood's prime vigour! No spirit feels waste, Not a muscle is stopped in its playing nor sinew unbraced. Oh, the wild joys of living! the leaping from rock up to rock, The strong rending of boughs from the fir-tree, the cool, silver shock Of the plunge in a pool's living water, the hunt of the bear, . .. 

Eight-stress anapestic. This is on the whole the longest line possiblein English. [42] It is really a _tour de force_. 

 +-------------------------------------------------------------------+ | [42] Tennyson's To Virgil, though it has nine stresses in | | each line and is therefore an exception to the statement | | made above, page 69, is shorter in respect of the number of | | syllables. There is, moreover, a poem, After Death, by Fanny | | Parnell, consisting of fourteen 10-stress lines. The | | cumbrousness of the rhythm is apparent in these two | | specimens--which are rather better than the others-- | | | | Ah, the harpings and the salvos and the shoutings of thy | | exiled sons returning! | | I should hear, though dead and mouldered, and the grave-damps | | should not chill my bosom's burning. | | | | The whole of this poem may be found in Sir Edward T. Cook's More | | Literary Recreations, p. 278. | | | +-------------------------------------------------------------------+

The trochaic line is generally stiff and thumping. It does not admit offrequent substitutions, for many substitutions destroy the trochaiceffect. It usually comes to an abrupt close because feminine endings arenot easy or natural in English. Moreover, there are in the language somany dissyllabic words of trochaic movement that the resulting frequentcoincidence of word and foot tends to produce monotony. Tennyson oncesaid that when he wanted to write a poem that would be popular he wrotein trochaics. Certainly the stresses are more prominent in trochaicverse than in iambic or even anapestic; and the untrained ear likes itsrhythms well marked. [43] The Locksley Hall poems are good examples:

 Comfort? comfort scorned of devils! this is truth the poet sings, That a sorrow's crown of sorrow is remembering happier things. Drug thy memories, lest thou learn it, lest thy heart be put to proof, In the dead, unhappy night, and when the rain is on the roof. 

Notable is Tennyson's skill in this 8-stress line in avoiding thenatural break into 4 + 4. This break occurs regularly and is enforced bythe rime in Poe's The Raven. One of the most successful metrically ofpurely trochaic poems is Browning's One Word More, a few lines of whichare quoted on page 70. 

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [43] By a series of experiments C. R. Squire found a natural | | preference for duple over triple rhythms (though the triple | | rhythms seemed 'pleasanter'), and for trochaic and dactylic | | over iambic and anapestic. (Am. Journal of Psychology, vol. | | 12 (1901), p. 587. ) | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

Four-stress trochaic. 

 Shall I, wasting in despair, Die because a woman's fair? Or make pale my cheeks with care 'Cause another's rosy are?

 Be she fairer than the day, Or the flow'ry meads in May, If she think not well of me, What care I how fair she be? WITHER, The Author's Resolution. 

 Souls of Poets dead and gone, What Elysium have ye known, Happy field or mossy cavern, Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern? KEATS, Lines on the Mermaid Tavern. 

Five-stress trochaic. 

 Then the music touch'd the gates and died; Rose again from where it seem'd to fail, Storm'd in orbs of song, a growing gale; Till thronging in and in, to where they waited, As 'twere a hundred-throated nightingale, The strong tempestuous treble throbbed and palpitated; Ran into its giddiest whirl of sound, Caught the sparkles, and in circles, Purple gauzes, golden hazes, liquid mazes, Flung the torrent rainbow round. TENNYSON, The Vision of Sin. 

(Note here the substitutions for special imitative effect. )

Shelley's To a Skylark is in trochaic metre of 3-stress and 6-stresslines. 

Dactylic lines are not common except in the imitations of the classicalhexameter. Hood's familiar Bridge of Sighs in 2-stress lines, andTennyson's still more familiar Charge of the Light Brigade (which is, however, only partly dactylic) are good illustrations. 

Iambic lines are by very far the most frequent in English verse. Nospecial examples need therefore be given except of the less usual6-stress and 7-stress lines. On blank verse see pages 133 ff. 

The 6-stress line is called the alexandrine (probably from the name ofan Old French poem in this metre). It is still the standard line inclassical French verse; but the French alexandrine differs from theEnglish, principally in having four stresses instead of six. In Englishit is usually awkward when used for long stretches, and tends to splitinto 3 + 3. Lowell called it "the droning old alexandrine. " It wasemployed for several long poems in Middle English; and certain of theElizabethans tried it: Surrey, Sidney, and Drayton--Drayton's Polyolbion(1613) contains about 15, 000 alexandrines. It has not commended itselfto modern poets, with one exception, for sustained work. Browning wrotehis Fifine at the Fair (1872) in this measure; and while he succeeded inrelieving it of some of its monotony, he only demonstrated again itsunfitness, in English, for continuous use. A peculiar musical effect isobtained from it, however, by Mr. Siegfried Sassoon in his Picture-Show:

 And still they come and go: and this is all I know-- That from the gloom I watch an endless picture-show, Where wild or listless faces flicker on their way, With glad or grievous hearts I'll never understand Because Time spins so fast, and they've no time to stay Beyond the moment's gesture of a lifted hand. 

On the other hand, as the last line of the Spenserian and similarstanzas the alexandrine has proved very melodious and effective, largelyby contrast with the shorter lines. A few isolated examples willillustrate some of its powers, but of course the whole stanza should beread together. 

 And streames of purple bloud new die the verdant fields. SPENSER, Faerie Queen, I, 2, 17. 

 Which from a sacred fountain welled forth alway. Ibid. , I, 1, 34. 

 Swinges the scaly horror of his folded tail. The wakeful trump of doom must thunder through the deep. With thousand echoes still prolongs each heavenly close. MILTON, On the Morning of Christ's Nativity. 

 Dart follows dart; lance, lance; loud bellowings speak his woes. BYRON, Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, I, lxxvi. 

 Where'er the surge may sweep, the tempest's breath prevail. Ibid. , III, ii. 

 As though a rose should shut, and be a bud again. KEATS, Eve of St. Agnes, xxvii. 

 Countless and swift as leaves on autumn's tempest shed. SHELLEY, Revolt of Islam, I, iv. 

 Month follow month with woe, and year wake year to sorrow. SHELLEY, Adonais, xxi. 

 With sparkless ashes load an unlamented urn. Ibid. , xl. 

 Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought. SHELLEY, To a Skylark. 

 The slender stream Along the cliff to fall and pause and fall did seem. TENNYSON, Lotos Eaters. 

Alexandrines were occasionally in the eighteenth century (and morefrequently in the late seventeenth) inserted among heroic couplets forvariety and special effect, as in Pope's

 The huge round stone, resulting with a bound, Thunders impetuous down, and smokes along the ground. Odyssey, XI, 737-738. 

But Pope himself condemned the 'needless alexandrine'

 That, like a wounded snake, drags its slow length along. Essay on Criticism, 357. 

One of the oldest lines of modern English verse is the so-calledseptenary (septenarius), having had a nearly continuous tradition fromthe twelfth-century Poema Morale down (in its divided form) to thepresent. It began as a single line of seven stresses or fourteensyllables, and continued to be used as such through the Elizabethanperiod, and sporadically even later. [44] But on account of its customarypause after the fourth foot, it very early broke into two short lines offour and three stresses each, and thus the septenary couplet became theballad stanza. For example, And even the lowly valleys joy to glitter in their sight When the unmeasur'd firmament bursts to disclose her light. CHAPMAN, Iliad, VIII. 

is essentially the same metre, though printed differently, as

 The western wave was all aflame, The day was wellnigh done! Almost upon the western wave Rested the broad, bright sun. COLERIDGE, Ancient Mariner, Part III. 

The more notable long poems in septenaries are Warner's Albion's England(1586), Golding's translation of Ovid's Metamorphoses (1565, 1567), andChapman's translation of the Iliad (1598-1611). 

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [44] Wordsworth and Mrs. Browning have written rimed | | septenaries. | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

2. THE STANZA

_Couplet. _ The line unit is used sometimes singly and continuously, asin blank verse, and sometimes in groups usually held together by rime. These groups are called stanzas or strophes. The simplest stanza is, therefore, the couplet rimed _aa_. [45] Couplets are either unequal orequal in length. 

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [45] The usual and most convenient way of indicating | | stanzaic structure is with small italic letters for the | | rimes and either superior or inferior numbers for the number | | of stresses in each line. Thus Landor's Rose Aylmer: | | | | Ah, what avails the sceptred race! | | Ah, what the form divine! | | What every virtue, every grace! | | Rose Aylmer, all were thine. | | | | is described as _a^{4}b^{3}a^{4}b^{3}_. The repetition of a | | whole line is indicated by a capital letter. When all the | | lines are of the same length, one exponent figure suffices, | | as _abba^{4}_ for the In Memoriam stanza. | | | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

The only much-used unequal couplet is the combination, nowold-fashioned, of an alexandrine and a septenary, and called, from thenumber of syllables, Poulter's Measure, because, says Gascoigne (1575), "it gives xii. For one dozen and xiii. For another. " Wyatt and Surreyand Sidney wrote in it; the older drama employed it occasionally; ArthurBrooke's Romeus and Juliet (1562) on which Shakespeare's play was based, is in this measure. The following example is by Nicholas Grimald(1519-62). 

 What sweet relief the showers to thirsty plants we see, What dear delight the blooms to bees, my true love is to me! As fresh and lusty Ver foul Winter doth exceed-- As morning bright, with scarlet sky, doth pass the evening's weed-- As mellow pears above the crabs esteemed be-- So doth my love surmount them all, whom yet I hap to see!

It survives chiefly in the S. M. (short measure) of the hymn books andsuch stanzas as that used by Macaulay in his Horatius:

 From Egypt's bondage come, Where death and darkness reign, We seek our new and better home, Where we our rest shall gain. 

 * * * * *

 When the goodman mends his armor, And trims his helmet's plume; When the goodwife's shuttle merrily Goes flashing through the loom; With weeping and with laughter Still is the story told, How well Horatius kept the bridge In the brave old days of old. 

Other unequal couplets are found in Herrick's A Thanskgiving to God forhis House (_a^{4}a^{2}_) and Browning's Love among the Ruins(_a^{6}a^{2}_). 

The equal couplet is used both continuously and, more rarely except withlong lines, as a single stanza. Sometimes two or three couplets arecombined into a larger stanza. The usual forms of the couplet usedcontinuously are the 4-stress or short couplet ("octosyllabic") and the5-stress or heroic couplet ("decasyllabic"). 

 * * * * *

_Short Couplet. _ The short couplet in duple iambic-trochaic movement hasproved its worth by its long history and the variety of its uses. TheEnglish borrowed it from the French octosyllabic verse, and employed itchiefly for long narrative poems. Chaucer used it in his earlier work, the Book of the Duchess, and the House of Fame; Butler in theserio-comic Hudibras; Scott, Byron, Wordsworth, and Morris in theirRomantic narrative verse. For lyric purposes it was used by Shakespeareand other dramatists, by Milton in L'Allegro and Il Penseroso, and sincethen by most of the greater and lesser poets. But its effect, especiallyin long poems, is often monotonous because of the rapid recurrence ofthe rimes, and its powers are somewhat limited. Except under experthandling it is likely to turn into a dog-trot, and it seems sometimes tolack dignity where dignity is required. On the whole it is better forswift movement, for the obvious reason that the line is short: thefrequent repetition of the unit, both line and couplet, produces theeffect of hurry. 

Never has the short couplet revealed its flexibility to better advantagethan in Milton's L'Allegro and Il Penseroso and in Coleridge'sChristabel. In Christabel Coleridge believed he was inventing a newprosodic principle, that of counting the stresses rather than thesyllables;[46] and though he erred with respect to the originality ofhis principle, he succeeded in getting a freer movement than the couplethad had since Chaucer. Some of the roughness of Chaucer's short coupletsis probably due to the imperfections of our texts, and some also to thehaste with which he wrote--it is in this metre that the fatal facilityof certain poets has proved the worst bane--but the Chaucerian coupletstands as a prototype (though not literally a model) of the freer flowof Byron's[47] and Morris's couplets, in contrast to those of Scott andWordsworth, which resemble the stricter, syllable-counting couplets ofChaucer's friend Gower. 

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [46] See above, p. 66, n. 1. | | | | [47] Byron follows now one model, now another. In Parisina | | he consciously tried the metrical scheme of Christabel. | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

The chief drawbacks of the short couplet, besides monotony, are thetendency to diffuseness of language and looseness of grammaticalstructure (as in Chaucer and Scott, for instance), and rime-padding, i. E. , the insertion of phrases and sometimes even irrelevant ideas, forthe sake of the rime. 

The chief sources of variety are substitution, pause, run-on lines, anddivision. The first is very apparent in the much-quoted passage inChristabel:

 The night is chill; the forest bare; Is it the wind that moaneth bleak? There is not wind enough in the air To move away the ringlet curl From the lovely lady's cheek-- There is not wind enough to twirl The one red leaf, the last of its clan, That dances as often as dance it can, Hanging so light, and hanging so high, On the topmost twig that looks up at the sky. 

The pause offers more difficulties for the poet, and more opportunities;since the line is so short, and the rimes reinforce the regular metricalpause at the end of the line, important grammatical pauses cannot welloccur in the middle of the line without danger of breaking the rhythm. The logical pause must, therefore, usually coincide with the metricaland thus emphasize unduly the line unit. Moreover, the quick return ofthe rime sound causes the couplet itself to be felt as a unit andproduces what are called 'closed couplets, ' in which the two linescontain an independent idea. To avoid irksome uniformity in this regardthree devices are customary: to 'run-on' the meaning from one line tothe next, thus momentarily obscuring the metrical pause, to 'run-on' thecouplets themselves, and to divide the couplet so that the second versebelongs to a new sentence or independent clause. 

 And thus, when they appeared at last, And all my bonds aside were cast, These heavy walls to me had grown A heritage--and all my own! And half I felt as they were come 5 To tear me from a second home. With spiders I had friendship made, And watched them in their sullen trade; Had seen the mice by moonlight play-- And why should I feel less than they? 10 We were all inmates of one place, And I, the monarch of each race, Had power to kill; yet, strange to tell! In quiet we had learned to dwell. My very chains and I grew friends, 15 So much a long communion tends To make us what we are:--even I Regained my freedom with a sigh. BYRON, The Prisoner of Chillon. 

In this passage, which is on the whole conservative and stiff inmovement, observe (1) how the pause in the middle of ll. 4, 13, and 17helps to vary the measure; (2) how many of the verses end with a logicalas well as metrical pause; (3) how in ll. 3, 5, 16, and 17 the meaningruns over without pause into the next lines; (4) how the first twocouplets and the last two are run together, whereas the third and fourthare both closed and independent; and (5) how at ll. 9 and 10 thecouplet is divided. This last device is not very frequent in thepractice of any poet except Chaucer; it is well illustrated, however, inthese lines from Shelley's With a Guitar to Jane:

 All this it knows; but will not tell To those that cannot question well The Spirit that inhabits it. It talks according to the wit Of its companions; and no more . .. 

Two other means of varying the swing of the short couplet are to changethe order of the rimes (as in the example above from Christabel) orintroduce a third riming line (that is, to use triplets with thecouplets), and to intermingle shorter lines, as Coleridge doesoccasionally in Christabel, and Byron at the beginning of The Prisonerof Chillon:

 My hair is gray, but not with years, Nor grew it white In a single night, As men's have grown from sudden fears. 

 * * * * *

_Heroic Couplet. _ The 5-stress line, both rimed and unrimed, is the mostflexible and best adapted to all kinds of subjects that Englishversification possesses. Its powers range through the tragedy and comedyof Shakespeare, the dignity of the sonnet, and the grandeur of Milton, to the satire of Pope and the informal conversational verse of Mr. Robert Frost. The 4-stress line is too short, the 6-stress is too long(when it does not split into two equal parts); the 5-stress seems to hitthe golden average. It is less inclined to 'go' by itself, andtherefore is suitable for slow movements; on the other hand, it iseasily divided by pauses and hence is easily relieved of monotony andadjustable to almost all tempos. [48]

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [48] It is no doubt significant that the rhythmic pulses | | which come most naturally to us are in twos and threes and | | their multiples; while even to beat time in fives requires a | | special effort. In music 5/8 or 5/4 time is extremely rare. | | There is an example of the latter in Chopin's Sonata I (the | | larghetto movement). | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

The earliest form, historically, of the 5-stress line in English was inrimed couplets; the first poet to use the rimed couplet continuously (asdistinguished from occasional use in a stanza) was Chaucer. [49] Blankverse is a modification of the couplet by the simple omission of therimes at the end. 

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [49] On the source and origin of the 5-stress couplet in | | English, authorities are in disagreement. See Alden, English | | Verse, pp. 177 ff. , and the references there given. | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

The history of the heroic couplet may be divided into two periods, thatof Chaucer and his followers, Gavin Douglas and Spenser, and thatbeginning with Marlowe, Chapman, and other Elizabethans and continuingdown to the present. This division is peculiar, for it represents adouble curve of development, the one comparatively short, the otherlong. Chaucer's couplet has all the marks of ease and freedom of a fullymatured medium: great variety in the pauses, run-on lines and couplets, and divided couplets. (All the means of securing variety for the shortcouplet, explained above, apply _a fortiori_ to the heroic line. )Douglas, in large part, and Spenser pretty fully, adopted and preservedthis unfettered movement, though the former anticipates here and therethe neat balance of the Popian couplet. Then the measure seems to havebegun all over again, partly on account of an attack ofsyllable-counting, with close formal recognition of the line unit andthe couplet unit, and gradually worked its way back to its originalflexibility. [50]

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [50] Note Professor Woodberry's praise of the heroic couplet | | for its simple music, its suppleness, its power of forcing | | brevity: "the best metrical form which intelligence, as | | distinct from poetical feeling, can employ. " (Makers of | | Literature, p. 104. ) | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

The following characteristic examples illustrate the chief varieties ofthe couplet. (Again, they should be supplemented by the reading oflonger passages. Pope's couplet, in particular, with its perfection ofform according to a few well-marked formulas, reveals its greatweakness, monotony, only in the consecutive reading of several pages. )

 Whan that Aprille with his shoures soote The drought of Marche hath perced to the roote, And bathed every veyne in swich licour, Of which vertue engendred is the flour; Whan Zephyrus eek with his swete breeth Inspired hath in every holt and heeth The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne Hath in the Ram his halfe cours y-ronne, And smale fowles maken melodye, That slepen al the night with open eye, So priketh hem nature in here corages; Than longen folk to gon on pilgrimages, And palmers for to seken straunge strondes, To feme halwes, kouthe in sondry londes; And specially, from every shires ende Of Engelond, to Caunterbury they wende, The holy blisful martir for to seeke, That hem hath holpen whan that they were seeke. CHAUCER, Canterbury Tales, Prologue. 

 The Husbandman was meanly well content Triall to make of his endevourment; And, home him leading, lent to him the charge Of all his flocke, with libertie full large, Giving accompt of th' annuall increce Both of their lambes, and of their woolly fleece. Thus is this Ape become a shepheard swaine, And the false Foxe his dog (God give them paine!) For ere the yeare have halfe his course out-run, And doo returne from whence he first begun, They shall him make an ill accompt of thrift. SPENSER, Mother Hubberd's Tale. 

 And in the midst a silver altar stood: There Hero, sacrificing turtles' blood, Kneel'd to the ground, veiling her eyelids close; And modestly they open'd as she rose: Thence flew Love's arrow with the golden head; And thus Leander was enamoured. Stone-still he stood, and evermore he gaz'd, Till with the fire, that from his countenance blaz'd, Relenting Hero's gentle heart was strook: Such force and virtue hath an amorous look. It lies not in our power to love or hate, For will in us is over-rul'd by fate. MARLOWE, Hero and Leander. 

 But when the far-off isle he touch'd, he went Up from the blue sea to the continent, And reach'd the ample cavern of the Queen, Whom he found within; without seldom seen. A sun-like fire upon the hearth did flame; The matter precious, and divine the frame; Of cedar cleft and incense was the pile, That breathed an odour round about the isle. Herself was seated in an inner room, Whom sweetly sing he heard, and at her loom, About a curious web, whose yarn she threw In with a golden shuttle. A grove grew In endless spring about her cavern round, With odorous cypress, pines, and poplars crown'd. CHAPMAN, Odyssey, V. 

Though Chapman sometimes uses the pause and run-on lines freely, theregularity of the foot makes for a certain stiffness and inflexibility. 

 She, she is gone; she's gone; when thou know'st this, What fragmentary rubbish this world is Thou know'st, and that it is not worth a thought; He honours it too much that thinks it nought. Think then, my soul, that death is but a groom, Which brings a taper to the outward room, Whence thou spiest first a little glimmering light, And after brings it nearer to thy sight; For such approaches doth heaven make in death. DONNE, Anatomy of the World. 

Donne's metres were notoriously careless--or deliberately irregular. They therefore stand somewhat out of place in the general trend ofdevelopment. 

 O how I long my careless limbs to lay Under the plantain's shade, and all the day With amorous airs my fancy entertain; Invoke the Muses, and improve my vein! No passion there in my free breast should move, None but the sweet and best of passions, love! There while I sing, if gentle Love be by, That tunes my lute, and winds the strings so high; With the sweet sound of Sacharissa's name, I'll make the list'ning savages grow tame. WALLER, Battle of the Summer Islands. 

Waller, though his lifetime (1605-87) embraces that of Milton, is thenatural precursor of the eighteenth century. His couplets are almost allcharacteristic of eighteenth-century couplets, which seem to seekperfection within themselves. The aim of Waller, Dryden, Pope, andJohnson was primarily to exalt the couplet and extract from it all itspotentialities, not to obscure it by varied pauses and run-on lines. Waller was praised by the best critics of his own and the followinggeneration for the great 'sweetness' and smoothness of his verse. 

 Of these the false Achitophel was first; A name to all succeeding ages curst: For close designs and crooked counsels fit; Sagacious, bold, and turbulent of wit; Restless, unfix'd in principles and place; In pow'r unpleas'd, impatient of disgrace: A fiery soul which, working out its way, Fretted the pigmy body to decay, And o'er-informed the tenement of clay. DRYDEN, Absalom and Achitophel, Part I. 

 All human things are subject to decay, And, when Fate summons, monarchs must obey. This Flecknoe found, who, like Augustus, young Was call'd to empire and had govern'd long; In prose and verse was own'd, without dispute, Through all the realms of Nonsense absolute. This aged prince, now flourishing in peace And blest with issue of a large increase, Worn out with business, did at length debate To settle the succession of the State. DRYDEN, MacFlecknoe. 

It is interesting, from a metrical point of view, to compare Chaucer'scouplets with Dryden's where he is translating Chaucer, e. G. , in theKnight's Tale and Palamon and Arcite. 

Between 1664 and 1678 it became the fashion, partly as a reactionagainst the liberties of the late Elizabethan blank verse, and partlyunder French influence, to write drama in heroic couplets. But theundertaking soon proved abortive. 

 Others for Language all their care express, And value books, as women men, for dress; Their praise is still, --the style is excellent; The sense, they humbly take upon content. Words are like leaves; and where they most abound, Much fruit of sense beneath is rarely found: False eloquence, like the prismatic glass, Its gaudy colours spreads on ev'ry place; The face of nature we no more survey, All glares alike, without distinction gay: But true expression, like th' unchanging sun, Clears and improves whate'er it shines upon; It gilds all objects, but it alters none. POPE, Essay on Criticism. 

