FOOTNOTES:

[80] A phrase of King James (VI. of Scotland and I. of England); v. inf. [Bks. III]. and [IV].

[81] That, reversing the order, Shakespeare borrowed this from them, is a recent notion, extremely difficult to reconcile with external evidence, and going in the very teeth of internal.

[82] Not, of course, that this is not sometimes most successful, as in Tennyson's

And flashing round and round and whirled | in an arch,

but that it is dangerous, and if often used would be intolerable.

[83] Published in 1667, and so more than thirty years after Comus. But perhaps begun at least fifteen years earlier.

[84] To give a thoroughly satisfactory discussion of Milton's prosody would need space quite out of proportion here. The writer has done what he could, in this direction, in the long chapter devoted to the subject in his larger History. But some examples, illustrations, and parallel scannings under different systems may be added to the text of this Manual. And first in regard to printing:

(a) In the printed Paradise Lost the line

Above th' Aonian mount, while it pursues

appears with the apostrophe; but below—

Delight thee more, and Siloa's brook that flowed—

has no attempt to indicate elision by printing.

(b)

And chiefly thou, O Spirit, that dost prefer—

if this is to be made strictly dissyllabic, we must pronounce "spir't," though not so printed; but, a little lower—

Innu|mera|ble force | of spir|its armed

absolutely requires the full value.

(c)

Sing, Heav'nly Muse, that, on the secret top

favours the idea that Milton, as most Elizabethans certainly did, thought "Heaven" a monosyllable. But compare line 297—

On Hea|ven's a|zure; and | the tor|rid clime.

(d) Note, too, words like "ominous," "popular," "delicate," printed without attempt to apostrophate, though the middle syllabic makes a trisyllabic foot.

Again, consider the comparative euphony of the following lines:

(e)

Of glo|ry̆ ŏbscūred | ăs whēn | thĕ Sūn | nĕw rīsĕn,

Of glor|y̆obscūred, | etc.

(f)

The form | attempt|ing. Where|fŏre dŏ Ī | ăssūme,

Thĕ̄ fōrm | ăttēmpt|ĭng. Whēre|fŏre d'Ī | ăssūme,

The form | attempt| Wherefore | do I | assume,
(ing).

with the "-ing" sunk or swallowed somehow "extrametrically."

(g)

Thĕ ănĭ|măl spĭrĭts | thăt frōm | pŭ̄re blōod | ărīse,

(h)

Bĕcāuse | thŏu hăst hār|kĕned tō | thĕ vōice | ŏf thy̆ wīfe,

Because | thou'st har|kened to | th' vōice ō̆f | thy wife.

[85] With possible extension to eight, and (for aught I can see on the system) to ten.

[86]

(Alternate trochaic and iambic rhythm capable of being made all iambic by starting with monosyllabic feet: "Cōme" | "Cōurt-" | "Fōot" | etc. Monosyllabic equivalence in "Hark, hark!" to "The watch-|dogs bark.")

[87]

("Ūndĕr | thĕ grēen-" and "Hē̆re shā̆ll | hĕ sēe" would scan equally well in themselves, but line 5, "Come hither," gives the anapæstic hint and key. "Nō | ĕnĕmȳ" is possible.)

[88]

Oct., Iamb., and Troch.	{	This, this \| is he; \| softly \| awhile;
Oct., Iamb., and Troch.	{	Let us \| not break in up\|on him.
Dec.		O change \| beyond \| report, \| thought, or \| belief!
Alex.		See how \| he lies \| at ran\|dom, care\|lessly \| diffused,
Hexasyl.		With lan\|guished head \| unpropt,
Hexasyl. hyperc.		As one \| with hope \| aban\|doned,
Hexasyl. hyperc.		And by \| himself \| given o\|ver,
Oct.		In sla\|vish hab\|it, ill-fit\|ted weeds \|
Tetrasyl.		O'er-worn \| and soiled.
Alex.		Or do \| my eyes \| misre\|present? \| Can this \| be he?
Oct. cat.		That he\|roic, \| that re\|nowned,
Dec.		Irre\|sisti\|ble Sam\|son whom, \| unarmed,
Alex.		No strength \| of man \| or fier\|cest wild \| beast could \| withstand;
Alex.		Who tore \| the li\|on as \| the li\|on tears \| the kid;
Dec.		Ran on \| embat\|tled ar\|mies clad \| in iron,
Hexasyl.		And, wea\|ponless \| himself, \|
Alex.		Made arms \| ridi\|culous, \| useless \| the for\|gery
Dec.		Of bra\|zen shield \| and spear, \| the ham\|mered cuirass,
Dec.		Chalyb\|ean-tem\|pered steel \| and frock \| of mail
Hexasyl.		Ada\|mante\|an proof:

Hardly anything here needs remark, except the use made of the old catalectic octosyllable beloved from Comus days, with its trochaic cadence, and that of half-Alexandrines or hexasyllables. There is only one monometer, towards the centre or waist of the scheme ("O'er-worn and soiled").