 Meantime the Grecians in a ring beheld The coursers bounding o'er the dusty field. The first who marked them was the Cretan king; High on a rising ground, above the ring, The monarch sat: from whence with sure survey He well observ'd the chief who led the way, And heard from far his animating cries, And saw the foremost steed with sharpen'd eyes. POPE, Iliad, XXIII. 

Pope's couplets represent the acme of polish and metrical dexterity--aperfect instrument for wit and satire. [51] Thus in the mock-heroic Rapeof the Lock these well-modeled couplets prove their mettle, but in thetranslation of Homer their fatal limitations are easily apparent. 

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [51] See Pope's own analysis of his system of verse in a | | letter to Cromwell, November 25, 1710. | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

 Sweet Auburn! loveliest village of the plain, Where health and plenty cheered the labouring swain, Where smiling spring its earliest visit paid, And parting summer's lingering blooms delayed: Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease, Seats of my youth, when every sport could please, How often have I loiter'd o'er thy green, Where humble happiness endear'd each scene! How often have I paus'd on every charm, The shelter'd cot, the cultivated farm, The never-failing brook, the busy mill, The decent church that topt the neighboring hill, The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade, For talking age and whispering lovers made. .. . 

 Ill fares the land to hastening ills a prey, Where wealth accumulates, and men decay: Princes and lords may flourish, or may fade; A breath can make them, as a breath has made: But a bold peasantry, a country's pride, When once destroy'd, can never be supplied. GOLDSMITH, The Deserted Village. 

The departure from the petrified couplet was gradual and natural, andinfluenced greatly by the simpler language and content of the verses. These two specimens show Goldsmith writing in two manners, only a fewlines apart. Still freer are Cowper's couplets in his On the Receipt ofMy Mother's Picture. Byron in English Bards and Scotch Reviewers (1809)and Crabbe in his earlier work, still practised the eighteenth-centurycouplet (in the Tales of the Hall, 1819, Crabbe varied it to aconsiderable degree), but the new spirit of the Romantic Movementleavened all the metrical forms, as it did the themes, of poetry. Compare the following examples. 

 One hope within two wills, one will beneath Two overshadowing minds, one life, one death, One heaven, one hell, one immortality, And one annihilation. Woe is me! The winged words on which my soul would pierce Into the height of Love's rare universe Are chains of lead around its flight of fire-- I pant, I sink, I tremble, I expire! SHELLEY, Epipsychidion. 

 I rode one evening with Count Maddalo Upon the bank of land which breaks the flow Of Adria towards Venice: a bare strand Of hillocks, heaped from ever-shifting sand, Matted with thistles and amphibious weeds Such as from earth's embrace the salt ooze breeds, Is this; an uninhabited sea-side, Which the lone fisher, when his nets are dried, Abandons. .. . SHELLEY, Julian and Maddalo. 

 'Twas far too strange and wonderful for sadness; Sharpening, by degrees, his appetite To dive into the deepest. Dark, nor light, The region; nor bright, nor sombre wholly, But mingled up; a gleaming melancholy; A dusky empire and its diadems; One faint eternal eventide of gems. Aye, millions sparkled on a vein of gold, Along whose track the prince quick footsteps told, With all its lines abrupt and angular. KEATS, Endymion, II. 

 Ay, happiness Awaited me; the way life should be used Was to acquire, and deeds like you conduced To teach it by a self-revealment, deemed Life's very use, so long! Whatever seemed Progress to that, was pleasure; aught that stayed My reaching it--no pleasure. I have laid The ladder down; I climb not; still, aloft The platform stretches! Blisses strong and soft, I dared not entertain, elude me; yet Never of what they promised could I get A glimpse till now! BROWNING, Sordello, III. 

 She thanked men, --good! but thanked Somehow--I know not how--as if she ranked My gift of a nine-hundred-years-old name With anybody's gift. Who'd stoop to blame This sort of trifling? Even had you skill In speech--(which I have not)--to make your will Quite clear to such an one, and say . .. BROWNING, My Last Duchess. 

 It hath been seen and yet it shall be seen That out of tender mouths God's praise hath been Made perfect, and with wood and simple string He hath played music sweet as shawm-playing To please himself with softness of all sound; And no small thing but hath been sometime found Full sweet of use, and no such humbleness But God hath bruised withal the sentences And evidence of wise men witnessing; No leaf that is so soft a hidden thing It never shall get sight of the great sun; The strength of ten has been the strength of one, And lowliness has waxed imperious. SWINBURNE, St. Dorothy. 

_Three-Line Stanza_

Stanzas of three lines riming _aaa_ (called tercets or triplets) are notvery common. Familiar, however, is Herrick's Upon Julia's Clothes:

 Whenas in silks my Julia goes, Then, then, methinks, how sweetly flows That liquifaction of her clothes!

 Next, when I cast mine eyes, and see That brave vibration each way free; O how that glittering taketh me!

Other examples are: Threnos (in The Phœnix and the Turtle), Herbert'sTrinity Sunday, Quarles' Shortness of Life, Browning's A Toccata ofGaluppi's, Tennyson's The Two Voices, Swinburne's After a Reading, andClear the Way; and (with a simple refrain) Cowper's To Mary:

 The twentieth year is well-nigh past, Since first our sky was overcast; Ah, would that this might be the last! My Mary!

Crashaw's Wishes to his Supposed Mistress rimes _a^{2}a^{3}a^{4}_. 

Tennyson's 'O Swallow, Swallow' in The Princess is in unrimed triplets. 

On the terza rima see below, page 164. 

_Four-Line Stanza: Quatrain_

The most important quatrains are the ballad stanza, riming_a^{4}b^{3}c^{4}b^{3}_ or _a^{4}b^{3}a^{4}b^{3}_ (the Common Measure ofthe hymnals), with the related Long Measure riming _abab^{4}_ or_abcb^{4}_; the In Memoriam stanza _abba^{4}_; and the elegiac quatrain_abab^{5}_. These are often combined into 8-and 12-line stanzas, as_abab bcbc^{5}_ (called the Monk's Tale stanza), _abab cdcd_, etc. , sometimes with alternating long and short lines. And these, as well aslonger stanzas, are frequently varied by the use of repetitions andrefrains. [52]

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [52] For complete lists and examples of all the various | | stanzaic forms, the larger works of Alden and Schipper | | should be consulted. | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

The ballad stanza, with its frequent variations of internal rimeand additional verses is excellently illustrated by Coleridge'sAncient Mariner. Similar is Tennyson's Sir Galahad, a 12-line stanzaof three quatrains, _a^{4}b^{3}a^{4}b^{3}cdc^{4}d^{3}efgf^{4}_. Anothercommon variation is that of Hood's The Dream of Eugene Aram, Wilde'sBallad of Reading Gaol, and Rossetti's Blessed Damozel, _a^{4}b^{3}c^{4}b^{3}d^{4}b^{3}_. The musical roughness of the oldballads should be contrasted with the regularized modern imitations, such as Longfellow's Wreck of the Hesperus. Better imitations areRossetti's Stratton Water and The King's Tragedy, Robert Buchanan'sJudas Iscariot, and W. B. Yeats's Father Gilligan. Sometimes a shorterquatrain is printed as a long couplet and combined into larger stanzas, as in Mr. Alfred Noyes's The Highwayman (which has an additionalvariation in the inserted fourth and fifth lines):

 The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees, The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas, The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor, And the highwayman came riding-- Riding--riding-- The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn door. 

The variations in Tennyson's The Revenge should be carefully studied. 

The ballad stanza is closely similar to the _abab^{4}_ and _abcb^{4}_quatrains, and (as in the Sir Galahad mentioned just above) the two aresometimes united. All three were much used by Wordsworth and many minorpoets for lyrics as well as narratives; the result is often anundignified tinkle that takes the popular ear and "makes the judiciousgrieve. " The stanzaic unit is so easily carried in one's mind and sorapidly repeats itself, that there is little opportunity for thenecessary pleasing surprises. But that the measure is capable of asimple expressive music is evident from such examples as Wordsworth's'Lucy' poems. These stanzas, both alone and doubled (as in To Mary inHeaven), were favorites with Burns. 

A striking musical effect was obtained by Swinburne in Dolores byshortening the last line of a double quatrain:

 Cold eyelids that hide like a jewel Hard eyes that grow soft for an hour; The heavy white limbs, and the cruel Red mouth like a venomous flower; When these are gone by with their glories, What shall rest of thee then, what remain, O mystic and sombre Dolores, Our Lady of Pain. 

Similar interesting variations are Coleridge's Love, _aba^{4}b^{3}_ andWordsworth's The Solitary Reaper. 

The In Memoriam stanza (_abba^{4})_ is named after Tennyson's poem(though that was by no means its first use), because Tennyson gave it apeculiar melody, and, partly for this reason and partly from the lengthand subject of the poem, almost preëmpted it for elegiac purposes. [53]Characteristic stanzas metrically are these:

 Calm and deep peace in this wide air, These leaves that redden to the fall; And in my heart, if calm at all, If any calm, a calm despair. 

 And all we met was fair and good, And all was good that Time could bring, And all the secret of the Spring Moved in the chambers of the blood. 

 Now fades the last long streak of snow, Now burgeons every maze of quick About the flowering squares, and thick By ashen roots the violets blow. 

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [53] On its origin and the twenty-five poems in it by | | seventeen different poets, from Ben Jonson to Clough and | | Rossetti, before the publication of In Memoriam, see E. P. | | Morton in Modern Language Notes, 24 (1909), pp. 67 ff. | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

One of the peculiarities of the stanza is the increased emphasis whichthe rime of the third verse receives from its proximity to that of thesecond; and this is noticeable both when there is a logical pause afterthe third verse and when there is none:

 'Thou makest thine appeal to me: I bring to life, I bring to death: The spirit does but mean the breath: I know no more. ' And he, shall he. .. . 

 I sometimes hold it half a sin To put in words the grief I feel; For words, like Nature, half reveal And half conceal the Soul within. 

Run-on stanzas are very frequent; especially remarkable is the periodicmovement of the four stanzas of LXXXVI, leading up to the last line--

 A hundred spirits whisper 'Peace. '

"By the rhyme-scheme of the quatrain, " says Corson, "the terminalrhyme-emphasis of the stanza is reduced, the second and third versesbeing the most closely braced by the rhyme. The stanza is thus admirablyadapted to the sweet continuity of flow, free from abrupt checks, demanded by the spiritualized sorrow which it bears along. Alternaterhyme would have wrought an entire change in the tone of the poem. To beassured of this, one should read, aloud, of course, all the stanzaswhose first and second, or third and fourth, verses admit of beingtransposed without affecting the sense. By such transposition, therhymes are made alternate, and the concluding rhymes more emphatic. There are as many as ninety-one such stanzas. .. . The poem could not havelaid hold of so many hearts as it has, had the rhymes been alternate, even if the thought-element had been the same. "[54] Examples for thisexperiment are:

 To-night the winds begin to rise And roar from yonder dropping day: The last read leaf is rolled away, The rooks are blown about the skies. XV, 1. 

 I hold it true, whate'er befall; I feel it when I sorrow most; 'Tis better to have loved and lost Than never to have loved at all. XXVII, 4. 

Compare the slightly different effect of the same stanza printed as twolines, in Wilde's The Sphinx:

 The river-horses in the slime trumpeted when they saw him come Odorous with Syrian galbanum and smeared with spikenard and with thyme. He came along the river bank like some tall galley argent-sailed, He strode across the waters, mailed in beauty, and the waters sank. 

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [54] H. Corson, Primer of English Verse, pp. 70 f. | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

The name 'elegiac stanza' for the _abab^{5}_ quatrain comes apparentlyfrom its appropriate use by Gray in the Elegy Written in a CountryChurchyard, but it is not altogether fitting; for it is simply thequatrain movement of the English sonnet, where no lament is intended, and it was employed effectively by Dryden in his Annus Mirabilis, andhas been often employed since, without elegiac feeling. For examplessee the stanza from Gray, page 55, and the sonnets on pages 129 f. Anespecially interesting modification is that of Tennyson's Palace of Art, _a^{5}b^{4}a^{5}b^{3}_. 

_Five-Line Stanza_

Five-line stanzas are formed in various ways, e. G. , _aaaba_, _aabba_, _aabab_, _abbba_, _ababa_, _ababb_, etc. , in lines of three, four, five, etc. , stresses. 

_Six-Line Stanza_

Six-line stanzas are formed by similar combinations; the most frequentis the quatrain + couplet, called, from Shakespeare's poem, the Venusand Adonis stanza, _ababcc^{5}_ (compare the end of the English sonnetand the ottava rima). [55] Familiar examples are Wordsworth's To aSkylark and his fine Laodamia. 

 Since them art dead, lo! here I prophesy: Sorrow on love hereafter shall attend: It shall be waited on with jealousy, Find sweet beginning, but unsavoury end; Ne'er settled equally, but high or low; That all love's pleasure shall not match his woe. Venus and Adonis. 

The same rimes with 4-stress verses are also common, [56] for example, Wordsworth's

 I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host, of golden daffodils; Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. 

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [55] Early examples may be conveniently found in the Oxford | | Book of English Verse, Nos. 75, 96, 102, 108, 172. | | | | [56] For early examples see again the Oxford Book of English | | Verse, Nos. 74, 140, 182, 184, 187. | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

Another important 6-line stanza is the tail-rime or _rime couée_, astanza much used in the Middle English romances and chosen by Chaucerfor his parody, Sir Thopas. Harry Bailey, mine host of the Canterburypilgrims, called it 'doggerel rime. ' The simple and probably normal formis _aa^{4}b^{3}cc^{4}b^{3}_ or _aa^{4}b^{3}aa^{4}b^{3}_, which to savespace in the manuscripts was written thus:

 Listeth, lordes, in good entent, Of mirthe and of solas; And I wol telle verrayment Al of a knyght was fair and gent His name was sir Thopas. In bataille and in tourneyment, Variations are extremely common: the _aaa^{4}b^{2}ccc^{4}b^{2}_of Wordsworth's To the Daisy, _aaaa^{4}b^{2}ccc^{4}b^{3}_ ofTennyson's Lady of Shalott, _aa^{3}b^{2}ccc^{3}b^{2}_ of S. F. Smith'sAmerica, _aaa^{3}b^{2}ccc^{3}b^{2}_ of Drayton's Agincourt, and theso-called Burns stanza, in which Burns wrote some fifty poems, _aaa^{4}b^{2}a^{4}b^{2}_, e. G. , To a Mouse and Address to the Deil. 

_Seven-Line Stanza_

The most important 7-line stanza is the _rime royale_ or Chaucer (orTroilus) stanza, _ababbcc^{5}_. In the Parlement of Foules, the Man ofLaw's Tale, and Troilus and Criseyde, Chaucer made it a splendid vehicleboth for narrative and for reflective analysis, for humor, satire, description, and all the gamut of emotions; in the fifteenth andsixteenth centuries James I, Lydgate and Hoccleve, Henryson and Dunbar, and Skelton, Hawes and Barclay employed it, largely in imitation ofChaucer; Wyatt used it in his Vixi Puellis Nuper Idoneus; andShakespeare in The Rape of Lucrece. Since then it has not provedattractive to the poets--though no reason for its disuse isobvious--except Wordsworth (in his translations of Chaucer) and Morris, Chaucer's latest disciple. 

 And by the hond ful oft he wolde take This Pandarus, and into gardyn lede, And swich a feste, and swiche a proces make Hym of Criseyde, and of hire wommanhede, And of hire beaute, that, withouten drede, It was an heven his wordes for to here, And thanne he wolde synge in this manere. Troilus and Criseyde, Bk. III. 

 So she, deep-drenched in a sea of care, Holds disputation with each thing she views, And to herself all sorrow doth compare; No object but her passion's strength renews; And as one shifts, another straight ensues: Sometime her grief is dumb and hath no words; Sometime 'tis mad and too much talk affords. Rape of Lucrece. 

 Dreamer of dreams, born out of my due time, Why should I strive to set the crooked straight? Let it suffice me that my murmuring rhyme Beats with light wing against the ivory gate, Telling a tale not too importunate To those who in the sleepy region stay, Lulled by the singer of an empty day. MORRIS, Earthly Paradise. 

In comparison with the formality of Shakespeare's and the evenness ofMorris's, the ease and smoothness of Chaucer's stanza are striking. Wyatt's stanzas are musical in their way. 

_Eight-Line Stanza_

Eight-line stanzas are variously formed--chiefly by the doubling ofquatrains, sometimes with different rimes, as _ababcdcd_, sometimespreserving one or another or both rimes, as _ababbcbc_, _abcbdbeb_, _ababacac_, _abababab_, etc. Other varieties are _abcdabcd_ (Rossetti)and _aaabcccb_ (tail-rime), and _aabbccdd_. 

One of the commonest 8-line stanzas is that imported from Italy andcalled _ottava rima_, _abababcc_. It has been charged with tediousness, and tedious it may become if not sedulously varied. It was introduced, along with so much else from Italy, by Wyatt, and was then employed fordifferent purposes by Sidney, Spenser, Daniel, and others. [57] At theclose of the eighteenth century it enjoyed a rebirth. "It had alreadybeen used by Harrington, Drayton, Fairfax (in his translation of Tasso'sJerusalem Delivered), and . .. In later times by Gay; and it had evenbeen used by Frere's contemporary, William Tennant; but to Frere belongsthe honour of giving it the special characteristics which Byronafterwards popularized in Beppo and Don Juan. .. . Byron, taking up thestanza with equal skill and greater genius, filled it with the vigour ofhis personality, and made it a measure of his own, which it has eversince been hazardous for inferior poets to attempt. "[58] Byron had firstadopted the stanza in his translation of Pulci's Morgante Maggiore, which is itself in _ottava rime_. Beppo was written in 1817, and DonJuan begun in the next year. In 1819 the first four cantos of Don Juanwere published; in 1820 Keats published his Isabella, and Shelley wrotehis Witch of Atlas, both in the same metre. 

 Those giant mountains inwardly were moved, But never made an outward change of place; Not so the mountain-giants--(as behoved A more alert and locomotive race), Hearing a clatter which they disapproved, They ran straight forward to besiege the place With a discordant universal yell, Like house-dogs howling at a dinner-bell. J. H. FRERE, The Monks and the Giants. 

 To the kind of reader of our sober clime This way of writing will appear exotic; Pulci was sire of the half-serious rhyme, Who sang when chivalry was more Quixotic, And revell'd in the fancies of the time, True knights, chaste dames, huge giants, kings despotic, But all these, save the last, being obsolete, I chose a modern subject as more meet. BYRON, Don Juan, IV, vi. 

 A lovely Lady garmented in light From her own beauty: deep her eyes as are Two openings of unfathomable night Seen through a temple's cloven roof; her hair Dark; the dim brain whirls dizzy with delight, Picturing her form. Her soft smiles shone afar; And her low voice was heard like love, and drew All living things towards this wonder new. SHELLEY, The Witch of Atlas. 

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [57] There are two _ottava rime_ in Lycidas, one at the | | close of the Blind Mouths passage and one at the end of the | | poem. | | | | [58] A. Dobson, in Ward's English Poets, vol. Iv, p. 240. | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

_Nine-Line Stanza_

By far the most important of 9-line stanzas, and one of the finest ofall stanzas in English poetry, is the _ababbcbc^{5}c^{6}_ invented bySpenser--a double quatrain of 5-stress lines plus an alexandrine. Thisparticular octave had been used by Chaucer in the Canterbury Tales, andis sometimes referred to as the Monk's Tale stanza: the stroke ofmetrical genius lay in adding the 'supplementary harmony' of thealexandrine, by which the whole stanza climbs to a majestic close orebbs in a delightful decrescendo as the poet wills. [59] The long swingof nine verses on three rimes, with the combined effect of theinterwoven rimes (_abab_ and _bcbc_) united by the couplet in themiddle, culminating in the unequal couplet at the close, theextraordinary opportunity of balancing and contrasting the rime sounds, and of almost infinitely varying the pauses--all these render theSpenserian stanza incomparable for nearly every sort of poeticexpression. 

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [59] On the Spenserian stanza see especially Corson, pp. 87 | | ff. Lowell's characterization of Spenser's use of it is | | interesting: "In the alexandrine, the melody of one stanza | | seems forever longing and feeling forward after that which | | is to follow. .. . In all this there is soothingness, indeed, | | but no slumberous monotony; for Spenser was no mere metrist, | | but a great composer. By the variety of his pauses--now at | | the close of the first or second foot, now of the third, and | | again of the fourth--he gives spirit and energy to a measure | | whose tendency it certainly is to become languorous" (Essay | | on Spenser). See also Mackail's chapter on Spenser in | | Springs of Helicon; and Shelley's praise in his Preface to | | the Revolt of Islam: "I have adopted the stanza of Spenser | | (a measure inexpressibly beautiful), not because I consider | | it a finer model of poetical harmony than the blank verse of | | Shakespeare and Milton, but because in the latter there is | | no shelter for mediocrity; you must either succeed or fail. | | This perhaps an aspiring spirit should desire. But I was | | enticed also by the brilliancy and magnificence of sound | | which a mind that has been nourished upon musical thoughts | | can produce by a just and harmonious arrangement of the | | pauses of this measure. " | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

After the Faerie Queene, the chief poems in this metre are: Shenstone'sThe Schoolmistress (1742), Thomson's The Castle of Indolence (1748), Burns's The Cotter's Saturday Night (1786), Scott's Don Roderick(1811), Byron's Childe Harold's Pilgrimage (1818 et seq. ), Shelley'sLaon and Cythna (The Revolt of Islam) (1817, 1818), and Adonais (1821), Keats's Eve of St. Agnes (1820), and the opening of Tennyson's LotosEaters (1833). 

From the following examples only a limited conception can be gained ofthe stanza's varied capabilities. Long passages should be readtogether--and read, for this purpose, with more attention to the soundthan to the meaning--in order that the peculiarities of handling of thedifferent poets may be felt. 

 A gentle Knight was pricking on the plaine, Ycladd in mightie armes and silver shielde, Wherein old dints of deepe woundes did remaine, The cruell marks of many a bloody fielde; Yet armes till that time did he never wield. His angry steede did chide his foming bitt, As much disdayning to the curbe to yield: Full jolly knight he seemd, and faire did sitt, As one for knightly giusts and fierce encounters fitt. Faerie Queen, I, i, 1. 

 With loftie eyes, halfe loth to looke so lowe, She thancked them in her disdainefull wise; Ne other grace vouchsafed them to showe Of Princesse worthy; scarse them bad arise. Her Lordes and Ladies all this while devise Themselves to setten forth to straungers sight: Some frounce their curled heare in courtly guise; Some prancke their ruffes; and others trimly dight Their gay attyre; each others greater pride does spight. Ibid. , I, iv, 14. 

 The whiles some one did chaunt this lovely lay: Ah! see, whoso fayre thing doest faine to see, In springing flowre the image of thy day. Ah! see the Virgin Rose, how sweetly shee Doth first peepe foorth with bashfull modestee, That fairer seemes the lesse ye see her may. Lo! see soone after how more bold and free Her bared bosome she doth broad display; Lo! see soone after how she fades and falls away. Faerie Queen, II, xii, 74. 

 Or like the hell-borne Hydra, which they faine That great Alcides whilome overthrew, After that he had labourd long in vaine To crop his thousand heads, the which still new Forth budded, and in greater number grew. Such was the fury of this hellish Beast, Whitest Calidore him under him downe threw; Who nathemore his heavy load releast, But aye, the more he rag'd, the more his powre increast. Ibid. , VI, xii, 32. 

 O ruthful scene! when from a nook obscure His little sister did his peril see: All playful as she sate, she grows demure; She finds full soon her wonted spirits free, She meditates a prayer to set him free: Nor gentle pardon could this dame deny (If gentle pardons could with dames agree) To her sad grief that swells in either eye And wrings her so that all for pity she could die. SHENSTONE, The Schoolmistress. 

 And hither Morpheus sent his kindest dreams, Raising a world of gayer tinct and grace; O'er which were shadowy cast Elysian gleams, That played, in waving lights, from place to place, And shed a roseate smile on nature's face. Not Titian's pencil e'er could so array, So fleece with clouds the pure ethereal space; Ne could it e'er such melting forms display, As loose on flowery beds all languishingly lay. JAMES THOMSON, The Castle of Indolence, I, xliv. 

 The chearfu' supper done, wi' serious face, They, round the ingle, form a circle wide; The sire turns o'er, wi' patriarchal grace, The big ha'-Bible, ance his father's pride: His bonnet rev'rently is laid aside, His lyart haffets wearing thin an' bare; Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide, He wales a portion with judicious care; And 'Let us worship God!' he says, with solemn air. BURNS, Cotter's Saturday Night. 

 Now, where the swift Rhone cleaves his way between Heights which appear as lovers who have parted In hate, whose mining depths so intervene, That they can meet no more, though broken-hearted; Though in their souls, which thus each other thwarted, Love was the very root of the fond rage Which blighted their life's bloom, and then departed: Itself expired, but leaving them an age Of years all winters, --war within themselves to wage. BYRON, Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, III, xciv. 

(Childe Harold begins with many deliberate imitations of Spenser'slanguage and style, but soon neglects them. Here perhaps more than inany other metre the tone and subject of the poem determine the movementof the stanza. The above is but one example of Byron's great variety. )

 The One remains, the many change and pass; Heaven's light forever shines, earth's shadows fly; Life, like a dome of many-colored glass, Stains the white radiance of eternity, Until Death tramples it to fragments. --Die, If thou wouldst be with them that thou dost seek! Follow where all is fled!--Rome's azure sky, Flowers, ruins, statues, music, words, are weak The glory they transfuse with fitting truth to speak. SHELLEY, Adonais, lii. 

 The ancient Beadsman heard the prelude soft; And so it chanced, for many a door was wide, From hurry to and fro. Soon, up aloft, The silver, snarling trumpets 'gan to chide: The level chambers, ready with their pride, Were flowing to receive a thousand guests: The carvéd angels, ever eager-eyed, Stared, where upon their head the cornice rests, With hair blown back, and wings put cross-wise on their breasts. KEATS, Eve of St. Agnes, iv. 

During the earlier half of the seventeenth century a small group ofpoets, imitating Spenser both in substance and in external manner, introduced a number of stanzas, some of them not to be admired, whosechief characteristic is the alexandrine for a last line--e. G. , _abababcc^{5}c^{6}_, _ababcc^{5}c^{6}_, _ababbcc^{5}c^{6}_, and_ababbc^{5}c^{6}_ (which last is that of Milton's On the Death of aFair Infant, The Passion, and the introduction to On the Morning ofChrist's Nativity). Another modification is that of Milton's Odeitself, _aa^{3}b^{5}cc^{3}b^{5}d^{4}d^{6}_. Matthew Prior attempted toimprove the Spenserian stanza in his Ode on the Battle of Ramilliesby a rime scheme (suggested perhaps by the English sonnet)_ababcdcde^{5}e^{6}_--of which Dr. Johnson says: "He has altered thestanza of Spenser, as a house is altered by building another house inits place of a different form. " Still farther from the Spenserianoriginal, but probably a development from it, is Shelley's To a Skylark_abab^{3}b^{6}_ (mainly in falling rhythm); and an extension of thislast is Swinburne's Hertha (see above, page 81) _abab^{2}b^{6}_ intriple rising rhythm. 

_Fourteen-Line Stanza: Sonnet_

 A sonnet is a moment's monument, -- Memorial from the Soul's eternity To one dead deathless hour. Look that it be, Whether for lustral rite or dire portent, Of its own arduous fulness reverent: Carve it in ivory or in ebony, As Day or Night may rule, and let Time see Its flowering crest impearled and orient. A sonnet is a coin: its face reveals The soul, --its converse, to what Power 'tis due:-- Whether for tribute to the august appeals Of Life, or dower in Love's high retinue, It serve; or, 'mid the dark wharf's cavernous breath, In Charon's palm it pay the toll to Death. DANTE GABRIEL ROSETTI. 

 The sonnet is a world, where feelings caught In webs of phantasy, combine and fuse Their kindred elements 'neath mystic dews Shed from the ether round man's dwelling wrought; Distilling heart's content, star-fragrance fraught With influences from breathing fires Of heaven in everlasting endless gyres Enfolding and encircling orbs of thought. JOHN ADDINGTON SYMONDS. 

 A sonnet is a wave of melody: From heaving waters of the impassioned soul A billow of tidal music one and whole Flows, in the "octave"; then, returning free, Its ebbing surges in the "sestet" roll Back to the deeps of Life's tumultuous sea. THEODORE WATTS-DUNTON. 

 It is the pure white diamond Dante brought To Beatrice; the sapphire Laura wore When Petrarch cut it sparkling out of thought; The ruby Shakespeare hewed from his heart's core; The dark, deep emerald that Rossetti wrought For his own soul, to wear for evermore. EUGENE LEE-HAMILTON. [60]

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [60] See also the collection of Sonnets on the Sonnet, | | edited by M. Russell, London and New York, 1898. | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

The only English stanza that can be said to rival the Spenserian inartistic merit is the sonnet: but the two are for very differentpurposes, the one being nearly always used in long, clearly connectedseries, generally narrative, the other nearly always as an independentpoem. Even when sonnets are written in 'sequences, ' the relation of theindividual sonnets to each other is rarely very close; the unity of thewhole sequence (as in Rossetti's House of Life, for example, or Mrs. Browning's Sonnets from the Portuguese) is one merely of general toneand subject. Some of Shakespeare's sonnets are bound together by anintimate unity like stanzas of one poem; others are completely detached. Occasionally a poem is composed of three or four sonnet-stanzas, asLeigh Hunt's The Fish, the Man, and the Spirit, but even then eachsonnet remains an independent whole. 

The word 'sonnet, ' borrowed with the metrical form from Italy in thelate sixteenth century, [61] was at first used loosely for almost anyshort poem on love not obviously a 'song'; but soon the term becamerestricted to a poem of fourteen 5-stress iambic lines arrangedaccording to one of two definite rime schemes or their modifications. These two rime schemes are the original Italian _abba abba cde cde_ andthe English _abab cdcd efef gg_. 

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [61] On the origin of the sonnet in Italy (Sicily) see the | | references in Alden's English Verse, p. 267. Still a | | standard work is C. Tomlinson's The Sonnet, London, 1874. | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

 * * * * *

_Italian Sonnet. _ The organization of the subject matter of an Italiansonnet is (at least theoretically) as fixed as that of the rimes. Thewhole should aim to convey without irrelevant detail a single thought orfeeling. The first quatrain, _abba_, should introduce the subject; thesecond, _abba_, should develop it to a certain point, at which a pauseoccurs; such is the octave. The sestet continues in the first tercet, _cde_, the thought or feeling in a new direction or from a new point ofview, and in the second, _cde_, brings it to a full conclusion. [62] Therime sounds of the octave and those of the sestet should be harmoniousbut not closely similar. 

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [62] Elaborate rules for the sonnet are given by William | | Sharp in the introduction to his Sonnets of the Century, and | | by Mark Pattison in the introduction to his edition of | | Milton's sonnets. There is valuable matter in the | | Introduction of J. S. Smart's The Sonnets of Milton, | | Glasgow, 1921. Compare also the 'divisioni' of Dante's | | sonnets in the Vita Nuova. | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

It stands to reason that very few poets have enslaved themselves to suchan imperious master without assuming certain liberties. Very few sonnetsof any poetic value can be found conforming strictly to all theserequirements. But the general purport of the formal division may be seenin Christina Rossetti's poignant "Remember"--

 Remember me when I am gone away, Gone far away into the silent land; When you no more can hold me by the hand, Nor I half turn to go, yet turning stay. 

 Remember me when no more day by day You tell me of our future that you plann'd: Only remember me; you understand It will be late to counsel then or pray. 

 Yet if you should forget me for a while And afterwards remember, do not grieve: For if the darkness and corruption leave

 A vestige of the thoughts that once I had, Better by far you should forget and smile Than that you should remember and be sad. 

The first quatrain says: Remember me when I am gone and we can no longermeet and part as in life. The second quatrain adds: when we can nolonger enjoy the companionship of mind, planning what might have been. The sestet continues: Nevertheless, do not let the memory of me become aburden, especially if you ever learn what was in my living thoughts. 

Most sonnet writers, while regarding the form as in the abstractsomething almost sacred, have felt free to mould it in some measure tothe immediate demands of their subject--not all, however, with the samesuccess. [63] For the sonnet demands perfection, a single flaw almostcripples it; and few have the absolute command of language necessary toforge a single idea without irrelevance and without omission accordingto so strict a pattern. Those who are too subservient to the form weakentheir poetic thought; those who, like Wordsworth often, are inobedientto the form, produce a poem which is imperfect because it is neither asonnet nor not a sonnet. Few have come as near the true balance asMilton at his best. "A hundred Poets, " says Sir William Watson, A hundred Poets bend proud necks to bear This yoke, this bondage. He alone could don His badges of subjection with the air Of one who puts a king's regalia on. 

And yet Milton, while preserving the rime scheme, generally disregardsthe thought divisions, and in half of his sonnets has the pause, notafter the eighth line but within the ninth. Commenting on this divisionWordsworth says: "Now it has struck me, that this is not done merely togratify the ear by variety and freedom of sound, but also to aid ingiving that pervading sense of intense unity in which the excellence ofthe sonnet has always seemed to me mainly to consist. Instead of lookingat this composition as a piece of architecture, making a whole out ofthree parts, I have been much in the habit of preferring the image of anorbicular body--a sphere or dew-drop. "

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [63] "In the production of a sonnet of triumphant success, | | heart, head, and hand must be right. " Corson, p. 145. | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

Such a close unity can easily be obtained from the Italian sonnet, ashundreds of examples prove, --Milton's On his Blindness is a strikingcase, with no full stop until the end of the fourteenth line, --but evenbetter for this object is the rime scheme invented by Spenser and usedin a hundred and twenty-one sonnets: _ababbcbccdcdee_. The Spenseriansonnet, however, has found no favor with later poets. 

Certain variations in the Italian form are regularly admitted aslegitimate. The quatrains must always rime _abba_, but the sestet mayrime _cdecde_ or _cdcdcd_ or _cdedce_ or _cdedec_, or almost anyarrangement of two or three rimes which does not end in a couplet. Andeven this last caveat is sometimes disregarded by careful sonneteers. Agreater liberty is to vary the rimes of the octave to _abbaacca_. Thedivision of the sestet into two distinct tercets is very rarelymaintained; and that of the octave into quatrains is frequentlyneglected with impunity. Thus the poet adjusts his theme to the strictrules of the sonnet much as he adjusts the natural rhythm of language tothe strict forms of metre; the one inescapable requisite being that inneither may he lose hold of the fundamental pattern. But there is thisdifference, that the sonnet form is extraordinarily firm, and breaks ifforced very far from normal. _How_ far one may go can be determined onlyin special cases, for "the mighty masters are a law unto themselves, andthe validity of their legislation will be attested and held against allcomers by the splendour of an unchallengeable success" (Pattison). 

The early Italian sonnets in English, those of Wyatt, Surrey, andSidney, are very irregular: Sidney's nearly always end in a couplet andrime the octave _abbaabba_ or _abababab_ or _ababbaba_. Sometimes heuses such a scheme as _ababbababccbcc_. Wyatt has one rimed_abbaaccacddcee_, and Surrey one _ababababababaa_. 

Donne's Holy Sonnets (written about 1617, though not printed till 1633, 1635) were regular in form, and were practically the first Englishsonnets not concerned with love. Milton followed this tradition, andexpanded it to further themes--his only successful poems in lighter moodare sonnets--occasional and political subjects--

 . .. In his hand The thing became a trumpet, whence he blew Soul-animating strains--alas, too few!

On the formal side Milton handled the sonnet, as has been said, with thefreedom of a master. 

From the time of Milton's (1642-58) very few sonnets were written inEngland till towards the end of the eighteenth century. Then the formwas revived, under the original impulse of the Wartons in themid-century, by Bowles, and given a new life by Wordsworth and Keats. In1850 Mrs. Browning published her Sonnets from the Portuguese, and in1870 and 1881 Rossetti his sonnet-sequence, The House of Life. Thelatter contains on the whole the truest representatives of the Italianmodel. 

 The soote season, that bud and bloom forth brings, With green hath clad the hill and eke the vale: The nightingale with feathers new she sings; The turtle to her make hath told her tale. Summer is come, for every spray now springs: The hart hath hung his old head on the pale; The buck in brake his winter coat he flings; The fishes flete with new repaired scale. The adder all her slough away she slings; The swift swallow pursueth the flies smale; The busy bee her honey now she mings; Winter is worn that was the flowers' bale. And thus I see among these pleasant things Each care decays, and yet my sorrow springs. HENRY HOWARD, EARL OF SURREY. 

 With how sad steps, O Moon, thou climb'st the skies! How silently, and with how wan a face! What, may it be that e'en in heavenly place That busy archer his sharp arrows tries! Sure, if that long-with-love-acquainted eyes Can judge of love, thou feelst a lover's case, I read it in thy looks; thy languish'd grace, To me, that feel the like, thy state descries. Then, e'en of fellowship, O Moon, tell me, Is constant love deem'd there but want of wit? Are beauties there as proud as here they be? Do they above love to be loved, and yet Those lovers scorn whom that love doth possess? Do they call virtue there, ungratefulness? SIR PHILLIP SIDNEY, Astrophel and Stella, xxxi. 

 Death, be not proud, though some have called thee Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so: For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow Die not, poor Death; nor yet canst thou kill me. From Rest and Sleep, which but thy picture be, Much pleasure, then from thee much more must flow; And soonest our best men with thee do go-- Rest of their bones and souls' delivery! Thou'rt slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men, And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell; And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well And better than thy stroke. Why swell'st thou then? One short sleep past, we wake eternally, And Death shall be no more: Death, thou shalt die! JOHN DONNE. 

 Cyriack, this three-years-day these eyes, though clear To outward view of blemish or of spot, Bereft of light, their seeing have forgot; Not to their idle orbs doth sight appear Of sun, or moon, or star, throughout the year, Or man, or woman. Yet I argue not Against Heav'ns hand or will, nor bate one jot Or heart or hope; but still bear up, and steer Right onward. What supports me, dost thou ask? --The conscience, friend, to have lost them overpli'd In liberty's defence, my noble task, Of which all Europe rings from side to side. This thought might lead me through this world's vain mask, Content, though blind, had I no better guide. MILTON. 

 Earth has not anything to show more fair: Dull would he be of soul who could pass by A sight so touching in its majesty: This City now doth like a garment wear The beauty of the morning; silent, bare, Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie Open unto the fields, and to the sky; All bright and glittering in the smokeless air. Never did sun more beautifully steep In his first splendour valley, rock, or hill; Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep! The river glideth at his own sweet will: Dear God! the very houses seem asleep; And all that mighty heart is lying still! WORDSWORTH, Upon Westminster Bridge. 

 Go from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand Henceforward in thy shadow. Nevermore Alone upon the threshold of my door Of individual life shall I command The uses of my soul, nor lift my hand Serenely in the sunshine as before, Without the sense of that which I forbore-- Thy touch upon the palm. The widest land Doom takes to part us, leaves thy heart in mine With pulses that beat double. What I do And what I dream include thee, as the wine Must taste of its own grapes. And when I sue God for myself, He hears that name of thine, And sees within my eyes the tears of two. E. B. BROWNING, Sonnets from the Portuguese. 

 Of Adam's first wife, Lilith, it is told (The witch he loved before the gift of Eve), That, ere the snake's, her sweet tongue could deceive, And her enchanted hair was the first gold. And still she sits, young while the earth is old, And, subtly of herself contemplative, Draws men to watch the bright web she can weave, Till heart and body and life are in its hold. The rose and poppy are her flowers: for where Is he not found, O Lilith! whom shed scent And soft-shed kisses and soft sleep shall snare? Lo! as that youth's eyes burned at thine, so went Thy spell through him, and left his straight neck bent, And round his heart one strangling golden hair. D. G. ROSSETTI, Body's Beauty. 

 I met a traveler from an antique land, Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand, Half sunk, a shatter'd visage lies, whose frown And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command Tell that its sculptor well those passions read Which yet survive, stamp'd on these lifeless things, The hand that mock'd them and the heart that fed; And on the pedestal these words appear: "My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!" Nothing beside remains. Round the decay Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare, The lone and level sands stretch far away. SHELLEY, Ozymandias. 

Here the rime scheme is peculiarly irregular, and the result is hardly asonnet at all. Shelley's manuscript shows that the poem cost him a greatdeal of trouble. 

 * * * * *

_English Sonnet_. Out of the 'irregularities' and experiments of theearly English sonneteers there rapidly developed a new form based on anentirely different principle of division, a series of three quatrains_abab_, _cdcd_, _efef_, followed by a couplet _gg_. This looserstructure, simpler in music and in arrangement of subject matter, soonbecame a favorite, was used by Surrey and by Sidney, and was adopted byShakespeare for his hundred and fifty-four sonnets[64]--hence it issometimes called the Shakespearian sonnet. "With this key, " saidWordsworth, Shakespeare unlocked his heart. 

But a sonnet in the stricter sense this 14-line stanza of course is not;for it does not aim to possess the balance, contrast, and functionalorganization of the Italian stanza. It has qualities of its own, however, which give it its own distinction; and, moreover, it is franklywhat many sonnets of the stricter form, without the justification of adifficult and definitely organic structure, are: simply a poem offourteen lines. For many of Wordsworth's and most of Mrs. Browning'ssonnets, though they have the rime-scheme of the Italian, have thesimple thought arrangement of the English sonnet. 

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [64] Two of these are irregular, the 99th, with fifteen | | lines (_ababacdcdefefgg_) and the 126th with twelve | | (_aabbccddeeff_). Milton's On the Admirable Dramatick Poet, | | W. Shakespear, still traditionally miscalled a sonnet, | | resembles the latter, with its _aabbccddeeffgghh_ or eight | | couplets. The 16-line stanza of Meredith's Modern Love | | (_abbacddceffeghhg_) is sometimes loosely called a sonnet. | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

Not many examples are necessary. Some, like the first two below, preserve the metrical division of the quatrains, with the couplet for anepigrammatic summary; others more or less obscure the division. 

Combinations of the two sonnet forms not infrequently occur (as in thelast example below), but they are not approved by the critics or thetheorists, and generally they miss the excellences of both forms, however successful they may be in other respects. 

 Leave me, O Love, which reachest but to dust, And thou, my mind, aspire to higher things! Grow rich in that which never taketh rust: Whatever fades, but fading pleasure brings. Draw in thy beams, and humble all thy might To that sweet yoke where lasting freedoms be; Which breaks the clouds and opens forth the light That doth both shine and give us sight to see. O take fast hold! let that light be thy guide In this small course which birth draws out to death, And think how evil becometh him to slide Who seeketh Heaven, and comes of heavenly breath. Then farewell, world! thy uttermost I see: Eternal Love, maintain thy life in me! SIR PHILIP SIDNEY. 

 That time of year thou may'st in me behold When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs that shake against the cold-- Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. In me thou see'st the twilight of such day As after sunset fadeth in the west, Which by and by black night doth take away, Death's second self, that seals up all in rest. In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire That on the ashes of his youth doth lie, As the death-bed whereon it must expire, Consumed with that which it was nourished by. This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong To love that well which thou must leave ere long. SHAKESPEARE, Sonnet 73. 

 Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth, Pressed by these rebel powers that thee array, Why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth, Painting thy outward walls so costly gay? Why so large cost, having so short a lease, Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend? Shall worms, inheritors of this excess, Eat up thy charge? Is this thy body's end? Then, soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss, And let that pine to aggravate thy store; Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross; Within be fed, without be rich no more; So shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on men; And Death once dead, there's no more dying then. SHAKESPEARE, Sonnet 146. 

 When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes, I all alone beweep my outcast state, And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, And look upon myself, and curse my fate, Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, Featured like him, like him with friends possessed, Desiring this man's art and that man's scope, With what I most enjoy contented least; Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, Haply I think on thee: and then my state, Like to the lark at break of day arising From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate: For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings That then I scorn to change my state with kings. SHAKESPEARE, Sonnet 29. 

 O deep unlovely brooklet, moaning slow Through moorish fen in utter loneliness! The partridge cowers beside thy loamy flow In pulseful tremor, when with sudden press The huntsman fluskers through the rustled heather. In March thy sallow buds from vermeil shells Break satin-tinted, downy as the feather Of moss-chat, that among the purplish bells Breasts into fresh new life her three unborn. The plover hovers o'er thee, uttering clear And mournful-strange his human cry forlorn. While wearily, alone, and void of cheer, Thou guid'st thy nameless waters from the fen, To sleep unsunned in an untrampled glen. DAVID GRAY, To a Brooklet. 

 If I should die, think only this of me: That there's some corner of a foreign field That is forever England. There shall be In that rich earth a richer dust concealed; A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware, Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam, A body of England's, breathing English air, Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home. And think, this heart, all evil shed away, A pulse in the eternal mind, no less Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given; Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day; And laughter learnt of friends; and gentleness, In hearts at peace, under an English heaven. RUPERT BROOKE, The Soldier. [65]

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [65] Quoted by permission of Dodd, Mead & Co. , owners of the | | copy-right. | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

_Complex Stanzas: the Ode_

Besides the stanzas described above, which are but the most familiaror most important of the great variety of regular English stanzas, there are others which, because they are peculiarly constructed ornot regularly repeated, may be called Complex. Such are, forexample, the 'trailing vine' stanzas of Spenser's Prothalamion(_abba^{5}a^{3}bcbc^{5}dded^{5}ee^{3}ff^{5}_) and Epithalamion(_ababc^{5}c^{3}dcde^{5}e^{3}fggf^{5}f^{4}hh^{5}_), and also the simpler_ababcde^{5}c^{3}de^{5}_ of Keats' Ode to a Nightingale. 