[89]

(Catullian hendecasyllable?)

[90] Milton was eight years old when Shakespeare died, and their combined lives, 1564-1674, more than cover the whole "major" Elizabethan period, 1557-1660, except part of its incipient stage, 1557-1580.

[91] As a variation to blank verse.

[92] Some quite boyish things, a beautiful passage of the Arcades, and a few couplets in Comus are the exceptions.

[93] By the two Fletchers, Giles reducing it to an octave ababbccc and Phineas to a septet ababccc.

[94] That of Sir John Beaumont (v. sup. p. [78] et inf. Book III.).

[95] This, like Marmion's Cupid and Psyche, Chalkhill's Thealma and Clearchus, and other pieces exemplifying the form, is a verse-romance, a kind for which that form has special, though dangerous, adaptation.

[96] The continuous anapæst appears, after Tusser, in Elizabethan poetry chiefly in popular ballad; and it is only about 1645 that literary poets, like Waller and Cleveland, take it up.

[CHAPTER IV]
HALT AND RETROSPECT—CONTINUATION ON HEROIC VERSE AND ITS COMPANIONS FROM DRYDEN TO CRABBE

Recapitulation.

It is desirable, if not absolutely necessary, at this point (circa 1660, which, though not in strict number of years or centuries, is in fact the central stage of English prosody) to halt and recapitulate what had been done since the formation of Middle English by the influence of Latin and French upon Old. The conditions of the blend having necessitated a new prosody, that prosody was, as was natural, slowly elaborated; but the lines which it was to take, in consequence of the imposition of strict form upon a vigorous and strongly characterised but rather shapeless material, appeared almost at once. Metre replaced the unmetrical rhythm of Anglo-Saxon; but this metre had to take forms greatly more elastic than the strict syllabic arrangement of French, and differently constituted from the also mainly syllabic arrangement of Lower Latin. And so, in the verse of the thirteenth and earlier fourteenth century, a foot-system, with allowance of equivalent substitution, makes its appearance—roughly, but more and more clearly. Nor is this at all affected by the alliterative revival of the last-mentioned period, which partly makes terms with metre and rhyme, partly pursues its own way—to reach its highest point with Langland, and to die away soon after the close of the fifteenth century. At the very same time with Langland himself, the pure metrical system is brought to its highest perfection by Chaucer. But this perfection depends on a state of the language which is "precarious and not at all permanent," and in the fifteenth century English metre, as far as the Southern and main division of the language is concerned, falls, to a great extent, into anarchy.

From this anarchy it is rescued, no doubt, as a general determining influence by the settling once more of pronunciation, but directly and particularly by the efforts of Wyatt, Surrey, and their minor successors from 1525 to 1575. Then Spenser comes, and performs almost more than the work of Chaucer, inasmuch as his material is more trustworthy and has fewer seeds of decay in it. He, like his predecessors, recoiling from the frightful disorder of the preceding century, inclines, save in his earliest work, to a rather strict form of verse, mostly dissyllabic. But the mere exigencies of the stage, the nature of blank verse itself when once established, and the genius of Shakespeare, restore there the liberty of trisyllabic substitution, and the influence of music helps to bring in trisyllabic measures—"triple time"—as such. In Shakespeare first the whole freedom, as well as nearly the whole order, of English prosody discovers itself. But this freedom is pushed by others to licence, and blank verse becomes practically as ruinous a heap as the rhyme-royal of the fifteenth century, with one form of decasyllabic couplet keeping it company, if not quite in actual cacophony, at any rate in disorderly slackness. Then Milton restores blank verse to almost all the freedom and more than the order of Shakespeare, infusing also into all the other metres that he touches this same combination; so that in these two practically everything is reached. But poetic fervour dies down; blank verse becomes for a time unpopular; the age calls for the more prosaic subject-kinds of verse—satire, didactics, etc.; prevailing standards of prosody are strictly regulated to an accomplished but decidedly limited "smoothness." The results of this, with a few exceptions reserved, we are to see in the present chapter.