Many of these complex stanzaic forms, moreover, belong in the traditionof the so-called Pindaric ode, imitated freely from the Greek choricodes of Pindar. The closer imitations are in fixed though complexstanzas regularly repeated, and are called Regular Pindarics. These havefirst a strophe of undetermined length, then an antistrophe identical instructure with the strophe, and then an epode, different in structurefrom the strophe and antistrophe. The second strophe and secondantistrophe are identical metrically with the first, the second epodewith the first epode; and so on. The best examples in English are BenJonson's On the Death of Sir H. Morrison, and Gray's Progress of Poesyand The Bard. [66]

 +----------------------------------------------------------------------+ | [66] | | The rime scheme of the Progress of Poesy is: strophe and antistrophe | | _a^{4}b^{5}b^{4}a^{5}cc^{4}d^{5}d^{4}e^{5}e^{4}f^{4}f^{6}_, epode | | _aabb^{4}a^{3}ccdede^{4}fgfgh^{5}h^{6}_. The formula is three times | | repeated. Note the unusual arrangement of parts in Collins' Ode to | | Liberty and Shelley's Ode to Naples. | +----------------------------------------------------------------------+

About the middle of the seventeenth century, Cowley, misunderstandingthe structure of Pindar's verse, invented another sort of Pindaric ode, which is called Irregular because, as he himself explained, "the numbersare various and irregular, " and there was no formal stanzaic repetition. The lines were long or short according as the thought-rhythm demanded(or seemed to demand), and in respect to arrangement were not bound toany formal pattern. This freedom, under skilful control, may wellproduce felicitous results, but when not managed by poets of a strongand sure rhythmic sense--as it was not by the many Cowleyanimitators--it results merely in metrical license and amorphousness. "That for which I think this inequality of number is chiefly to bepreferred, " said Dr. Sprat, the first historian of the Royal Society, intending no sarcasm, "is its affinity with prose. " But this argument, which is in part also that of the modern free-versifiers, is simply aconfusion of two functions, the verse function and the prose function. 

But before very long Cowley's invention found a true master in Dryden, whose To the Pious Memory of . .. Mrs. Anne Killigrew (1686), Song forSt. Cecelia's Day (1687), and Alexander's Feast (1697) are justlypraised for their 'concerted music. ' The example had in fact alreadybeen set by a still greater master; for Milton with his earlyexperiments in unequal rimed lines (On Time and At a Solemn Music), hisincomparable success with the irregular placing of rimes in Lycidas, andhis choral effects both with and without rime in Samson Agonistes, hadshown what English could do under proper guidance. Then, after Dryden, the regular Pindarics of Gray and certain of Collins' Odes helped tocarry on the tradition down to Coleridge's Dejection, Monody on theDeath of Chatterton, and Ode on the Departing Year, and its culminationin Wordsworth's Intimations of Immortality ode (1807). After that, bothin time and in interest, come Shelley's Mont Blanc (1816) (which hehimself described as "an undisciplined overflowing of the soul") andTennyson's On the Death of the Duke of Wellington (1852) (which has atleast Tennyson's almost unfailing technical dexterity). The work ofCoventry Patmore in this kind of verse has not been generally approved. This is partly because of the subjects on which he wrote and partlybecause of his inability to compose lines of haunting melody--perhapshis deliberate avoidance of them. But in certain poems like The Azaleaand The Toys the very intensity of the feeling both creates and sustainsand in the end justifies the 'irregular' metre. 

3. BLANK VERSE

Perhaps three-fourths of the greatest English poetry is in the unrimed5-stress line called blank verse--nearly all the Elizabethan drama, Paradise Lost, some of the best of Keats and Shelley, Wordsworth'sMichael, The Prelude, The Excursion (the good with the bad!), Tennyson's Princess and Idylls (notable poems of their age, though notto be ranked with 'the greatest'), and Browning's The Ring and the Book, together with most of the dramatic monologues. No other metrical formhas such an interesting history; no other form has manifested so great avariety and adaptability for every kind of poetic thought and feeling. These two facts alone--its bulk and its variety--would justify a muchfuller treatment than is possible here. But it will perhaps besufficient to follow rapidly in outline the development of blank verse, with illustrations of the most significant stages, and then, in thefollowing chapter, to devote more attention to blank verse than to rimedstanzas in the exposition of metrical harmonies and modulations. 

The idea of writing unrimed verse was no doubt the most valuable resultto English poetry of the academic attempts, towards the end of thesixteenth century, to write classical verse in English. It could bepointed out triumphantly that all the splendid poetry of classicalantiquity--Homer and Lucretius and Virgil, Sappho and Catullus andHorace and Ovid--had been independent of rime; and whatever might be thedisagreement on quantitative feet in English, it was impossible to denythat English could successfully copy this element of the great classicalverse and recover, as Milton said, the ancient liberty "from thetroublesome and modern bondage of riming. "

The movement had already begun in Italy with Trissino's Sophonisbe, written in 1515, the first modern tragedy. It reached England in themiddle of the century with the influence of the Italian Renaissancebrought chiefly by Wyatt and Surrey. Surrey translated two books of theÆneid (II and IV) into blank verse (published in 1557); Sackville andNorton adopted it for the first English tragedy, Gorboduc (1565); andthen Gascoigne used it in his Steele Glas (1576) for general didacticand satiric purposes. Thus the beginning was made, and it remained onlyfor the new form to justify itself by its children. Experimentscontinued, with the first great achievement in Marlowe's Tamburlaine theGreat. 

The early examples show plainly both the influence of the parentcouplet--for, as was said above, blank verse was written first as theold couplet without rime--and the syllable-counting principle: the lineunit is prominent, there are comparatively few run-on lines or couplets, and some of Surrey's verse, for example, though it has the ten syllablesthen regarded as necessary, refuses to 'scan' according to more recentpractice because the stresses are wholly irregular. On the other hand, there is often so great a regularity in coincidence of natural rhythmand metrical pattern, reinforced by some awkward wrenches of theconventional order of word and phrase, that the result is unpleasantlystiff and formal. 

 The Greeks' chieftains all irked with the war Wherein they wasted had so many years, And oft repuls'd by fatal destiny, A huge horse made, high raised like a hill, By the divine science of Minerva: Of cloven fir compacted were his ribs; For their return a feigned sacrifice: The fame whereof so wander'd it at point. In the dark bulk they clos'd bodies of men Chosen by lot, and did enstuff by stealth The hollow womb with armed soldiers. There stands in sight an isle, high Tenedon, Rich, and of fame, while Priam's kingdom stood; Now but a bay, and road, unsure for ship. SURREY, Second Book of Virgil's Æneid. 

This is not so much monotonously regular as intolerably rough andunsteady. 

 For cares of kings, that rule as you have rul'd, For public wealth, and not for private joy, Do waste man's life and hasten crooked age, With furrowed face, and with enfeebled limbs, To draw on creeping death a swifter pace. They two, yet young, shall bear the parted reign With greater ease than one, now old, alone Can wield the whole, for whom much harder is With lessened strength the double weight to bear. Gorboduc, Act I, sc. Ii. 

 The Nightingale, whose happy noble hart, No dole can daunt, nor fearful force affright, Whose chereful voice, doth comfort saddest wights, When she hir self, hath little cause to sing, Whom lovers love, bicause she plaines their greves, She wraies their woes, and yet relieves their payne, Whom worthy mindes, alwayes esteemed much, And gravest yeares, have not disdainde hir notes: (Only that king proud Tereus by his name With murdring knife, did carve hir pleasant tong, To cover so, his own foule filthy fault) This worthy bird, hath taught my weary Muze, To sing a song, in spight of their despight, Which work my woe, withouten cause or crime . .. The Steele Glas. 

Note here the monotonous pauses, indicated by the original punctuation. 

Marlowe, inheriting the defects of his predecessors, succeeded, byvirtue of his "plastic energy and power of harmonious modulation" inrecreating the measure. He found it "monotonous, monosyllabic, anddivided into five feet of tolerably regular alternate short and long [i. E. , unstressed and stressed]. He left it various in form and structure, sometimes redundant by a syllable, sometimes deficient, enriched withunexpected emphases and changes in the beat. He found no sequence orattempt at periods; one line succeeded another with insipid regularity, and all were made after the same model. He grouped his verse accordingto the sense, obeying an internal law of melody, and allowing thethought contained in his words to dominate their form. He did not forcehis metre to preserve a fixed and unalterable type, but suffered it toassume most variable modulations, the whole beauty of which dependedupon their perfect adaptation to the current of his ideal. "[67] No metreresponds so readily and so completely to a poet's endowment of genius asblank verse, and hence the secret of Marlowe's improvements over hispredecessors is his superior poetic gift. He seems to have felt andthought and written with an enormous imaginative power; by making hisverse an organic expression of this power he achieved an almost newmedium, ranging in variety from the simplicity and pathos of--

 Mortimer! who talks of Mortimer, Who wounds me with the name of Mortimer, That bloody man?

to the "swelling bombast of bragging blank verse" (Thomas Nash's hostilephrase) in Tamburlaine--

 No! for I shall not die. See, where my slave, the ugly monster, Death, Shaking and quivering, pale and wan for fear, Stands aiming at me with his murdering dart, Who flies away at every glance I give, And, when I look away, comes stealing on. Villain, away, and hie thee to the field! I and mine army come to load thy back With souls of thousand mangled carcasses. Look, where he goes; but see, he comes again, Because I stay: Techelles, let us march And weary Death with bearing souls to hell. Part II, Act V, sc. Iii. 

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [67] J. A. Symonds, Blank Verse, London, 1895, p. 23. (This | | little volume contains a valuable, though incomplete and | | somewhat extravagant, summary of the history of English | | blank verse. ) | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

But even in Marlowe the 'mighty line' is still felt as the unit. All hisvolubility, his extravagance, his passion, his occasional tenderness didbut develop the line to its fullest possibilities; the larger unit ofthe long harmonious period or 'blank verse paragraph' is rare andexceptional with him, though credit is due him for foreshadowing thisalso:

 Now, lords, our loving friends and countrymen, Welcome to England all, with prosperous winds; Our kindest friends in Belgia have we left, To cope with friends at home; a heavy case When force to force is knit, and sword and glaive In civil broils make kin and countrymen Slaughter themselves in others, and their sides With their own weapons gored. Edward II, Act IV, sc. Iv. 

Shakespeare's blank verse is the supreme manifestation of the measurefor dramatic purposes. In his plays it modulates and adapts itself tothe changing emotions of every speaker, "from merely colloquialdialogue to strains of impassioned soliloquy, from comic repartee totragic eloquence, from terse epigrams to elaborate descriptions. " It iscustomary to distinguish three 'periods' in Shakespeare's blank verse, corresponding closely to his whole artistic development: first, the moreformal, 'single-moulded' line of the early plays; second, the perfectfreedom and mastery of the great tragedies; and, third, the daringliberties, verging on license, of the later plays. These distinctionshave, of course, no more absolute value than all similar classificationsof impalpable modifications, but they at least suggest the underlyingtruth that Shakespeare began as a beginner, and then, having masteredthe difficulties and subtleties of the form, treated it with the easyfamiliarity of a master. To illustrate these developments adequatelywould require pages of quotation; but one may compare the restrictedmovement of such a passage as this from Two Gentlemen of Verona (III, i)--

 Proteus, I thank thee for thine honest care; Which to requite, command me while I live. This love of theirs myself have often seen, Haply when they have judg'd me fast asleep, And oftentimes have purpos'd to forbid Sir Valentine her company and my court; But, fearing lest my jealous aim might err, And so unworthily disgrace the man, -- A rashness that I ever yet have shunn'd, -- I gave him gentle looks, thereby to find That which thyself hast now disclos'd to me. 

with the fine modulations, fitting exactly the nuances of meaning inthis from Hamlet (III, iii)--

 May one be pardon'd and retain the offence? In the corrupted currents of this world Offence's gilded hand may shove by justice, And oft 'tis seen the wicked prize itself Buys out the law. But 'tis not so above. There is no shuffling, there the action lies In his true nature; and we ourselves compell'd, Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults, To give in evidence. What then? What rests? Try what repentance can. What can it not?

or this from King Lear (II, iv)--

 You see me here, you gods, a poor old man, As full of grief as age; wretched in both! If it be you that stirs these daughters' hearts Against their father, fool me not so much To bear it tamely; touch me with noble anger, And let not women's weapons, water-drops, Stain my man's cheeks. 

and also with the flowing, slightly 'irregular' lines of this from TheTempest (II, i)--

 But I feel not This deity in my bosom. Twenty consciences, That stand 'twixt me and Milan, candied be they And melt ere they molest! Here lies your brother, No better than the earth he lies upon If he were that which now he's like, that's dead; Whom I, with this obedient steel, three inches of it, Can lay to be for ever; whiles you, doing thus, To the perpetual wink for aye might put This ancient morsel, this Sir Prudence, who Should not upbraid our course. 

The greater freedom of syncopation and substitution, of extra syllablesand unusual pauses, which characterizes Shakespeare's later blank verse, became almost a norm with Beaumont and Fletcher, Shirley, Ford, and theJacobean dramatists. They often carried freedom to the extreme limit, where an inch further would change verse into prose. They were capable, to be sure, of more careful regular verse, and wrote it when theoccasion seemed to call for it; but partly from choice, and partly nodoubt from haste or indifference or both, they made a very free blankverse their staple. Shakespeare had alternated prose and verse as thesubject or tone required; the later dramatists seemed to seek a versethat might be, in a sense, midway between prose and verse. Thus theyavoided a necessity of frequent change, except a loosening or tighteningof the reins. To call this verse decadent is somewhat unjust. It is intruth a special form which is certainly well justified for certainsubjects and occasions. 

 Why how darst thou meet me again thou rebel, And knowst how thou hast used me thrice, thou rascal? Were there not waies enough to fly my vengeance, No hole nor vaults to hide thee from my fury, But thou must meet me face to face to kill thee? I would not seek thee to destroy thee willingly, But now thou comest to invite me, And comest upon me, How like a sheep-biting rogue taken i'th' manner, And ready for the halter dost thou look now! Thou hast a hanging look thou scurvy thing, hast ne'er a knife Nor ever a string to lead thee to Elysium? BEAUMONT and FLETCHER, Rule a Wife and Have a Wife, V, i. 

 By this you find I am to Millaine neer Ally'd; but more to tempt your fury on My life, know 'twas my valiant father took Your brother prisoner, and presented him Where he receiv'd his death, my father that So oft hath humbled you in war, and made His victories triumph almost upon The ruines of your state. DAVENANT, Love and Honour, V, iii. 

When Milton composed Comus in 1634 it was natural for him to model hisblank verse on the best of Shakespeare's and Ben Jonson's, rather thanon that of the contemporary playwrights; for his finer taste, his moredelicate ear, and his classical training and tendencies would at oncelead him to reject the metrical laxities of Ford, Shirley, Davenant, andthe other writers of 'broken down' blank verse. And though his languageshows great familiarity with the later plays of Shakespeare, especiallyThe Tempest, he admitted comparatively few of their metrical licensesand followed in the main the versification of the Midsummer Night'sDream and the earlier tragedies. There is generally a tendency to makethe line the unit--but the verse paragraph or stanza effect is alsopresent in nearly fully developed form, as witness the opening lines ofthe poem--weak or feminine endings are not frequent, alexandrines veryfew. The 'short fit of rhyming' (ll. 495 ff. ), disapproved by Dr. Johnson, would be explained partly by the tradition of the masque andpartly by the model of Shakespeare's comedies. 

But the great Miltonic blank verse of Paradise Lost is not a copy of anymaster; it is a development and a consummation of two influences, theslow maturity of Milton's mind, deepened and broadened by theCommonwealth controversies "not without dust and heat, " and the exaltedsublimity of the yet unattempted theme of justifying God's management ofhuman and divine affairs. His maturity brought him his great familiarityboth in matter and in style with nearly all that was best in Europeanliterature, and his peculiar subject, with only gods and angels (Adamand Eve are scarcely human, even after the fall) for characters andselected portions of eternity and infinity for time and place, gave himthe tendency to artificiality and strain to the outmost verges ofsublimity, and to extraordinary involution of phrase and idea--for allof which he must have a suitable prosody. He chose blank verse when thepoetical fashion was for rime and described it, in words not altogetherclear, as consisting "only in apt numbers, fit quantity of syllables, and the sense variously drawn out from one verse to another. "[68] Aptnumbers, that is, appropriate rhythms, Milton's verse certainly has; butit is the last item, the great variety of movements subordinating theline-unit, and running-on of verses into longer periods, for which hisblank verse is famous. Every page of Paradise Lost contains examples;some of the finest occur in the rhetorical display of the PandemonicCouncil in Book II. Note the position of the pauses in the followingpassage, and then compare the specimens of early blank verse givenabove. 

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [68] The main crux of this passage is "fit quantity of | | syllables. " _Quantity_ in such a context suggests syllabic | | length; and one recalls the sonnet to Lawes-- | | | | not to scan | | With Midas' ears, committing short and long. | | | | But, on the other hand, Mr. Robert Bridges has made it | | almost if not quite certain that Milton counted syllables, | | and therefore the phrase would mean "ten syllables to a | | line, " proper allowance being made for elision. Since both | | interpretations agree pretty well with Milton's practice, | | one cannot be sure which he had in mind. | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

 Or could we break our way By force, and at our heels all hell should rise With blackest insurrection, to confound Heaven's purest light, yet our great enemy All incorruptible would on his throne Sit unpolluted, and the ethereal mould Incapable of stain would soon expel Her mischief, and purge off the baser fire, Victorious. II, 134-142. 

 On its formal side, what makes Milton's versification as unique as it is admirable, is the instinctive and yet prescient skill with which the pause is continuously varied so as to keep the whole metrical structure in movement. There are no dead lines. There are no jerks or stoppages. His movement may best be described by quoting a passage which, like many others, is at once a description and an instance. It is a

 Mystical dance, which yonder starry sphere Of planets and of fixt in all her wheels Resembles nearest, mazes intricate, Eccentric, intervolv'd, yet regular Then most, when most irregular they seem, And in their motions harmony divine. 

 I ask the reader most particularly to notice that these six lines, like almost any short quotation that can be made from the poem, are broken from their context. They begin in the middle of a sentence, and end in the middle of a clause. The continuous periodic movement cannot be really shown by examples, just because it is continuous and periodic. If we except the speeches, each of which by the necessity of the case is more or less a definite and detachable unit, the periods flow into one another. Like the orbit of a planet, the movement of the verse never closes its ellipse and begins again. Each of the twelve books is a single organic rhythmical structure. But one cannot very well quote a whole book. 

 Within that structure, the variation of pause and stress is similarly in continuous movement. As a general fact, this is instinctively felt in reading the poem; how rigorously the law of freedom is observed comes out even more surprisingly when brought to the test of figures. For movement of stress one instance may serve as a typical example. In Michael's description of the plagues of Egypt in the twelfth book, beginning--

 But first the lawless tyrant, who denies To know their God, or message to regard, Must be compelled by signs and judgments dire--

 the detailed roll of the plagues is all threaded on the word _must_. It recurs nine times, with studied and intricate variation of its place in the line: this is, taken by order, in the first, eighth, fifth, fourth, fifth, fifth, first, third, and fourth syllable. Again, as regards variation, in the whole ten thousand lines of the Paradise Lost there are less than five-and-twenty instances of the pause coming at the same point in the line for more than two lines consecutively. Facts like these are the formal index of what is the great organic principle of Milton's verse. That is, that like all organic structures, it is incalculable; it cannot be reduced to a formula. .. . His rhythm is perpetually integrating as it advances; and not only so, but at no point can its next movement be predicted, although tracing it backwards we can see how each phrase rises out of and carries on the rhythm of what was before it, how each comes in not only rightly, but as it seems inevitably. This secret he inherited from no English predecessor and transmitted to no follower. [69]

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [69] J. W. Mackail, The Springs of Helicon, pp. 181 ff. | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

One may surely say that Milton extracted from blank verse all itspossibilities of variety and movement so far as his subject matterpermitted. He is lyrical, dramatic, didactic, and of course epic, inturn. He even showed that it is possible to imitate hollowly his own"planetary wheelings"--as though the instruments kept on playing and themusic ceased. [70]

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [70] Cf. , for example. Paradise Regained, III, 68 ff. | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

Since Paradise Regained and Samson Agonistes, though various poets haveadapted it to their own uses, blank verse has shown only one significantdevelopment, the conversational, or so-called 'talking, ' style. In theeighteenth century Milton's mannerisms dominated nearly all blankverse, both for good and for evil. What freedom Thomson allowed himselfhe got from Milton; most of Cowper's thin grandiosity he took fromMilton; and much also of Wordsworth's false and empty elaboration whichmake the Prelude and Excursion so dull in places--the whole tribe ofverses of which

 And at the Hoop alighted, famous inn

is the pilloried example--came from the Miltonic tradition. Keats fellpartially into the error, but was wise enough to recognize it. Shelley, with much of Milton's intensity and somewhat too of his sublimity, couldsuccessfully follow the great stride and at the same time preserve hisown idiom. Tennyson, keeping both the freedom and as much of the"continuous planetary movement" as was consistent with his themes, softened the metre--weakened it, some will say--by his decorativetendency and indulgence in only half-concealed virtuosity. [71] And thefamous Oxus ending of Arnold's Sohrab and Rustum is a studiedreproduction of the Miltonic music in a lower key. But it was Landorwho, taking a hint perhaps from Milton's unadorned didacticism ofParadise Regained and also from the straightforward verse used onoccasion by the Elizabethan dramatists, showed the way to what has oftenbeen called a strictly contemporary development of blank verse, thetalking style. Since this is less familiar than most of the phenomenaof blank verse, it will require fuller illustration. 

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [71] Browning's blank verse, like all his metres, is | | typically Browningesque; instead of moulding his verse to | | fit the idea perfectly, he too often effected the compromise | | between content and form by slighting the latter. | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

The uneven line which separates blank verse and prose is easily apparentin such a passage as the following from Much Ado about Nothing (V, i)--

 _Leon. _ Some haste, my lord!--well, fare you well, my lord:-- Are you so hasty now--Well, all is one. 

 _D. Pedro. _ Nay, do not quarrel with us, good old man. 

 _Ant. _ If he could right himself with quarrelling, Some of us would lie low. 

 _Claud. _ Who wrongs him?

 _Leon. _ Marry, thou dost wrong me; thou dissembler, thou. -- Nay, never lay thy hand upon thy sword; I fear thee not. 

 _Claud. _ Marry, beshrew my hand, If it should give your age such cause of fear. In faith, my hand meant nothing to my sword. 

 _Leon. _ Tush, tush, man! never fleer and jest at me; I speak not like a dotard nor a fool; As under privilege of age, to brag What I have done being young, or what would do, Were I not old. Know, Claudio, to thy heed, Thou hast so wrong'd mine innocent child and me, That I am forc'd to lay my reverence by, And with gray hairs and bruise of many days, Do challenge thee to trial of a man. .. . 

In the first part of this passage the language is the simple naturalexpression of prose, yet so devised that it also fits the metricalpattern. It is either prose or verse according to the way one reads it. But in Leonardo's long speech (after the first line, which is'irregular') the verse pattern becomes more and more prominent, until inthe last three lines it predominates over the natural utterance of thewords and produces a certain stiffness. Here the two different mannersstand side by side: a natural simplicity so great that the metricalquality is almost obscured, beside a formality so obvious that thefeeling of natural expression is partly lost. Now Milton, and after himDryden and the eighteenth century, regarding poetry generally as a thingapart, followed the latter sort; but when the Romantic Revival broughtpoetry back to ordinary human life there reappeared, tentatively, ofcourse, a simpler blank verse in Thomson, Crabbe, Cowper, andWordsworth. A clear example is the opening of Landor's Iphigeneia andAgamemnon--

 Iphigeneia, when she heard her doom At Aulis, and when all beside the King Had gone away, took his right hand, and said, "O father! I am young and very happy. I do not think the pious Calchas heard Distinctly what the Goddess spake. Old-age Obscures the senses. If my nurse, who knew My voice so well, sometimes misunderstood While I was resting on her knee both arms And hitting it to make her mind my words, And looking in her face, and she in mine, Might he not also hear one word amiss, Spoken from so far off, even from Olympus?"

Again, compare Mrs. Browning's Aurora Leigh--

 As it was, indeed, I felt a mother-want about the world, And still went seeking, like a bleating lamb Left out at night, in shutting up the fold, -- As restless as a nest-deserted bird Grown chill through something being away, though what It knows not. I, Aurora Leigh, was born To make my father sadder, and myself Not overjoyous, truly. Women know The way to rear up children (to be just), They know a simple, merry, tender knack Of tying sashes, fitting baby-shoes, And stringing pretty words that make no sense, And kissing full sense into empty words. 

These are from the metrical point of view nearly identical with Mr. Robert Frost's talking verse, so often called a 'contribution' to versetechnique--

 Something there is that doesn't love a wall, That sends the frozen ground-swell under it, And spills the upper boulders in the sun; And makes gaps even two can pass abreast. The work of hunters is another thing: I have come after them and made repair Where they have left not one stone on stone, But they would have the rabbit out of hiding, To please the yelping dogs. R. FROST, Mending Wall. [72]

The obvious difficulty is to maintain dignity along with relaxation--afeat which Mr. Frost and Mr. E. A. Robinson have occasionallyaccomplished. And from this it is but a step to the extreme simplicityof Miss Lowell's To Two Unknown Ladies--

 If either of you much attracted me We could fall back upon phenomena And make a pretty story out of psychic Balances, but not to be too broad In my discourtesy, nor prudish neither (Since, really, I can hardly quite suppose With all your ghostliness you follow me), I feel no such attraction. Or if one Bows to my sympathy for the briefest space, Snap--it is gone! And, worst of all to tell, What broke it is not in the least dislike But utter boredom. Now. .. . 

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [72] Mr. Frost in some of his later work permits himself | | such laxness as-- | | | | Had beauties he had to point out to me at length | | To insure their not being wasted on me. | | The Axe-Helve. | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

Thus the wheel has come nearly full circle, but with a longer radius. For just as blank verse developed from the early Elizabethan--andpre-Elizabethan--strict formality to the laxity of the Jacobeandramatists and found a true balance of freedom and restraint in Milton, so from the monotonous eighteenth-century couplet (and it should berecalled that in the beginning blank verse sprang from the couplet) ithas gradually enlarged its freedom into the extreme license from ametrical point of view of its adopted cousin free-verse. Already, moreover, there have been signs of a reaction against the extreme, andthe wheel is coming to an artistic balance again. 

4. FREE-VERSE

Free-verse (or, as Miss Lowell prefers, 'unrhymed cadence') is ahydra-headed phenomenon. It can never be adequately discussed; for whenone head is disposed of, two others appear in its place. Its origins areinvolved in obscurity and--what is worse--ignorance; and itspractitioners and staunchest defenders are as variable in their pointsof view as it itself is in its rhythmic impulses. [73]

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [73] Strongly to be deprecated is the frequent confusion | | not only of the different varieties of English free-verse, | | but of the fundamentally distinct phenomena of free-verse as | | commonly understood and French _vers libre_. _Vers libre_ | | itself has many aspects, from the literally freer use of | | rime and the mute-_e_ than the traditional French prosody | | allowed and an escape from the old principle of | | syllabification to what superficially corresponds with | | English free-verse, that is, a substitution of prose for | | verse; but only superficially, since the French language is | | phonetically different from English, and its ordinary prose | | has a naturally greater song potentiality. Since the | | phenomena differ they should not be called by the same name. | | The English term 'free-verse' is wholly adequate. | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

Behind all the utterances of friend and foe seems to lie the ultimatebelief that the 'voluntary thraldom' of formal metrical patterns is amonstrous error which can only be removed by unrestricted appreciationand application of the natural rhythms of idea and of language. There isin every thought, however simple or subtle, in every feeling, howeverevanescent or profound, an inherent rhythm which is as a material bodyto the thought's or emotion's soul. This native, inevitable rhythm--onemight call it the _rhythme juste_, the exact rhythm--is the only fitexpression for an intellectual or emotional idea; all others are foreignto it, tyrannous usurpations, in a word, impossible substitutions forit. To attempt, therefore, to twist these natural and exact rhythms tothe formal predetermined patterns of traditional versification is asuicidal impertinence, foredoomed to failure. 

Such a position has in theory much justice. It means briefly that thebasis of poetical form should not be the metrical pattern freely variedyet always perceptible, but the natural organic rhythm of the ideasexpressed; that is, there should be no harmonized difference betweenwhat have been explained above as thought rhythms, sound rhythms, andmetrical rhythms, but all three should be one original and indivisibleunit. This would make a combined thought-and-sound unit (breath groupand logical-emotional group) the foundation of verse, whereas this isreally the characteristic of prose as distinguished from verse. Theseexact organic rhythms "differ from ordinary prose rhythms, " says MissLowell, "in being more curved, and containing more stress"; which, though not very perspicuous, seems to mean that free-verse is morecarefully cadenced, or, in other words, more nearly metrical, thanordinary prose. Perhaps it would be no injustice to the upholders offree-verse in its best manifestations to say that, while metre requiresthat beneath all variations the regular beat should never be missed, free-verse requires as much rhythm (i. E. , regularity) as is possiblewithout its becoming perceptible. 

If this is true, or as near the manifold truth as one can get, then thefree-verse movement in English is mainly a return to the cadenced proseof the seventeenth century with the additional trait of the appearanceof verse. This is an important addition, however. It involves a carefulrecognition of what psychology calls the 'prose attitude' and the 'verseattitude, ' and also (as has been suggested above) the peculiar union ofprose with the spatial rhythm of verse. We read with ear and eyetogether, though with varying proportions of emphasis on the one or theother; for some 'vocalize' whatever they read, others read almostentirely with the eye. Since it is the eye that takes the earlier andquicker perception of printed language, we tend to judge by theappearance of a page whether it contains prose or verse. Columns ofirregular but approximately equal line lengths, regular blocks ofprinting regularly spaced and separated as stanzas, indentation ofevery second or every third line--these at once announce that the pagecontains verse. And they at the same time constitute an obvious spatialrhythm to the eye, and prepare the attention of eye and ear and mind forthe approximate regularity of verse. Then, when so prepared, weunconsciously organize as fully as possible any irregularities thatappear in the language and transform into actual verse the versepotentialities which pervade our speech. 

Some kinds of free-verse, however, do not, so far as one can see, aim tobe more than ordinary prose printed in segments more or less closelycorresponding with the phrase rhythm or normal sound rhythms oflanguage. It is then prose in actuality and verse in appearance--nomore. 

On the justification of this peculiar amalgam there is little agreement. No doubt for certain swift effects free-verse is the natural and mostserviceable medium. Many short poems in this irregular form are likesnapshots or like rapid sketches as compared with finished paintings. But the ultimate æsthetic judgment must be precisely that of thesnapshot as compared with finished painting. Nature is always wrong, says the paradox; art depends upon a deliberate selection of details andstructure. It balances freedom and restraint, variety and uniformity, one against the other; and even when it appears spontaneous it is butthe result of an unconscious choice which is itself born of longtraining or of the mysterious faculty divine. In very little of what atpresent is called free-verse does art have a real place. It is allfreedom and variety, with almost no restraint and uniformity: allstimulation and no repose. There is sometimes a rapid alternation ofverse rhythm and prose rhythm, which, in Bacon's phrase, may cleave butnot incorporate; they succeed each other but do not melt into eachother. Now and again, to be sure, this uncertainty, this veryirregularity, powerfully represents the thought and emotion of the poem;but nevertheless there can be little doubt that except in the limitedfield of instantaneous flashes the most adequate and pleasing medium isthe skilfully varied regularity of formal verse. [74]

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [74] "In the effort to get rhyme, 'the rack of finest | | wits, '" says a pseudonymous newspaper writer, "and in the | | struggle, writhing, and agony of trying to get the wrong | | words to say the right thing, one sometimes achieves the | | impossible, or, rather, from the flame of frantic friction | | (of 'Rhyming Dictionary' leaves) rises, phoenix-like, | | another idea, somewhat like the first, its illegitimate | | child, so to say, and thus more beautiful. | | | | "With vers libre one experiences the mortification one | | sometimes feels in having roared out one's agony in | | perfectly fit terms. With rhymed poetry one feels the | | satisfaction of a wit who gives the nuance of his meaning by | | the raise of an eyebrow, the turn of a word. " | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

The many kinds of free-verse are recognizable chiefly by the greater orless feeling of metrical form lying behind them. For convenience theymay be distinguished, according as verse or prose predominates, as (1)irregular unrimed metre, (2) very free blank verse, (3) unusual minglingof metre and prose, a kind of recitative, and (4) mere prose printed asverse, or what may be called free-verse _par excellence_. A fewillustrations will help to make clear the distinctions. 

Of the first sort are the unrimed choruses in Milton's Samson Agonistes, the metre of Southey's once-admired Thalaba and the Curse of Kehama, and parts of Shelley's Queen Mab. Here the lines are irregular in length(as in the 'irregular' Pindaric odes), but they are usually felt astruly metrical, though they do not repeat a single pattern. 

 This, this is he; softly a while; Let us not break in upon him. O change beyond report, thought, or belief! See how he lies at random, carelessly diffused, With languished head unpropt, As one past hope, abandoned, And by himself given over, In slavish habit, ill-fitted weeds O'er-worn and soiled. Or do mine eyes misrepresent? Can this be he, That heroic, that renowned, Irresistible Samson?. .. Samson Agonistes, 115-126. 

 The Fairy waved her wand: Ahasuerus fled Fast as the shapes of mingled shade and mist That lurk in the glens of a twilight grove Flee from the morning beam: The matter of which dreams are made Not more endowed with actual life Than this phantasmal portraiture Of wandering human thought. Queen Mab, iii. 

 Thou tyrannous over-mastering Spirit, Lucifer, Hear now thy guilt. The first in glory amongst us all wast thou; Nor did we grudge thee loyalty, When of old beneath thy leadership against Yahveh, And thereafter against the mild Galilean Godhead, We waged war for dominion over the minds of man. But perished now long since is the might of Yahveh; And his Son, a plaintive, impotent phantom, wails Over that faith, withering, corrupted, petrified, For which he died vainly. R. C. TREVELYAN, Lucifer Enchained. 

 Green boughs stirring in slumber Sigh at the lost remembrance Of Aulon, Golden-thighed, in the heart of the forest. 

 Here, where the dripping leaves Whisper of passing feet To the fragrant woodways, The moonlight floods the forsaken tangled boughs With loneliness For Melinna, gone from the evening. EDWARD J. O'BRIEN, Hellenica. 

Very free blank verse, when taken in small excerpts, often seems devoidof metrical regularity. The reason for this is that in long poems muchgreater freedom is possible because the ear and the attention, accustomed for longer periods to the formal pattern, hold it more easilywhere it becomes faint. Examples of this approximation to prose havebeen given above, pages 43, 44. The famous first lines of Paradise Lost, if printed after the contemporary fashion of free-verse, would by veryfew be recognized as blank verse; and the same is true of many passagesthroughout the poem, and indeed throughout all long poems in blankverse. 

 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 blissful seat, Sing, Heavenly Muse, That on the secret top of Horeb Or of Sinai Didst inspire that shepherd . .. 

Among the finest free-verse in English are the Evening Voluntaries ofHenley. [75] In these poems clearly metrical lines (sometimes only partsof lines) alternate with simple prose. The line length is now based onphrasal rhythm, and at other times on no discoverable principle exceptthat of beginning a new line with some emphatic word. 

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [75] See a part of Margaritæ Sorori, page 43, above. | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

 White fleets of cloud, Argosies heavy with fruitfulness, Sail the blue peacefully. Green flame the hedgerows. Blackbirds are bugling, and white in wet winds Sway the tall poplars. Pageants of colour and fragrance, Pass the sweet meadows, and viewless Walks the mild spirit of May, Visibly blessing the world. HENLEY, Pastoral. 

 Have the gods then left us in our need Like base and common men? Were even the sweet grey eyes Of Artemis a lie, The speech of Hermes but a trick, The glory of Apollonian hair deceit?

 Desolate we move across a desolate land, The high gates closed, No answer to our prayer; Naught left save our integrity, No murmur against Fate Save that we are juster than the unjust gods, More pitiful than they. RICHARD ALDINGTON, Disdain. 

Modern free-verse, or free-verse _par excellence_, which is mere prosewith the spatial rhythm of verse, has been skilfully written by variouscontemporaries. Let a single example suffice. Such a bare but movingsituation as that of Miss Lowell's Fool's Money Bags could no doubt beadequately presented in traditional metre, but perhaps not so directlyas in her 'curved' prose--

 Outside the long window, With his head on the stone sill, The dog is lying, Gazing at his Beloved. His eyes are wet and urgent, And his body is taut and shaking. It is cold on the terrace; A pale wind licks along the stone slabs, But the dog gazes through the glass And is content. 

 The Beloved is writing a letter. Occasionally she speaks to the dog, But she is thinking of her writing. Does she, too, give her devotion to one Not worthy?[76]

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [76] From Sword Blades and Poppy Seeds, by permission of | | Houghton Mifflin Co. | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

A good example of combined metre and confessed prose (not to be confusedwith the mingling of verse and prose illustrated on the previous page)with easy transitions from one form to the other may be seen in a poemcalled Spring by Mr. Clement Wood. The rapid change from verse to proseis, of course, familiar in Shakespeare and his fellow dramatists, sometimes even in a single speech. 

5. EXOTIC FORMS

As wide as are the possibilities of variety in native English verse, thepoets have endeavored to extend its boundaries by the annexation offoreign prosodies from ancient Greece and Rome and from mediaevalFrance. In absolute contrast to free-verse, which is the denial ofmetrical formalism, this is the apotheosis of it. They admittedly placeform above content and are satisfied (for the most part) with the mereexhilaration of dancing gracefully in chains. 

A group of Elizabethan experimenters, among whom were Sidney andSpenser, sought diligently to compose in the quantitative metres of theclassics; Puttenham, the author of one of the first English treatises onthe Art of Poetry (1589), declared that by "leisurable travail" onemight "easily and commodiously lead all those feet of the ancients intoour vulgar language"; but while they may have satisfied themselves(Spenser certainly did not) these experimenters produced nothing ofgenuine significance. The result was candidly anticipated by Ascham, whosaid in the Schoolmaster (1570) that "_carmen exametrum_ doth rathertrot and hobble than run smoothly in our English tongue. " Thomas Nashconfirms this opinion in his criticism of Stanyhurst's attempt totranslate Virgil into hexameters: "The hexameter verse I grant to be agentleman of an ancient house (so is many an English beggar); yet thisclime of ours he cannot thrive in. Our speech is too craggy for him toset his plow in. He goes twitching and hopping in our language like aman running upon quagmires, up the hill in one syllable and down thedale in another, retaining no part of that stately smooth gait which hevaunts himself with amongst the Greeks and Latins" (Four LettersConfuted). Coleridge's judgment was the same:

 This is a galloping measure, a hop, and a trot, and a gallop. 

Thereafter, apart from isolated attempts, efforts were abandoned untilthe nineteenth century, when Southey, following William Taylor, who inturn had been induced by Goethe's Hermann und Dorothea to try a newprinciple of frankly substituting sentence stress or accent for lengthof syllable, wrote his Vision of Judgment (1821). Out of this revisedexperimenting came ultimately Longfellow's Evangeline (1847) and theCourtship of Miles Standish (1858) and Clough's Bothie ofTober-na-Vuolich (1848). These alone, not to mention the lesserimitations, were enough to discredit the movement metrically. MeanwhileTennyson and Kingsley, followed later by William Watson, and stillenthusiastically by the present Poet Laureate, undertook to harmonizesyllabic length and stress by more or less occult processes. As a matterof learned experiment and debate these problems have a certain academicinterest, but only the staunchest and (one may say) blindest adherentsfind in them any practical importance. 

The storm centre of all classical adaptations has been the dactylichexameter, the standard measure of Greek and Latin narrative poetry. Themost nearly successful English hexameters are probably those ofKingsley's Andromeda (1858), which occupy a middle ground between thepurely accentual and the purely (so-called) quantitative experiments. Anexample of this and one of Mr. Bridges' quantitative hexameters mustsuffice. Though both have good qualities, neither approaches the melodicvariety and dignity of Homer and Virgil, or even Ovid. [77]

 Over the sea, past Crete, on the Syrian shore to the southward, Dwells in the well-tilled lowland a dark-haired Æthiop people, Skilful with needle and loom, and the arts of the dyer and carver, Skilful, but feeble of heart; for they know not the lords of Olympus, Lovers of men; neither broad-browed Zeus, nor Pallas Athené, Teacher of wisdom to heroes, bestower of might in the battle; Share not the cunning of Hermes, nor list to the songs of Apollo. Andromeda. 

 Now in wintry delights, and long fireside meditation, 'Twixt studies and routine paying due court to the Muses, My solace in solitude, when broken roads barricade me Mudbound, unvisited for months with my merry children, Grateful t'ward Providence, and heeding a slander against me Less than a rheum, think of me to-day, dear Lionel, and take This letter as some account of Will Stone's versification. R. BRIDGES, Wintry Delights. 

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [77] The advanced student should of course read carefully | | the paper on "Classical Metres in English" by W. J. Stone in | | Bridges' Milton's Prosody (2d ed. ), pp. 113 ff. Mr. Stone | | regards the hexameters of Clough's Actæon and some specimen | | verses by Spedding (the biographer of Bacon) as the best he | | has seen. | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

After the hexameter the most frequently imitated metre is the Sapphicstrophe. Swinburne's Sapphics in Poems and Ballads are the best known;but though they are finely musical they do not pretend to give more thanan echo of the Greek music. 

 All the night sleep came not upon my eyelids, Shed not dew, nor shook nor unclosed a feather, Yet with lips shut close and with eyes of iron Stood and beheld me. 

 Then to me so lying awake a vision Came without sleep over the seas and touched me, Softly touched mine eyelids and lips; and I too, Full of the vision, Saw the white implacable Aphrodite, Saw the hair unbound and the feet unsandalled Shine as fire of sunset on western waters; Saw the reluctant. .. . 

Both Tennyson and Swinburne tried the Catullan hendecasyllabics. Tennyson's Milton, in alcaics, is famous, and has a well-marked Miltonicsound, but little of the sound of Horace's alcaics. Admirable also arethe elegiac distichs of Watson's Hymn to the Sea--

 Man whose deeds, to the doer, come back as thine own exhalations Into thy bosom return, weepings of mountain and vale; Man with the cosmic fortunes and starry vicissitudes tangled, Chained to the wheel of the world, blind with the dust of its speed, Even as thou, O giant, whom trailed in the wake of her conquests Night's sweet despot draws, bound to her ivory car. 

Of the French lyrical metres that have been imitated in English, mainlyfor lighter themes, the _ballade_ and the _rondeau_ are the mostimportant. These and the _villanelle_, _triolet_, and _pantoum_ are not, like imitations of classical forms, semi-learned attempts to do inEnglish what is foreign to the nature of the language, but games ofskill in phrasing and riming, wholly legitimate once their artificialityis granted. For the impassioned overflowing of a sincere spirit they areunfitted, but for grace, point, and delicate charm nothing could bebetter devised; and when occasionally they are used for the expressionof genuine feeling, the unexpected union of lightness and seriousnesshas a peculiarly poignant effect. 

The _ballade_ in its commonest form consists of three 8-line stanzasriming _ababbcbc_ and a 4-line stanza called 'envoy, ' _bcbc_; the lastline of each stanza being repeated as a refrain, and the _a_, _b_, and_c_ rimes throughout the poem being the same. The lines contain usuallyeither four or five stresses. The envoy is a sort of dedication, addressed traditionally to a "Prince. " Variations of all kinds occur, encouraged by the difficulty of satisfying all the demands of the form. Examples may be found (with an excellent introduction) in GleesonWhite's collection of Ballades and Rondeaus (Canterbury Poets), andAndrew Lang's Ballades of Blue China. 

_Rondeaus_ and _rondels_ (two forms of the same word) are written withgreater freedom of variation. Their organic principle is the use of thefirst phrase or first line, twice repeated, as a refrain (R). Thecommoner model in English is: _aabba_, _aabR_, _aabbaR_, in which thefirst half of the first line constitutes the refrain. Another type rimes_ABba_, _abAB_, _abbaAB_ (the capital letters indicating the linesrepeated). For examples see the reference above. Austin Dobson, Henley, and Swinburne have written successfully in this form. 

The _triolet_ is a sort of abbreviation of the second variety ofrondeau. Its lines are usually short and rime _ABaAabAB_. 

The _villanelle_, in its normal form, consists of five 3-line stanzas(_aba_) and a concluding 4-line stanza, all with but two rimes, thefirst line, moreover, being repeated as the sixth, twelfth, andeighteenth, the third line as the ninth, fifteenth, and nineteenth. 

The _pantoum_ is of Eastern origin, but it came into English through theFrench. It is extremely rare. It consists of a series of quatrains_abab_, with the second and fourth lines of each stanza repeatedchainwise as the first and third of the next stanza. The closing stanzacompletes the chain by taking as its second and fourth lines the firstand third of the first stanza. 

From Italy have come, besides the _ottava rima_ and the sonnet, twoother metrical forms, the _sestina_ and the _terza rima_. The sestina iscomposed of six 6-line stanzas and a final 3-line stanza. Instead ofrimes the end words of the lines of the first stanza are repeated inthis order 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. -- 6. 1. 5. 2. 4. 3. -- 3. 6. 4. 1. 2. 5. -- 5. 3. 2. 6. 1. 4. -- 4. 5. 1. 3. 6. 2. -- 2. 4. 6. 5. 3. 1. -- and the last stanza 5. 3. 1. With2. 4. 6. In the middle of the lines. Gosse, Swinburne, and Kipling havewritten sestinas; Swinburne one with the additional embellishment ofrime. 

The _terza rima_ is the metre of Dante's Divine Comedy. The rimes are_aba_, _bcb_, _cdc_, etc. .. . _yzy_, _zz_. It has not been verysuccessfully used in English, except in the stanzaic arrangement ofShelley's Ode to the West Wind, --_aba_, _bcb_, _cdc_, _ded_, _ee_. Otherexamples besides translations of Dante are short poems by Wyatt andSidney, Browning's The Statue and the Bust, and Shelley's unfinished TheTriumph of Life. 

CHAPTER V

MELODY, HARMONY, AND MODULATION

The terms melody, harmony, and modulation, being borrowed from music, are not to be applied too literally to the art of versification. Theyrepresent metaphorically, however, certain important qualities of versewhich, with the exception of rime, cannot from their very impalpabilitybe formally explained, but can only be suggested and partiallydescribed. They are not the determining and fundamental characteristicsof verse--those have already been discussed--but rather its sources ofincremental beauty, of richness and, subtle power. To draw anillustration from another art, they add light and shadow, fullness, roundness, depth of perspective, vividness, to what would else be simpleline-drawing. 

The language of ordinary prose has its own melody and harmony, its ownsonorous rhythms, and its own delicate adjustments between sound andmeaning. All these natural beauties verse inherits from prose and thenadds the further beauties that result from the union of prose rhythmsand the formal patterns of verse. Some of these qualities which are thepeculiar enhancements of verse will now be examined. 

 * * * * *

The simplest and most tangible of these is rime in its various forms. Rime is, in its most general signification, the repetition, usually atregulated intervals, of identical or closely similar sounds. Accordingto the circumstances of the identical or similar sounds, four varietiesare distinguishable: (1) _alliteration_, or initial rime, when thesounds at the beginning of accented syllables agree, as _t_ale, a_tt_une; (2) _consonance_, when the vowel sounds differ and the finalconsonantal sounds agree, as ta_l_e, pu_ll_; (3) _assonance_, when thevowel sounds agree and the consonants differ, as t_a_le, p_ai_n; and (4)_rime proper_, when both the vowels and the final consonants agree, ast_ale_, p_ale_. 

Alliteration is a natural and obvious method of emphasis in English--andoften difficult to avoid rather than to obtain. Popular sayings--windand weather, time and tide, kith and kin, ever and aye, to have and tohold--are fond of it for its own sake. The early English, German, andScandinavian prosodies made it a determining principle; and in the northof England it survived well into the fifteenth century; but since thenit has been considered a too 'easy' kind of metrical ornament, one to beused sparingly and only for very special effects. "Apt alliteration'sartful aid" is very well when it is apt and artful; but when some poetsin their simplicity have gone so far as to "hunt the letter to thedeath, " one cannot but condemn it, in John Burroughs' ironic phrase, asa "leprosy of alliteration. " Most of the poets, however, have madeskilful use of it, notably Tennyson and Swinburne, though the latterfrequently overdid it, as in--

 . .. Rusted sheaves Rain-rotten in rank lands. A Ballad of Death. 

Very remarkable is the combination of rime and frequent alliteration inBrowning's Abt Vogler. 

Analogous to alliteration and perhaps to be classed as a by-form of itis the subtle use of the same sound in unstressed parts of neighboringwords, as in--

 Over the dark abyss, whose boi_l_ing gu_l_f Tame_l_y endured a bridge of wondrous _l_ength. Paradise Lost, II, 1027-28. 

Consonance is very similar to this latter form of alliteration. Its useis irregular and usually hidden. Note the alliteration and consonance inMilton's line, both the _s_'s and the _n_'s--

 Through the soft silence of the list'ning night. 

Assonance, like alliteration and consonance, occurs in modern versesporadically, almost accidentally, but with great frequency in alllanguages. As a regular principle of verse (in place of rime) it ischaracteristic of Spanish and of Old French; in English its deliberateuse is very rare--the best example is perhaps the song "Bright, O brightFedalma" in George Eliot's The Spanish Gypsy. 

Minute analysis is tedious and unsatisfactory, often indeed misleading, but a single example will perhaps suggest some of the ways in whichalliteration, consonance, and assonance are interwoven for harmoniceffects that, not being altogether obvious, are felt rather thandirectly perceived. Similar experiments may be made by the reader withother passages. The opening stanza of Gray's Elegy, quoted on page 55, above, is remarkable for its smooth and quiet flow, symbolic of theatmosphere described by the words. How is this 'atmosphere' produced? orrather, what is there that produces in us this sense of appropriateatmosphere? In the first place, the lines are 5-stress and have the"long iambic roll, " and the rimes are simple _abab_. Furthermore, thecoincidence of prose and verse rhythms is noticeable; there are onlythree variations: _wind_ in the second line, which is too important tooccupy the metrically unstressed position, and _o'er_ in the second lineand the second _and_ in the fourth, which are not quite strong enough tostand in the stressed position. By a sort of substitution or 'occultbalance' the weakness of _o'er_ is compensated by the slight overweightof _wind_. And the weakness of _and_ is strengthened by the rhetoricalpause after _darkness_. A rough approximation in semi-musical notationwould give for the second line

 ◡ -- ◡ -- -- -- ◡ ◡ ◡ --

There is a syncopation by which -- -- and ◡◡ combine (the natural syllabiclength of _o'er_ helping considerably) without destroying thefundamental rhythm. In the fourth line, instead of

 ◡ -- ◡ -- ◡ --

we have

 ◡ -- ◡ ‸ ◡ ◡ -- . .. To dark-ness and to me, --

the pause being supported by the meaning as well as by the structure ofthe verse. Alliteration is appropriately inconspicuous; it is limited to_pl_owman . .. _pl_ods and the conventional _w_eary _w_ay. The consonanceis significant. The most frequently repeated consonantal sounds are:_l_ 10, _d_ 9, _r_[78] 8, _th_ 6, _n_ 6, and _w_ 5; that is, of theseventy consonantal sounds (counting _th_ as one, _p_ and _l_ as twosounds) in the stanza, thirty-five, or one-half, are the comparativelysoft sounds _l_, _r_, _th_, _n_, _w_. From the point of view of theline, a tabulation shows two or more occurrences in each line of--

 1 -- TH R T L 2 -- TH R L D 3 -- R L D P M W H 4 -- R T L D N

That is, there is a kind of RTLD motif throughout the stanza. Theassonance is even more striking. The stressed vowel sounds (which are ofcourse the most important[79]) line by line are as follows:[80]

 ŭ^R ō ĕ ā ē ō ŭ^R ō ō ī au ō ŏ ī ē ī ŭ^R ā ī

Here the five ō-sounds and four ī-sounds and three ŭ^R-sounds arenoticeable. 

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [78] According to the commonest American pronunciation. | | | | [79] The unaccented vowel sounds show the usual predominance | | of the obscure vowel e, with three occurrences of ĭ and ī. | | | | [80] Reference to the text will identify the symbols. | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

Now while no one would dream of saying that such a mechanicalexamination unlocks the mystery of this quatrain's music, it cannot bedenied that the predominance of some sounds (especially those that arepeculiarly suggestive) over others is significant. And certainly such atabulation reveals _parts_ of the mystery which are not plain even tothe trained eye and ear. 

The origin of rime is much disputed, but it occurs, at leastsporadically, in the poetry of nearly all peoples, and is likely to havebeen a spontaneous growth arising from a natural human pleasure insimilar sounds. "It lies deep in our human nature and satisfies anuniversal need. " It is an established phenomenon in Sanskrit and Persianprosody, in Arabic, in Chinese, in Celtic, in Icelandic. Greek prosody, and Latin, which was based upon Greek, rejected it, partly perhapsbecause it was too simple an ornament for the highly cultivated Greektaste, especially on account of the great frequency of similarinflectional endings, and perhaps because it was not entirely consistentwith the quantitative principle. [81] In the _popular_ Latin verse, however, which was accentual, rime is found; and when, before the fallof the later Empire, quantity was gradually abandoned, rime returned asa regular feature of Latin verse. From thence it passed into the Romancelanguages--Provençal, Italian, French--where it was for a time rivalledby assonance; and finally, under French influence after the Conquest, itmade its way into England. But it had not been unknown in earliestEnglish verse, though it occurred only here and there, as in Greek andLatin. [82] And from the fact that rimes appear with greater frequency inthe later than in the earlier Anglo-Saxon verse, as the native poetsbecame more familiar with the rimed Latin hymns, one may feel sure thatit would have developed into a staple of English verse independently ofFrench influence. From the twelfth century until the introduction ofblank verse by the Elizabethans, practically all English verse, exceptthat which belongs to the Alliterative Revival (mainly in the north ofEngland) of the second half of the fourteenth century, was rimed. 

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [81] Rime occurs, however, here and there in Greek and Latin | | poetry, and is more frequent than perhaps we commonly | | suppose. | | | | [82] In the 3182 lines of Beowulf, for example, there are | | sixteen exact rimes and many more approximate rimes. There | | is also in Anglo-Saxon the so-called Riming Poem, of | | uncertain date, composed probably under Scandinavian | | influence. | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

From the æsthetic point of view rime has been severely attacked andfaithfully defended. A lively controversy was waged at the end of thesixteenth century between the Renaissance classicists, who of coursecondemned it, and the native rimers, but was brought to a peacefulconclusion by Samuel Daniels' A Defence of Rhyme in 1603. In a prefatorynote to the second edition of Paradise Lost, Milton delivered anarrogant but ineffectual counterblast. Rime, he said, was "no necessaryadjunct or true ornament of poem or good verse, in longer worksespecially, but the invention of a barbarous age, to set off wretchedmatter and lame metre; graced indeed since by the use of some famousmodern poets, carried away by custom, but much to their own vexation, hindrance, and constraint to express many things otherwise, and for themost part worse, than else they would have expressed them. "

The chief arguments against rime are those mentioned by Milton, itstendency to conceal "wretched matter and lame metre, " and the necessityit often forces upon poets of either twisting unpleasantly what theyhave to say or of adding irrelevant matter. Besides these there is alsowhat Cowper called "clock-work tintinnabulum"--mere empty jingle. Butall the arguments are double-edged. For although many inferior poetshave imposed for a while on readers and critics by the superficialmelody of rime alone, "wretched matter and lame metre" were never longsuccessfully concealed by it. And although, as Hobbes wrote, rime"forces a man sometimes for the stopping of a chink to say something hedid never think, " it is a fact nevertheless that the second thought, induced by rime-necessity, "the rack of truest wits, "[83] is sometimesif not better than the first, at least a worthy and handsome brother toit. Whether rime be a hindrance, vexation, and constraint to the poetdepends almost wholly on his mastery of the technique of verse. It isnot always easier to write in unrimed measures, for, as Milton proudlyimplied, good blank verse is the most difficult of all metres. Andalthough the jingle of like sounds may become tedious and mechanical ifunskilfully handled--"to all judicious ears trivial and of no truemusical delight, " says Milton again--it has also proved a source ofrichness and beauty of sound; and it should never be forgotten that inthe true æsthetic judgment of poetry sound plays a very importantpart. [84]

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [83] See the whole of Ben Jonson's Fit of Rhyme against | | Rhyme. | | | | [84] Compare Flaubert's extreme statement: "that a beautiful | | verse without meaning is superior to one that has meaning | | but is less beautiful. " | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

The satisfaction which the ear receives from rime at the end of a versehas been aptly compared to the pleasure we feel when a long arch ofmelody returns to the dominant and then the tonic. More elaborate isOscar Wilde's praise of rime--"that exquisite echo which in the music'shollow hill creates and answers its own voice; rhyme, which in the handsof a real artist becomes not merely a material element of metricalbeauty, but a spiritual element of thought and passion also, waking anew mood, it may be, or stirring a fresh train of ideas, or opening bymere sweetness and suggestion of sound some golden door at which theImagination itself had knocked in vain; rhyme, which can turn man'sutterance into the speech of the gods; rhyme, the one chord we haveadded to the Greek lyre. "

The real problem in the arguments on rime is its fitness or unfitness inparticular kinds of poetry. No rules or laws can be formulated; men havejudged differently at different times; but it has been generally feltthat shorter poems, inasmuch as they are in a way the concentratedessence of poetry, and must make their full impression almostinstantaneously, require all the advantages of the poetic art. Tennyson's unrimed lyrics and Collins' Ode to Evening are unusual, though successful, experiments. For long poems, however, there is notthis necessity of immediate effect. Here rime is sometimes a vexation, sometimes not. Justification lies in special circumstances. Theclassical French drama found it indispensable; English poetic drama gaveit a trial in the seventeenth century and rejected it. Narrative poemswhich contain a large lyrical element, like the Faerie Queene and theEve of St. Agnes, are, all agree, enhanced by the rime. But no one wouldnow wish to have Paradise Lost in rimed verse, though it is clear fromthe publisher's note in 1668 that many readers at the time were'stumbled' because it was not. On the other hand, we feel that Chapman'sand Pope's Homer and Dryden's Virgil might have been better withoutrimes. Once more, it lies with the poet--and with the poem--to justifyhis use of rime or his refusal of it; if he is a good poet and hisjudgment is not warped by local or temporary conditions there willrarely be any doubt. 

Rimes are called _masculine_ when they consist of one syllable, as_cries: arise;_ _feminine_ when they consist of two or more syllables, as _heedless: needless_, _beautiful: dutiful_. When both vowel andfollowing consonant agree the rime is called _perfect_, as _might:right_, _solemn: column_. When the preceding consonant as well as thevowel and following consonant agree the rime is called _identical_ or_echo_ rime, as _reed: read_, _perfection: infection_, _ours: hours_. When there is a difference either in the vowel sound or in the followingconsonantal sound, that is, when assonance or consonance is substitutedfor rime, the rime is usually said to be approximate or imperfect, as_worth: forth_, _was: pass_, _gusht: dust_ (Coleridge). When the rimewords look alike but are pronounced differently, they are called _eyerimes_, as _war: car_, _brow: glow_. Sometimes false rimes occur whichhave no similarity of sound or appearance, but are more or lesssanctioned by earlier pronunciation or by custom, as _high: humanity_. Sometimes also unaccented syllables are rimed with accented syllables, as _burning: sing_. 

Imperfect rimes of all sorts are used for various reasons. Compared withsome languages, English is not very rich in rime words; and for manywords which poets are prone to use, such as _love_, _God_, _heaven_, etc. , few available rimes exist. When good rimes are few, olderpronunciations are often resorted to, as the familiar _love: move_, _blood: stood_, _north: forth. _ In reading the older poets we find manyrimes which are now imperfect but were once entirely correct, as theeighteenth century _fault: thought_, _join: shine_, _tea: way_. On theother hand, the poet's carelessness or indifference is sometimes toblame for approximate rimes, as Gray's _beech: stretch_ in the Elegy, and his _relies: requires_, Blake's _lamb: name_ and _tomb: come_, Coleridge's _forced: burst_, Whittier's notorious _pen: been_, etc. Butto dogmatize on a point like this is obviously very dangerous. Certainpoets, especially among the moderns, may be said to choose imperfectrimes deliberately, both as a fresh means of securing variety andavoiding the monotony of hackneyed rimes, and also as a means of subtlysuggesting the imperfection and futility of life. A few famous examples, defensible and indefensible, are: Wordsworth's _robin: sobbing_, _sullen: pulling_; Tennyson's _with her: together_, _valleys: lilies_;Keats's _youths: soothe_, _pulse: culls_; Swinburne's _lose him: bosom:blossom_. Keats and Rossetti are noted for their free use of approximaterimes. The humorous rimes of Byron and Browning, among others, are ofcourse in a different category. 

Feminine rimes have been frequently rejected as undignified. They are, said Coleridge, "a lower species of wit"; and he instanced, not veryjustly, the couplet of Smart:

 Tell me, thou son of great Cadwallader! Hast sent the hare? or hast thou swallowed her?[85]

But again the right justification is successful use, and no one willdeny that Swinburne's double and triple rimes have greatly enriched hisverse and revealed to others unused possibilities of metre. Such rimesas _grey leaf: bay-leaf_ were practically a new thing in 1865. [86]

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [85] Triple rimes are naturally excellent for joco-serious | | purposes, like the celebrated _intellectual: henpecked you | | all_, _Timbuctoo: hymn book too_, _thin sand doubts: ins and | | outs_. | | | | [86] Swinburne, Dedication, 1865. | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

 * * * * *

Too evasive for explanatory analysis, almost too delicate and impalpableeven for descriptive comment, are many of the best musical effects offine poetry. The poet's ear and his sixth prosodic sense enable him tomake his verse a perfect vehicle of his meaning and emotion. He choosesan appropriate stanza for his poem, discovers an unguessed power in somecommon measure, makes the words hurry or deliberately holds them back, varying the tempo with the spirit of the words, gives the pattern anunusual twist when the idea is unusual, startles or soothes by the soundas well as by the intellectual content of his lines--and accomplishesall these metrical nuances, not with the whip-snapping of thering-master, but with the consummate art that conceals art. When hisprosodic effects are obvious they lose their power; we can see how thetrick is done and we do not marvel. But when we feel vaguely thehaunting quality of a melodious line or the perfect metrical rightnessof a phrase without knowing _why_ the melody haunts us or the phrasejust fits, then we both marvel and applaud; then the poet's gift, hisdivine authorization, is patent, and we recognize his superiority withawe. 

Some of these effects have already been mentioned in the precedingparagraphs; but besides the 'tone-color' of assonance and consonance andrime proper there are also effects of pitch and of tempo and ofrepetition, and imitative effects, more or less concrete andexplainable. It is true that many trained readers find subtleties ofsound and suggestiveness where others find none, and also that many findrich beauties that the poet himself was not aware of and did not intend. This latter case may be accounted for in two ways: sometimes a reader issupersubtle and imagines embellishments that do not exist; and sometimesthe poet builds better than he knows. His intuition, or inspiration, orwhatever one chooses to call it, endows him with powers of whosecomplete functioning he is not at the time conscious. As readers muststeer carefully between these two dangers, so also the poet has to avoidon the one hand repelling us by the appearance of a metrical device andon the other losing an effect which he intends but which may be toodelicate to be seen or felt. No one probably ever missed the simplemelody of Poe's

 The viol, the violet, and the vine;

or the imitative effectiveness of Swinburne's

 With lisp of leaves and ripple of rain;

and though these beauties are obvious they are for most tastes not tooobtrusive. But Tennyson's

 Low on the sand and loud on the stone

is not so obvious, and there is danger of its escaping notice. One hearsthe line with increased pleasure after the imitation of sound is pointedout; but only the trained ear catches it at first. 

This correspondence of sound and sense is called _onomatopoeia_. It mayappear in a single word, as _buzz_, _whack_, _crackle_, _roar_, etc. ; ora combination of imitative words, as Tennyson's

 The moan of doves in immemorial elms, And murmuring of innumerable bees;

or a suggestive echo rather than direct imitation, as Shelley's

 Makes faint with too much sweet these heavy-wingèd thieves;

or a suggestion of motion rather than of sound, as Milton's sea-fish

 huge of bulk, Wallowing unwieldy, enormous in their gait, and the

 Leviathan, which God of all his works Created hugest that swim the ocean stream;

or an attempt to imitate the motion described, as Tennyson's picture ofExcalibur when Sir Bedivere hurls it into the lake--

 The great brand Made lightnings in the splendour of the moon, And flashing round and round, whirled in an arch, Shot like a streamer of the northern morn;

and Swinburne's more simple

 As a lamp Burns and bends all its blowing flame one way;

or even the correspondence of a harsh line and a harsh thought, asBrowning's famous

 Irks care the crop-full bird, frets doubt the maw-crammed beast?[87]

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [87] For an extreme example of mimicry, see Southey's | | Lodore. | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

Sometimes there is obtained an effect of altered tempo; of which thebest illustration, though hackneyed, is still Pope's clever couplets inthe Essay on Criticism--

 When Ajax strives some rock's vast weight to throw, The line too labours, and the words move slow: Not so, when swift Camilla scours the plain, Flies o'er th' unbending corn, and skims along the main. [88]

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [88] Lines 370 ff. Dr. Johnson's comment on this last line is| | curious: "The swiftness of Camilla is rather contrasted than | | exemplified. Why the verse should be lengthened to express | | speed, will not easily be discovered. In the dactyls, used | | for that purpose by the ancients, two short syllables were | | pronounced with such rapidity, as to be equal only to one | | long; they, therefore, naturally exhibit the act of passing | | through a long space in a short time. But the alexandrine, | | by its pause in the midst, is a tardy and stately measure; | | and the word 'unbending, ' one of the most sluggish and slow | | which our language affords, cannot much accelerate its | | motion. " | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

Examples of similar metrical skill may be found everywhere, especiallyamong the more conscious literary artists, such as Shelley, Tennyson, Rossetti, Swinburne, and Browning, too. A few worth study follow:

 To-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow Creeps in this petty pace from day to day. SHAKESPEARE, Macbeth, V, v. 

 To bellow through the vast and boundless deep. MILTON, Paradise Lost, I, 177. 

 ---- Mixt Confus'dly, and which thus must ever fight. Ibid. , II, 913 f. 

 So he with difficulty and labour hard Mov'd on, with difficulty and labour he. Paradise Lost, II, 1021 f. 

 Yielded with coy submission, modest pride, And sweet reluctant amorous delay. Ibid. , IV, 310 f. 

 See how he lies at random, carelessly diffused, With languished head unpropt, As one past hope, abandoned, And by himself given over. MILTON, Samson Agonistes, 118 ff. 

 With doubtful feet and wavering resolution. Ibid. , 732

 Some rousing motions in me, which dispose To something extraordinary my thoughts. Ibid. , 1382 f. 

 And ten low words oft creep in one dull line. POPE, Essay on Criticism, 347. 

 The broad and burning moon lingeringly arose. SHELLEY, The Sunset. 

 Rugged and dark, winding among the springs. SHELLEY, Alastor, 88. 

 Here, where precipitate Spring, with one light bound. LANDOR, Fiesolan Idyl. 

 Hammering and clinking, chattering stony names. TENNYSON, The Princess, III, 361. 

 Myriads of rivulets, hurrying through the lawn. Ibid. , VII, 205. 

 The league-long roller thundering on the reef. TENNYSON, Enoch Arden, 580. 

 Then Philip standing up said falteringly. Ibid. , 283. 

 A long street climbs to one tall-tower'd hill. Ibid. , 5. 

 Clang battle-axe and clash brand. TENNYSON, The Coming of Arthur, 492. 

 The blind wave feeling round his long sea-hall In silence. TENNYSON, Merlin and Vivien, 230 f. 

 Immingled with heaven's azure waveringly. TENNYSON, Gareth, 914. 

 The hoof of his horse slipt in the stream, the stream . .. Ibid. , 1020. 

 The brooks of Eden mazily murmuring. TENNYSON, Milton. 

 And in the throbbing engine room Leap the long rods of polished steel. OSCAR WILDE, La Mer. 

Something has already been said above on the nature and effects of pitchin spoken rhythm (pages 35 ff. ). It is a constant factor of language, but its usual function is special emphasis or intensification. By itselfit rarely dominates or determines the rhythm. And since the regulardeterminants of spoken rhythm are time and stress, it follows of coursethat pitch serves usually to reinforce these determinants. [89] But notalways; for not only does pitch sometimes clash with rhythmic stress, but also it is sometimes a substitute for it. All three of thesefunctions--strengthening, opposing, and replacing stress--are operativein verse. 

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [89] It is not to be understood, however, that the higher | | the pitch the greater the emphasis; for the contrary is | | often the case. | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

In Shelley's line

 Laugh with an inextinguishable laughter, a great deal of the effect is due to the combination of word accent andemphatic pitch in the syllable-_ting_-, so that not merely the one wordbut the one syllable dominates the whole verse. In such frequentconflicts of stress as "on the blue surface, " where the prose rhythm is◡◡ ̷ ̷◡ while the verse pattern has ◡_̷◡_̷◡, the so-called hoveringaccent (as it is usually described, with the theory that somehow thenormal quantity of stress is divided between _the_ and _blue_) isproperly a circumflex accent, which in other words means pitch. Similarly in "If I were a dead leaf, " the peculiar rhythm is to beexplained as a balance of pitch against stress. And in that metricallynotorious line of Tennyson's--

 Take your own time, Annie, take your own time. TENNYSON, Enoch Arden, 463. 

the chief irregularity or dissonance is the clash of pitch againststress in "own time. " If the line read--

 So you're on time, Annie, so you're on time, there would be an unusual arrangement of stresses and unstressedsyllables, a peculiar syncopation, but no great difficulty. [90] Muchsimpler and clearer is the conflict of stress and pitch in such passagesas

 Pansies, lilies, kingcups, daisies, Let _them_ live upon _their_ praises. WORDSWORTH, To the Small Celandine. [91]

 _I_ only stirred in this black spot; _I_ only lived--_I_ only drew The accursèd breath of dungeon-dew. BYRON, Prisoner of Chillon. [92]

and Keats's

 Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard. 

and Marvel's

 Annihilating all that's made To a green thought in a green shade. `

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [90] It is perhaps useless to debate about this line. | | Whether one divides thus: | | | | _̷ ◡ | ◡ _̷ | _̷ ◡ | _̷ ◡ | ◡ _̷ | | | | and says there is an 'inversion' in the first, third, and | | fourth feet, or preferably thus: | | | | ‸ _̷ | ◡[`] _̷ | ^ _̷ | ◡ _̷ | ◡[`] _̷ | | | | the rhythm is extraordinary; and the added complexity of | | 'own' puts it entirely _hors concours_. Compare with it, | | however, Milton's | | | | Which but th' Omnipotent none could have foil'd. | | Paradise Lost, I, 273. | | | | Not merely titular, since by degree. | | Ibid. , V, 774. | | | | [91] The italics are not Wordsworth's. | | | | [92] Here the italics are the poet's. | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

The most interesting, and the rarest, effect of pitch in verse is itsuse as a substitute for stress. In the much-discussed first line ofParadise Lost--

 Of man's first disobedience and the fruit, there is a metrical stress on _dis_-of "disobedience. " This is not somuch, however, an intensification of an already existent secondaryaccent, as in, for example, Shelley's

 The eager hours and _un_reluctant years. Ode to Liberty, xi. 

as the substitution of pitch for stress. [93] The adaptability oflanguage to metre appears very clearly in such a line as Paradise Lost, III, 130--

 Self-tempted, self-deprav'd: Man falls deceiv'd, in which the first compound shows a conflict of pitch and stress ('self'having a pitch-accent, but occurring in an unstressed part of the line), while the second shows pitch taking the place of stress. The whole line, and indeed the whole passage, though not of high poetic value, is anadmirable illustration of the Miltonic freedom of substitution andsyncopation--pitch playing a very important rôle. One should read thelines first as prose, with full emphasis on the expressive contrasts;then merely as verse, beating out the metre regardless of the meaning;finally, with mutual sacrifice and compromise between the two readings, producing that exquisite adjustment which is the characteristic of goodverse. There is a similar example of pitch and stress in the familiar

 What recks it them? what need they? _They_ are sped. 

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [93] Some readers take the line thus: | | | | ◡ _̷ _̷ ◡ ◡ _̷ ◡[`] ◡ ◡ _ | | | | with emphasis or pitch-accent on 'first'; in which case the | | above explanation does not hold. | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

Repetition is a rhetorical not a metrical device, though it is employedwith great effectiveness in verse as well as in prose:

 For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime, Young Lycidas . .. 

 The leaves they were crispèd and sere-- The leaves they were withering and sere. 

But a frequent kind of repetition which is truly a prosodic phenomenonand which, though primarily an element of stanzaic form, has often aneffect analogous to those just described, is the refrain. This may varyfrom the simple "My Mary" of Cowper's poem (see page 103, above) to theelaboration of such a stanza as Rossetti's Sister Helen:

 "Why did you melt your waxen man, Sister Helen? To-day is the third since you began. "

 "The time was long, yet the time ran, Little brother. " (_O Mother, Mary Mother, Three days to-day, between Hell and Heaven!_)

in which the second, fifth, and sixth lines remain the same throughoutthe forty-two stanzas, and the second half of the last line as well. 

Besides the prosodic variations and subtleties so far discussed, thereare a great many peculiar rhythms, that is, unusual but harmoniouschanges from the set metrical pattern, modulations, adjustments andcombinations of different melodies, which enormously en-rich the verseof a poem. As in music the ear at length tires of the familiar harmoniestoo often repeated, so the precise regularity of the metrical patterntoo closely followed becomes tedious and almost demands variety. To besure, a certain amount of variety results of necessity from thecontinual adaptation of ordinary language to the requirements of verse;but many of the examples of early heroic couplets and early blank verseare enough to show that this natural variety is too slight to satisfythe ear. The poet must exert a perpetual vigilance to prevent monotony. But on the other hand, only the highly cultivated ear appreciates thevery unusual subtleties of rhythm, and the poet must therefore, unlesshe is willing to deprive himself of ordinary human comprehension andwrite esoterically for the "fit audience though few" (in Milton's proudphrase), limit himself to reasonably intelligible modulations. "It isvery easy to see, " says Mr. Robert Bridges, "how the far-sought effectsof the greatest master in any art may lie beyond the general taste. Inrhythm this is specially the case; while almost everybody has a naturalliking for the common fundamental rhythms, it is only after longfamiliarity with them that the ear grows dissatisfied, and wishes themto be broken; and there are very few persons indeed who take such anatural delight in rhythm for its own sake that they can follow withpleasure a learned rhythm which is very rich in variety, and the beautyof which is its perpetual freedom to obey the sense and diction. "[94]Some examples of these finer rhythms, in addition to the particularforms already given--rhythms not altogether 'learned, ' but occasionallyfar-sought and peculiarly delicate--may be profitably examined. Oneshould keep the metrical pattern constantly in mind as a test ortouchstone of the variations. To classify or arrange these illustrationsin special groups is difficult because so often the same lineexemplifies more than one sort of variation, but the following more orless vague classes of modulation (substitution and syncopation) may bedifferentiated, and other peculiarities mentioned in passing. 

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [94] Milton's Prosody, p. 30 (ed. 1901). | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

The normal blank verse line calls for five stressed syllables and fiveunstressed syllables; but when two light syllables are naturally andeasily uttered in the time of one, trisyllabic feet occur, sometimeswith and sometimes without special effect--

 And pointed out those arduous paths they trod. POPE, Essay on Criticism, I, 95. 

 The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep. WORDSWORTH, Immortality Ode. 

 Departed from thee; and thou resembl'st now. MILTON, Paradise Lost, IV, 839. 

 To quench the drouth of Phebus; which as they taste. MILTON, Comus, 66. 

When this extra syllable comes at the end of the line it is morenoticeable; for if it is a weak syllable, it tends to give the line afalling rhythm, and if it is a heavy syllable, it distinctly lengthensthe line, with a semi-alexandrine effect--

 Of rebel angels, by whose aid aspiring. MILTON, Paradise Lost, I, 38. 

 Remember who dies with thee, and despise death. FLETCHER, Valentinian, V, i. 

Sometimes there are two consecutive lines having such hypermetricalsyllables--

 Extolling patience as the truest fortitude; And to the bearing well of all calamities. MILTON, Samson Agonistes, 654 f. 

Much more frequent, however, is the trisyllabic effect in which thenumber of syllables of a line remains constant, that is, in the heroicor 5-stress line does not exceed ten--

 Infinite wrath and infinite despair. MILTON, Paradise Lost, IV, 74. 

 Suddenly flashed on her a wild desire. 

 TENNYSON, Lancelot and Elaine, 355. 

And the following line (Comus, 8) contains an extra syllable at the end, one in the middle, and also a trisyllabic effect at the beginning--

 Strive to keep up a frail and feverish being. 

This last phenomenon, the trisyllabic (or dactylic, or anapestic)effect, is commonly described as an inversion--the 'rule' being giventhat in certain parts of the line the iamb is _inverted_ and becomes atrochee. This explanation is convenient, but it is open to theobjection of inaccuracy. It almost stands to reason that when a risingrhythm is established the sudden reversal of it would produce a harshdiscordant effect, would practically destroy the rhythmic movement forthe time being. So it is in music, at any rate, [95] whereas it is not sowith these 'inverted feet' of verse. Therefore it seems more reasonableto scan such a line as that of Tennyson thus:

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [95] The pronounced syncopations of ragtime partially | | illustrate this. | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

 ‸ Sud | denly flashed | on her | a wild | desire, and the substitution is simply that of a triple rising (anapestic) for aduple rising (iambic) rhythm in the same time. _Sud_-is a monosyllabicfoot, and the preceding rest is easily accounted for by the pause at theend of the previous line. In fact, this phenomenon is nearly always inimmediate proximity to a pause either at the beginning of a line or inthe middle. Very common is the movement--

 Flashing thick flames, wheel within wheel withdrawn. MILTON, Paradise Lost, VI, 751. 

 Thou on whose stream, 'mid the steep sky's commotion. SHELLEY, Ode to the West Wind. 

 Or if they sing, 'tis with so dull a cheer That leaves look pale, dreading the Winter's near. SHAKESPEARE, Sonnet 97. 

Less simple are the following lines from Samson Agonistes--

 The mystery of God, given me under pledge. 378. 

 With goodness principl'd not to reject. 760. 

 The jealousy of love, powerful of sway. 791. 

 To satisfy thy lust: love seeks to have love. 837. 

Still more unusual are--

 Yet fell: remember and fear to transgress. Paradise Lost, VI, 912. 

 Of thrones and mighty seraphim prostrate. Ibid. , VI, 841. 

But in the last example Milton's pronunciation would give the secondsyllable of 'prostrate' a weak accent to support the metrical stress. That he was willing to take the extreme risk, however, and actuallyinvert the rhythm of the last foot, appears from unequivocal instancesin Paradise Lost:

 Which of us who beholds the bright surface. VI, 472. 

 Beyond all past example and future. X, 840. 

In a short poem such lines as these last would presumably beunthinkable; probably Milton counted on the length of Paradise Lost tofix the rhythm so securely in the reader's ear that even this bolddeparture from the normal would seem a welcome relief. But it is bothnotable and certain that in a lyric measure the very same inversion doesnot seem unpleasantly dissonant--

 I'm sittin' on the stile, Mary, Where we sat side by side On a bright May mornin' long ago, When first you were my bride. The corn was springin' fresh and green, And the lark sang loud and high, And the red was on your lip, Mary, And the love-light in your eye. LADY DUFFERIN, Lament of the Irish Emigrant. 

Allied to this practice of inversion, or apparent inversion, are twoother phenomena: the deliberate violation of normal word-accent to fitthe metrical stress, [96] and an analogous violation of phrasal stress. The former is not such an entirely arbitrary procedure as it might atfirst seem; for at one period in the history of the language the accentof many words (especially those of French origin) was uncertain. Chaucercould say, without forcing, either _ná_ture, or na_túre_. The revival ofEnglish poetry in the sixteenth century owed a great deal to Chaucerianexample, and thus a tradition of variable accent was accepted and becamepractically a convention, not limited to those words in which it hadoriginally occurred. Parallels to Milton's "but extreme shift" (Comus, 273) are very frequent in Spenser and Shakespeare: the rhythm is not ◡_̷ ◡ _̷ nor ◡ ◡ _̷ _̷ but a sort of compromise between the two. So inShelley's To a Skylark--

 In _profuse_ strains of unpremeditated art, and in verse of all kinds. 

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [96] In the specific cases mentioned below, this phenomenon | | is historically known as "recession of accent"; and it | | sometimes occurs in non-metrical contexts. It is also very | | similar to one of the aspects of pitch; see pages 181 f. , | | above. | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

The wrenching of accent for metrical purposes, moreover, is not confinedto the dissyllabic words which show the simple recession of accent. Somepoets, especially the moderns (among others, Rossetti and Swinburne)have deliberately forced the word accent to conform to the metricalpattern in a way that can scarcely be called adaptation or adjustment;that is to say, the irregularities cannot successfully be 'organized' bysyncopation and substitution so as to produce a true rhythmic movement. For example--

 But coloured leaves of latter rose-blossom, Stems of soft grass, some withered red and some Fair and fresh-blooded, and spoil splendider Of marigold and great spent sunflower. SWINBURNE, The Two Dreams. 

So Keats has--

 The enchantment that afterwards befell. 

Those whose taste sanctions such _outré_ effects probably find pleasurein the strangeness and daring of the rhythm. 

An analogous case to this distributed stress but with monosyllablesinstead of polysyllabic words is the familiar line in Lycidas--

 The hungry sheep look up and are not fed. 

One does not read: "but _are_ not _fed_" nor "but are _not fed"_ butrather something midway between. This variation, common with all poets, was a special favorite of Shelley's--

 To deck with their bright hues his withered hair. . .. His eyes beheld Their own wan light through the reflected lines Of his thin hair, distinct in the dark depth Of that still fountain. .. . Mingling its solemn song, whilst the broad river. Alastor. 

The monosyllabic foot in which the unstressed element is missing offersno difficulty. The familiar example of

 Break, break, break, has been discussed above (pages 63 f. ). Compare also Tennyson's Sweetand Low; Fletcher's song--

 Lay a garland on my hearse Of the dismal yew; Maidens, willow branches bear; Say, I died true;

and Yeats's--

 We sat grown quiet at the name of love; We saw the last embers of daylight die. Adam's Curse. 

Shelley has--

 And wild roses and ivy serpentine. The Question. 

and Swinburne--

 Fragrance of pine-leaves and odorous breath. Song for the Centenary of Walter Savage Landor. 

(where it would be absurd to make two syllables of "pine"), and adebated but perfectly intelligible hexameter--

 Full-sailed, wide-winged, poised softly forever asway. 

where the whole music of the line depends upon giving due time-emphasisto "poised. " There is one odd case, not to be made too much of becauseone cannot be entirely sure of the text, in Shakespeare's Measure forMeasure, II, ii, of the omission of the stressed element of a foot--

 Than the soft myrtle; ‸ but man, proud man. 

The versification of the whole play, however, is peculiar, and thismetrical anomaly may have been deliberate. 

The older writers on versification, leaning heavily on the traditionalprosody of Greek and Latin, made much of the cæsura or pause, especiallyin blank verse. As has already been frequently suggested, the variedplacing of the pause is one of the commonest means of avoiding monotonyand giving freedom and fluency to the verse, but it is often also ameans of fitting the verse to the meaning. Since the pause comes mostfrequently near the middle of the line, when it occurs within the firstor the last foot there is some special emphasis intended, as inMilton's--

 Before him, such as in their souls infix'd Plagues. Paradise Lost, VI, 837 f. 

 Last Rose as in dance the stately trees, and spread. Ibid. , VII, 323 f. 

For Milton these were rather bold and unusual. Later poets have madethem familiar, but no less effective. Note Swinburne's repeated use inAtalanta in Calydon--

 His helmet as a windy and withering moon Seen through blown cloud and plume-like drift, when ships Drive, and men strive with all the sea, and oars Break, and the beaks dip under, drinking death. [97]

Except in these two places, however, there is seldom a very particulareffect sought. That there can be even a good deal of regularity withoutstiffness or monotony is plain from a passage like Paradise Lost, II, 344 ff. [98] The presence of several pauses in a line produces a broken, halting, retarded effect, as--

 Through wood, through waste, o'er hill, o'er dale, his roam. Paradise Lost, IV, 538. 

and is admirably used by Milton in describing Satan's arduous flightthrough Chaos--

 O'er bog or steep, through strait, rough, dense, or rare, With head, hands, wings, or feet, pursues his way, And swims, or sinks, or wades, or creeps, or flies. Paradise Lost, II, 948 ff. 

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [97] Note also the spondaic effect in the second line, the | | rime in the third, and the imitative movement in the fourth. | | | | [98] Here, dividing the lines into parts measured by the | | number of syllables, the series is: 6+4, 6+4, --, 2+4+4, 6+4, | | 8+2, 6+4, 6+4, 6+4, 8+2, 8+2, etc. | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

Theoretically each rhythmic stress is of equal force or strength, but inverse there is the greatest variety, some stresses being so strong as todominate a whole line, others so light as hardly to be felt. Thus ithappens sometimes that in a 5-stress line there are actually only fouror three stresses: the rhythmic result being a syncopation of four orthree against five. Sometimes the word which contains the weak stressreceives unusual emphasis, as--

 Which if not victory is yet revenge. Paradise Lost, II, 105. 

 Fall'n cherub, to be weak is miserable. Ibid. , I, 157. 

 Me miserable! which way shall I fly. Ibid. , IV, 73. 

 Low-seated she leans forward massively. THOMSON, City of Dreadful Night. 

 Like earth's own voice lifted unconquerable. SHELLEY, Revolt of Islam, IX, 3. 

Sometimes the emphasis seems distributed, as--

 As he our darkness, cannot we his light. Paradise Lost, II, 269. 

 Passion and apathy and glory and shame. Ibid, II, 567. 

 Eyeless in Gaza at the mill with slaves. Samson Agonistes, 41. 

 Envy and calumny and hate and pain. SHELLEY, Adonais, xl. 

And sometimes no special emphasis is apparent, as--

 Servile to all the skyey influences. SHAKESPEARE, Measure for Measure, III, i. 

 Like a sad votarist in palmer's weed. MILTON, Comus, 189. 

 Gorgons and hydras and chimæras dire. Paradise Lost, II, 628. 

 But fooled by hope, men favor the deceit. DRYDEN. 

 The friar hooded and the monarch crowned. By strangers honour'd and by strangers mourn'd. POPE. 

 With forest branches and the trodden weed. KEATS. 

The rhythm of the last four examples is very common in all Englishverse. Occasionally the metre becomes almost ambiguous--according to itsmetrical context the line may be either 4-stress or 5-stress, as--

 To the garden of bliss, thy seat prepar'd. Paradise Lost, VIII, 299. 

 By the waters of life, where'er they sat. Ibid. , IX, 79. 

 In the visions of God. It was a hill. Ibid. , XI, 377. 

Three-stress lines in blank verse are less frequent, but the morestriking when they do occur. There is Shakespeare's famous--

 To-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow. 

Milton's

 Omnipotent, Immutable, immortal, infinite, Eternal King. Paradise Lost, III, 372 ff. 

(where the heaping up of the polysyllabic epithets adds greatly to theeffect); and

 Of difficulty or danger could deter. Paradise Lost, II, 499. 

 Of happiness and final misery. Ibid. , II, 563. 

 Abominable, inutterable, and worse. Ibid. , II, 626. 

 His ministers of vengeance and pursuit. Ibid. , I, 170. 

and Meredith's

 The army of unalterable law. Lucifer in Starlight. 

and such lines as--

 Unrespited, unpitied, unreprieved. Paradise Lost, II, 185. 

for which parallels may be found in several other poets before and afterMilton. 

There is no reason why a metrically 5-stress line should not containonly two prose stresses, but examples are of course rare. Such anunusual rhythm would be seldom demanded. The phrase "acidulation ofperversity" might do, for it is easily modulated to the metrical form. Occasionally, as in the last line of Christina Rossetti's sonnet quotedon pages 120 f. , a series of monosyllables with almost level inflectionwill reduce the prose emphasis of a line and force attention on theimportant words--

 Than that you should _remember_ and be _sad_. 

A better example is Shelley's

 A sepulchre for its eternity. Epipsychidion, 173. 

In direct contrast to these lines whose effectiveness springs from alack of the normal quantity of stress are those which are metricallyoverweighted. A single stressed monosyllable, supported or unsupportedby a pause, may occupy the place of a whole rhythmic beat, or it may becompressed to the value of a theoretically unstressed element. ThusMilton's well-known line--

 Rocks, caves, lakes, fens, bogs, dens, and shades of death. Paradise Lost, II, 621. 

might if it stood by itself equally well be taken as an 8-stress or as a5-stress line; and obviously in a blank verse context it produces a verymarked retardation of the tempo. No one would dream of reading it in thesame space of time as the rapid line which just precedes it and to whichit stands in such striking contrast--

 O'er many a frozen, many a fiery Alp. 

Similar are--

 Light-armed, or heavy, sharp, smooth, swift or slow. Paradise Lost, II, 902. 

 Stains the dead, blank, cold air with a warm shade. SHELLEY, Epipsychidion, 92. 

 Of waves, flowers, clouds, woods, rocks, and all that we Read in their smiles, and call reality. Ibid. , 511 f. 

 We have lov'd, prais'd, pitied, crown'd, and done thee wrong. SWINBURNE, On the Cliffs. 

For extreme examples of the accelerandos and ritenutos which ourmetrical ear seems willing to accept easily, one might compare two4-stress lines by contemporary poets--

 In the mystery of life. ROBERT BRIDGES. 

 On the highest peak of the tired gray world. SARA TEASDALE. 

or Swinburne's--

 The four boards of the coffin lid Heard all the dead man did. .. . 

 The dead man asked of them: "Is the green land stained brown with flame?" After Death. 

These few general classifications by no means exhaust the possibilitiesof metrical variations and adjustments. In a real sense, every line isrhythmically different from every other line; but many of thesedifferences are subjective, that is, they are determined by theindividual training, tastes, habits, of each reader, his familiaritywith few or many poets, the physical constitution of his organs ofhearing, even the temporary mood in which he reads. The actual, objective peculiarities of a line are always significant, if the poet isa true master, but such is the variableness of experience and of lifeitself that unless we possess the poet's understanding and hissensitiveness--or can cultivate them--we lose a certain part of thesignificance. For one person, therefore, to dogmatize is bothimpertinent and misleading: the following specimens of peculiar rhythmare accordingly left without special comment. Some of them have longbeen bones of contention among prosodists; some of them are almostself-explanatory, others are subtle and difficult (and must be feltrather than explained), others have perhaps only their unusualness torecommend them to one's attention. In every case, however, they shouldbe studied both in their metrical context and by themselves. They shouldbe approached not only as technical problems in the accommodation ofnatural speech emphasis to the formal patterns of verse, but also--andthis is the more important point of view--as adjustments in the seconddegree, adjustments of the prose-and-verse harmonies to the fullestexpressiveness of which language is capable. It is a common observationthat emotional language tends of itself to become rhythmical; theemotional and highly wrought language of poetry requires the restraintof verse as a standard by which its rhythms may be more powerfullyrealized and its significant deviations therefrom measured. And it isalmost a constant 'law' that the more acute or profound the emotion, themore complex is the rhythm which gives it fit and adequate expression inwords. 'Complex' does not necessarily mean arcane or supersubtle or_recherché_. On the contrary, simplification (though not simplicity) isone of the characteristics of the best and greatest art. But to simplifybeyond a certain point the various entangled implications of a poignantemotion is merely to rob it of some of its fundamental qualities. Nor isit childish to reason that a peculiar or extraordinary idea is mostnaturally expressed by a peculiar or extraordinary rhythm. Argumentaside, it is an observable and verifiable fact. 

 That we may so suffice his vengeful ire. MILTON, Paradise Lost, I, 148. 

 A mind not to be changed by time or place. Ibid. , I, 253. 

 Behold me then, me for him, life for life. Ibid. , III, 236. 

 Both God and Man, Son both of God and Man. Ibid. , III, 316. 

 As from blest voices, uttering joy, Heav'n rung. Ibid. , III, 347. 

 Infinite wrath and infinite despair. Ibid. , IV, 74. 

 Raphael, the sociable spirit, that deign'd. Ibid. , V, 221. 

 Of truth, in word mightier than they in arms. Ibid. , VI, 32. 

 Before thy fellows, ambitious to win. Ibid. , VI, 160. 

 On me already lost, me than thyself More miserable. Both have sinned; but thou Against God only; I against God and thee. Ibid. , N, 929 ff. 

 O miserable mankind, to what fall. Ibid. , XI, 500. 

 And made him bow to the gods of his wives. Paradise Regained, II, 171. 

 Hail, Son of the Most High, heir of both worlds. Ibid. , IV, 633. 

 Wilt thou then serve the Philistines with that gift? Samson Agonistes, 576. 

 Thea! Thea! Thea! where is Saturn? KEATS, Hyperion, I, 134. 

 When night makes a weird sound of its own stillness. SHELLEY, Alastor, 30

 Yielding one only response, at each pause. SHELLEY, Alastor, 564. 

 Touch, mingle, are transfigured; ever still Burning, yet ever inconsumable. SHELLEY, Epipsychidion, 578 f. 

 Lies to God, lies to man, every way lies. BROWNING, The Ring and the Book, IV, 216. 

 'Do I live, am I dead?' Peace, peace seems all. BROWNING, The Bishop Orders his Tomb. 

 Good strong thick stupefying incense-smoke. Ibid. 

 I cry 'Life!' 'Death, ' he groans, 'our better life!' BROWNING, Aristophanes' Apology, 1953. 

 Setebos, Setebos, and Setebos. BROWNING, Caliban upon Setebos. 

 Even to the last dip of the vanishing sail. TENNYSON, Enoch Arden, 244. 

 Saying gently, Annie, when I spoke to you. Ibid. , 445. 

 Palpitated, her hand shook, and we heard. TENNYSON, The Princess, IV, 389. 

 Bearing all down, in thy precipitancy. TENNYSON, Gareth, 8. 

 First as in fear, step after step, she stole Down the long tower stairs, hesitating. TENNYSON, Lancelot and Elaine, 342 f. 

This from Surrey's Æneid, because of its early date:

 He with his hands strave to unloose the knots. 

These two from Elizabethan drama--hundreds of interesting lines may beculled from this source, but the field is to be trodden with cautionbecause of the uncertainties of the texts; though we quote 'Hamlet' wecannot be sure we are quoting Shakespeare, and in such a matter as this_certainty_ is indispensable--

 Do more than this in sport. --Father, father. King Lear, II, i. 

 Cover her face; mine eyes dazzle; she died young. WEBSTER, Duchess of Malfi, IV, ii. 

And finally, three examples from Samson Agonistes of interwoven tunes, asort of counterpoint of two melodies sounding simultaneously--

 My griefs not only pain me As a lingering disease, But, finding no redress, ferment and rage. 617 ff. 

 To boast Again in safety what thou would'st have done To Samson, but shalt never see Gath more. 1127 ff. 

 Force with force Is well ejected when the conqueror can. 1206 f. 

 He all their ammunition And feats of war defeats, With plain heroic magnitude of mind. 1277 ff. 

Stevenson compared the writer of verse with a juggler who cleverly keepsseveral balls in the air at one time. The comparison is suggestive, butis true only so far as it indicates the difficulty of the operation forthose who are not jugglers. The juggler does not devote consciousattention to each individual ball. He has learned to keep them allmoving at once, and when he starts them they go _of their own accord_. Now and then, by conscious effort, he shoots one higher than theothers--but there is no need to labor the illustration. The technique ofversification is a mechanical thing to be learned like any mechanicalthing. The poet learns it--in sundry different ways, to be sure--andwhen he has mastered it he is no more conscious of its complex detailswhile he is composing than the pianist is conscious of his ten fingerswhile he is interpreting a Chopin concerto. There is a feeling, an idea, a poetic conception, which demands expression in words. The compound ofdirect intellectual activity and of automatic responses from a reservoirof intuitions long since filled by practice and experience no poet hasever been able to analyze--much less a psychologist who is not a poet. Often the best ideas, the best phrases, the perfect harmony of thoughtand expression _emerge_ spontaneously; sometimes they have to be sought, diligently and laboriously sought. 

"When one studies a prosody or a metrical form, " says M. Verrier, "onemay well ask if these alliterations, these assonances, theseconsonances, these rimes, these rhythmic movements, these metres, whichone coldly describes in technical terms--if they actually produce thedesignated effects and especially if the poet 'thought of all that. ' Soit is when an amateur opens a scientific treatise on music and learns bywhat series of chords one modulates from one key to another, or even howthe chord of the dominant seventh is resolved to the tonic in itsfundamental form. .. . That the poet has not 'thought of all that' isevident, but not in the ordinary sense. When the illiterate countrymanmakes use of the subjunctive, he is not aware that a subjunctive exists, still less that one uses it for historical and logical and also perhapsfor emotional reasons. But the subjunctive exists nevertheless, and thereasons too. "[99]

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [99] Verrier, vol. I, p. 134. | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

The analogy is helpful, though not altogether persuasive. There is thefamiliar story of Browning's reply to the puzzled admirer: "Madam, Ihave no idea what I meant when I wrote those lines. " So much for warningto the oversedulous. But if I honestly find and feel a marvelousrhythmic effect where Robert Browning did not plan one, then such effectcertainly exists--for me, at least, and for all whom I can persuade ofits presence. On the other hand, there is a potent warning in thefollowing exuberance:

 But the thought of the king and his villainies stings him into rage again, and the rhythm slowly rises on three secondary stresses--

 or ere this I should have fatted all the region kites With this slave's offal. 

 The last phrase twists and writhes through a series of secondary stresses with an intensity of hatred and bitterness that takes shape in a following series of peculiar falling rhythm waves, each one of which has a foam-covered crest 'white as the bitten lip of hate. ' This rhythm, curling, hissing, tense, topful of venom, Alecto's serpents coiling and twisting through it, makes one of the most awful passages in all English poetry--

 Bloody, bawdy villain! Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless villain!

 and culminates in Hamlet's cry

 O vengeance!

 which, with its peculiar sustained falling close, vibrates through the rest of the verse. [100]

 +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | [100] Mark H. Liddell, An Introduction to the Scientific | | Study of English Poetry, New York, 1901, pp. 291 f. | +--------------------------------------------------------------+

Professional prosodists doubt and dispute one another with the zeal andconfidence of metaphysicians and editors of classical texts. They areall blind guides--perhaps even the present one!--if followed slavishly. There is only one means (a threefold unity) to the right understandingof the metrical element in poetry: a knowledge of the simple facts ofmetrical form, a careful scrutiny of the existent phenomena of ordinarylanguage rhythms, and a study of the ways in which the best poets havefitted the one to the other with the most satisfying and most movingresults. 

GLOSSARIAL INDEX

 A few terms not mentioned in the text are included here for the sake of completeness. 

ACCENT, the greater emphasis placed, in normal speech, on one syllableof a work as compared with the other syllables, 6, 34 f. , 37 f. _Seealso_ STRESS; it is convenient to distinguish the two terms, but theyare sometimes used interchangeably. 

ACEPHALOUS, headless; used to describe a line which lacks the unstressedelement of the first foot. _See_ TRUNCATION. 

ALEXANDRINE, a 6-stress iambic line, 85 ff. 88. 

ALLITERATION, repetition of the same or closely similar sounds at thebeginning of neighboring words or accented syllables (occasionally alsounaccented syllables); sometimes called _Initial Rime_, 166. 

AMPHIBRACH, a classical foot, ◡--◡, 51. 

ANACRUSIS, one or more extra syllables at the beginning of a line, 71. 

ANAPEST, a foot consisting of two unstresses and a stress, ◡◡_̷, 38, 51, 70, 80 ff. 

ANTISTROPHE, the counter-turn, or stanza answering to the first, of aPindaric Ode, 131. 

ARSIS, a confusing term sometimes borrowed from classical prosody forthe stressed element of a foot; the unstressed element is called_Thesis_. 

ASSONANCE, the repetition, in final syllables, of the same vowel soundfollowed by a different consonantal sound, 166 f. _See_ RIME. 

BALLAD METRE (Common Measure, C. M. Of the Hymnals), the stanza_a^{4}b^{3}a^{4}b^{3}_, but admitting certain variations, 87, 103. 

BALLADE, a formal metrical scheme of three stanzas riming _ababbcbC_with an Envoi _bcbC_, keeping the same rimes throughout, and the lastline of each stanza (_C_) being the same. The lines are usually5-stress, 163. 

BLANK VERSE, unrimed 5-stress lines used continuously, 94, 133 ff. , ch. V passim; the 'single-moulded' line, 135 f. ; Marlow's, 137 f. ;Shakespeare's, 138 ff. , later dramatic, 140 f. ; Milton's, 142 ff. ;conversational, 147 ff. 

CAESURA, the classical term for a pause, usually grammatical andextra-metrical (i. E. Not reckoned in the time scheme). When it followsan accented syllable it is called _masculine_; when it follows anunaccented syllable it is _feminine_; when it occurs within a line it iscalled _medial_; when it occurs after an 'extra' unstressed syllable itis called _epic_ (though as frequent in drama as in epic), as--

 And earth's base built on stubble. | But come, let's on. MILTON, Comus, l. 509

CATALEXIS; _see_ TRUNCATION. 

CHORIAMB, a classical foot, --◡◡--, 51. 

COMMON MEASURE (C. M. ), the regular _Ballad Metre_, 103 f. 

CONSONANCE, specifically, in metrics, a form of incomplete rime in whichthe consonantal sounds agree but the vowel sounds differ, 166 f. _See_RIME. 

COÖRDINATION, the agreement or coincidence of the natural prose rhythmwith the metrical (rhythmical) pattern; the process of making themagree, 17 f. 

COUPLET, a group of two lines riming _aa_, 88; _closed_ couplet, onewhich contains an independent clause or sentence and does not run oninto the next of the series, 91 f. ; _heroic_ couplet, one of 5-stresslines, usually iambic (called also _pentameter_ couplet), 89, 93 ff. ;_short_ couplet, one of 4-stress iambic or trochaic lines (also called_octosyllabic_ couplet), 89 ff. 

DACTYL, a foot consisting of a stress followed by two unstresses, _̷◡◡, 38, 51, 70, 84. 

DECASYLLABLE, a 5-stress (pentameter) line; a term used properly only ofsyllable-counting metres such as the French. 

DISTICH, couplet; usually in classical prosody the elegiac couplet of ahexameter and a pentameter, 162. 

DOGGEREL, any rough irregular metre. 

DUPLE RHYTHM, a rhythm of two beats (though corresponding generally to ¾time in music), one stress and one unstress, _̷◡ or ◡_̷. 

DURATION, the length of time occupied by the enunciation ofspeech-sounds, and therefore an element in all language rhythm, 5. _Seealso_ TIME. 

ELEGIAC STANZA, the quatrain _abab^{5}_, 103, 107 f. 

ELISION, the omission or crowding out of unstressed words or unaccentedsyllables to make the metre smoother; a term belonging to classicalprosody and inappropriate in English prosody except wheresyllable-counting verse is concerned. Various forms of Elision arecalled Syncope, Synizesis, and Synalœpha. 

END-STOPPED LINE, one with a full or strong grammatical pause at theend. 

ENJAMBEMENT, a French term ('long stride') for the continuation of thesense from one line (or couplet) to the next without a grammaticalpause, 62, 92; opposite of End-stopping. _See_ OVERFLOW; RUN-ON LINE. 

EPODE, the third (sixth, ninth) stanza of a Pindaric ode, 131. 

FEMININE ENDING, an extra unstressed syllable at the end of an iambic oranapestic line, 71. 

FOOT, the smallest metrical unit of rhythm, composed of a stressedelement and one or more unstressed elements (or a pause), 49 ff. 

FREE-VERSE, irregular rhythms, not conforming to a fixed metricalpattern, 150 ff. 

HEADLESS LINE, acephalous; and _see_ TRUNCATION. 

HENDECASYLLABLE, a 5-stress line with feminine ending, thus makingordinarily eleven syllables; usually referring to a special metre usedby Catullus and others (as in Tennyson's imitation, 'O you chorus ofindolent reviewers'), 162. 

HEROIC LINE, a 5-stress iambic line. 

HEXAMETER, _classical_ or _dactylic_, the standard line of Greek andLatin poetry, composed of six feet, the fifth of which is nearly alwaysa dactyl, the sixth a spondee or trochee, the rest either dactyls orspondees; imitated in English with more or less success by substitutingstress for quantity, 159 ff. 

HIATUS, unexpected absence of elision. 

HOLD, pause on a word or syllable, 62 f. 

HOVERING ACCENT, a term sometimes used for the coordination of themetrical rhythm ◡_̷◡_̷ with the prose rhythm ◡◡_̷_̷ as in "and sereneair" (Comus, l. 4); the accent is thought of as 'hovering' over thefirst syllable of _serene_, 182. 

HYPERMETRIC, used of a syllable which is not reckoned or expected in theregular metrical pattern. 

IAMB, _Iambus_, a foot consisting of an unstress and a stress, ◡_̷, 38, 51, 69, 84 ff. 

IN MEMORIAM STANZA, a quatrain riming _abba^{4}_, 103, 105 ff. 

INVERSION, the substitution of a trochee for an iamb or of a dactyl foran anapest (or vice versa), 51, 187 ff. ; a misleading term; seeSUBSTITUTION. 

LENGTH, the comparative duration of the enunciation of syllables, 33 f. In classical prosody syllables were regarded by convention as either'long' or 'short' (a 'long' being theoretically equal to two 'shorts'), and this usage has been sometimes (not successfully, and yet notentirely without reason) super-imposed upon English verse. 

LINE, a metrical division composed of one or more feet and either usedcontinuously or combined in stanzas, 52 f. , 69 ff. _See_ VERSE (1). 

LOUDNESS, the comparative strength or volume of a sound, 6. 

LONG MEASURE (L. M. Of the Hymnals) the quatrain riming _abab^{4}_ or_abcb^{4}_, 103. 

METRE, a regular, artificial, rhythmic pattern, the formal basis ofversification. 

OCTOSYLLABLE, an 8-syllable or 4-stress line. _See_ DECASYLLABLE. 

OCTAVE, a stanza of eight lines; especially the two quatrains of anItalian sonnet, 120. 

ODE, a kind of exalted lyric poem, not strictly a metrical term butoften used as such to describe the simple stanzaic structure of the'Horatian' ode or the complex system of strophe, antistrophe and epodeof the 'Pindaric' ode, 131 ff. 

ONOMATOPOEIA, primarily a rhetorical figure but of much widerapplication, covering all cases from single words to phrases and linesof verse in which there is agreement, by echo or suggestions, betweenthe sound of the words and their meaning; as a metrical term, theagreement of the verse rhythm with the idea expressed, 177 ff. 

OTTAVA RIMA, the stanza (of Italian origin) riming _abababcc^{5}_, 111f. 

OVERFLOW, the running over of the parts of a sentence from one line tothe next without a pause at the end of the line, 62. _See_ ENJAMBEMENT, RUN-ON. 

PAEON, a classical foot, --◡◡◡, 51, 76 ff. 

PAUSE, (1) _logical_ or _grammatical_, that which separates the formalparts of a sentence, 61, 63; (2) _rhythmical_, that which separates thebreath-groups of spoken sentences, 61 ff. ; (3) _metrical_, (_a_) thatwhich separates the parts of a metrical pattern, as at the end of aline, 62, and also (_b_) that which takes the place of an unstressedelement of a foot, being equivalent to the rest in music (indicated bythe sign ‸), 62 ff. 

PENTAMETER, a 5-stress line, 52. (This term is well established, butopen to objection. )

PHRASE, a group of words held together either by their meaning (orcontent) or by their sound, 32 f; 37 ff. 

PINDARIC, _see_ ODE. 

PITCH, the characteristic of a sound dependent upon its number ofvibrations per second; (usually indicated by its place in the musicalscale; high or 'acute, ' low or 'grave'); 5 f. , 35 ff. ; sometimesfunctions in verse for emphasis or for stress, 8, 35 ff. , 181 ff. 

POULTER'S MEASURE, an old-fashioned couplet, composed of an alexandrineand a septenary, _a^{6}a^{7}_, 88 f. 

PROSE, _Characteristic_, prose with natural and varied rhythms, 23 ff. ;_Cadenced_, prose with carefully sought rhythmic movements, 27 ff. ;_Metrical_, a hybrid of prose and verse, 29 ff. 

PYRRHIC, a classical foot, ◡◡, 51. 

QUANTITY, the length of a syllable; established by convention inclassical prosody; in English prosody very uncertain but always present. _See_ Length. 

QUATRAIN, a stanza of four lines, 103 ff. 

REFRAIN, a line or part of a line repeated according to the metricalpattern, 184 f. ; the term _repetend_ is occasionally used. 

REST, _see_ PAUSE (3, _b_). 

RHYTHM, regular arrangement or repetition of varied parts, _see_ ch. I, ch. II, and passim; _objective_, having external concrete existence, 3ff. ; _subjective_, felt by the individual, 3, 12 ff. ; _spatial_, inwhich the units are spaces, 4; _temporal_, in which the units areperiods of time, 4 ff. ; _rising_, beginning with the stressed element, 38; _falling_, beginning with the unstressed element, 38; _duple_, having a stress and one unstressed element (syllable), 38; _triple_, having a stress and two unstressed elements (syllables), 38. 

RIME, repetition of the same sound (or sounds) usually at the end of theline, 165 ff. ; _Masculine_, when the repeated sound consists of onestressed syllable; _Feminine_, when a stressed + one or more unstressedsyllables; _Triple_, when a stressed + two unstressed syllables; _Echo_or _Identical_, when the preceding consonantal sound also agrees;_Eye-rime_, when the words agree in spelling but not in pronunciation, 174. As distinct from end-rime, there is _Internal_ or _Leonine_ rime, which occurs within the line (sometimes merely a matter of printing). _See also_ ASSONANCE, CONSONANCE. 

RIME COUÉE, _see_ TAIL-RIME STANZA. 

RIME-ROYAL, a stanza borrowed by Chaucer from the French, _ababbcc^{5}_;also called _Troilus stanza_, _Chaucer stanza_, 109 f. 

RONDEAU, RONDEL, French metrical forms characterized by the repetitionof the first phrase or lines twice as a refrain, e. G. _aabba aabRaabbaR_ (R being the first phrase of the first line), or _ABba abABabbaAB_ (the capitals indicating the whole lines repeated), 163. 

RUN-ON LINE, one in which the sense runs over into the following linewithout a grammatical pause, 62, 92. _See_ ENJAMBEMENT; OVERFLOW. 

SAPPHIC, a 4-line stanza used by Sappho (and Catullus and Horace) andoften imitated in English; the pattern is --◡ | --◡ | --◡◡ | --◡ | --◡thrice repeated, then --◡◡ | --◡, 161 f. 

SEPTENARY, SEPTENARIUS (fourteener), the old 14-syllable or 7-stressiambic line, later split up into the Ballad metre, 87; and used alsowith the alexandrine in the Poulter's Measure. 

SESTET, a group of six lines, especially the last six of an Italiansonnet, 120. 

SESTINA, an elaborate metrical form consisting of six 6-line stanzas anda 3-line stanza with repetition of the same end-words in different orderinstead of rime, 164. 

SHORT MEASURE (S. M. Of the Hymnals), the Poulter's Measure broken intoa quatrain: _ab^{3}a^{4}b^{3}, ab^{3}c^{4}b^{3}_, 89. 

SONNET, 118 ff. , (1) _Italian_, a 14-line stanza composed of twoquatrains riming _abba_ and two tercets riming _cde cde_ (_cde dee_, etc. ), 120 ff. ; (2) _English_, 14-line stanza of three quatrains riming_abab cdcd efef_, and a closing couplet _gg_, 127 ff. There are alsomixed forms and many variations. 

SPENSERIAN STANZA, a 9-line stanza riming _ababbcbc^{5}c^{6}_; the finalalexandrine is the characteristic feature, 85 f. , 112 ff. Severalvariations were used in the seventeenth century consisting of shorterlines with a closing alexandrine, 117. 

SPONDEE, a classical prosody a foot of two long syllables; in Englishprosody a foot of two 'long' or accented or stressed words or syllables, 51. 

STANZA, a group of lines arranged according to a special pattern, usually marked by rimes, 53, 88 ff. ; _see also_ Verse (3). 

STRESS, the comparative emphasis which distinguishes a sound from othersnot so strongly or plainly emphasized, 34 f. , 37 f. , 56 f. , 65 f. Thenby UNSTRESS or no stress is meant absence or comparative weakness ofemphasis. _Stress_ is used in this book for rhythmic and metricalemphasis; _see_ ACCENT. 

STROPHE, same as Stanza, 53; in the Pindaric ode, the first (fourth, etc. ) stanza, 131. 

SUBSTITUTION (1) replacing one rhythmic unit by its temporal equivalent, as an iamb by an anapest or by a trochee, etc. , 20; called also_Inversion_ (_q. V. _) of the foot; (2) the use of pitch or duration(pause) for a stress or unstress, 20, 181 ff. 

SYLLABLE, the smallest and simplest unit of speech-sound, 32 f. ;sometimes used as a metrical unit, 49. 

SYNCOPATION, the union, or perception of the union, of two or morerhythmic patterns, 18 ff. 

TAIL-RIME STANZA, one usually of six lines riming_aa^{4}b^{3}cc^{4}b^{3}_, but with many variations (e. G. The Burnsstanza, _aaa^{4}b^{2}a^{4}b^{2})_, the general type being a combinationof long lines in groups with single short lines, 109. 

TAILED SONNET, a sonnet with a tail (coda), or addition. About the onlyone in English is Milton's On the New Forcers of Conscience: the rimesare _abba abba cde dec^{5} c^{3}ff^{5}f^{3}gg^{5}_. 

TERCET, a group of three lines, especially in the sestet of the Italiansonnet, 102, 120. 

TERZA RIMA, an Italian rime scheme _aba bcb cdc_ . .. _yzy zz_; rarelyused in English, but triumphantly (in stanzas) in Shelley's Ode to theWest Wind, 164. 

TETRAMETER, a classical term (four 'measures' or eight feet) incorrectlyused for the English 4-stress line, 52. 

THESIS, _see_ ARSIS. 

TIME, an inevitable element in English verse (as well as prose), but notthe sole basis, 56 ff. 

TONE-COLOR, TONE QUALITY, 'timbre, ' the characteristic of a sounddetermined by the number of partial tones (overtones), as richness, sweetness, thinness, stridency; hence sometimes applied to the musicalquality of a verse or phrase, 6 and note, 177. 

TRIBRACH, a classical foot, ◡◡◡, 51. 

TRIMETER, a classical term (three 'measures' or six feet) incorrectlyused for the English 3-stress line, 52. 

TRIOLET, a French metrical form, mainly for light themes, riming_ABaAabAB_(the capitals indicating repeated lines) and usually withshort lines, 163. 

TRIPLET, _a_ group of three lines, especially when rimed _aaa_, 101 f. _See also_ TERCET. 

TROCHEE, a foot consisting of a stress and an unstress, _̷◡, 38, 51, 70, 82 ff. 

TRUNCATION, omission of the final unstressed element of a line, usuallyin the trochaic metres, 76; also called _Catalexis_ (the opposite ofwhich, the non-omission of this element, is _Acatalexis_). _InitialTruncation_ is the omission of the first unstressed element of a line, usually in the iambic metres, thus making a _Headless_ verse. 

UNSTRESS, the element of a rhythmic unit which is without emphasis orhas a relatively weak emphasis. 

VERSE, (1) a metrical line, 52; (2) collectively, for metre, metricalform; (3) commonly in England, and in America in the churches, used forStanza. 

VILLANELLE, a French verse form of nineteen lines on three rimes, certain lines being repeated at fixed intervals, 163 f.