Dryden's couplet

It was fortunate that the poet under whom this "Reign of Order" was introduced, was one who had in himself a certain irrepressible vigour and verve, which would not tolerate mere monotony. John Dryden wrote most of his most famous poems in the couplet, and in a stopped form of it; but he did not confine himself thereto, using also the heroic quatrain (which he made an exceedingly fine measure); "Pindarics" (of which the same may be said); occasional, though few, octosyllabics; and lyrical measures of the most varied kind, both dissyllabic and trisyllabic, which sometimes do not fall far short of all but the very best work of the preceding generation. His couplet itself, moreover, was not quite rigidly stopped; and even if it had been, was so largely varied by the licences of triplet, Alexandrine, and sometimes these two combined, that the purely or mainly mechanical effect with which his successor Pope is charged, and which is undoubtedly to be observed in that successor's imitators, does not impress itself. Even had these devices (which may be said themselves to have something mechanical about them) not been present, the extraordinary nerve and full-bloodedness of Dryden's verse would have been almost if not quite sufficient to remove the reproach. The antithetic yet never snip-snap explosion of his distichs; the way in which they fling themselves against the object; the momentum given to them by striking words strikingly placed, ingenious manipulation of pause, unexpected and exciting turns of phrase—are unprecedented. His prosody may be called a somewhat rhetorical prosody, but it is the very highest of its own kind. It exercised strong and good influence over the whole classical period with which we are dealing in this chapter; a little after the middle of the eighteenth century it effected a diversion from the too monotonous limitation of Pope; and in the very hey-day of the Romantic movement it taught new devices, and revealed new sources of prosodic beauty, to Keats.

Great, however, as are the merits of this couplet verse of Dryden's, and incomparably well as it is adapted for argument, satire, exposition, and other things somewhat extra-poetical in themselves, there is something artificial in its limitations. And it is a matter of experience, that when you make artificial rules for a game, this artificiality always tends to make itself more artificial. Moreover, it is not only fair, but important, to allow that Dryden's licences of triplet and Alexandrine (in the latter case sometimes extended even to a fourteener) require ability and judgment, equal to his own, to prevent mismanagement of them. In clumsy hands something almost as amorphous as the broken-down blank verse and the unduly enjambed couplet of the preceding generation might easily come of them. It is therefore not surprising that, the attention of the average poet being more and more concentrated on this couplet, attempts should be made to reduce the liberties, and perfect the correctness, as much as possible.

and Pope's.

They are visible even in such writers as Garth, between Dryden and Pope; they are still more visible in Pope himself, when, some decade after Dryden's death, he began to publish verse. He does not, especially at first, entirely discontinue triplet and Alexandrine, but he uses them more and more sparingly, and indeed sneers at the latter. He draws the pause more invariably to the centre, and sets up a more distinct division between the halves of his line. While separating his couplets more closely, he lightens the vowel-effects of his rhymes, so that there shall be no temptation to linger at couplet-ends. And though he is traditionally said to have had a special fancy for a couplet of his which contains an almost indestructible trisyllabic foot,[97] such feet, as a rule, are quite smoothed out of his verse.

Their predominance.

The unmatched regularity, harmony (as far as it went), and accomplishment of Pope's couplet, and his great superiority to all other poets in these respects during the second, third, and fourth decades of the eighteenth century, assisted the general taste, which has been mentioned, in raising his form of couplet to the highest place in popular estimation, as well as—sometimes expressly, sometimes by a sort of silent taking for granted—in formal discussions of poetry. Savage to some extent, Churchill still more, and after him Cowper, reverted, as has been said, to a standard nearer Dryden's. But Johnson, Goldsmith, and others, with the whole mob of inferior writers, followed Pope; as did also Crabbe, who maintained the practice of the form till the very time of the appearance of Tennyson. The defects, or at least the limitations, of it were indeed sometimes seen, and were commented on, in striking though not fully informed fashion, by poets like Shenstone in the first half of the century, and Cowper again in the second. But it constituted, none the less, the orthodox mode of the whole time, and longer; and when, nearly at the end of the first quarter of the nineteenth century, Keats's critics found fault with his ignorance or mismanagement of the structure of the English heroic line and couplet, what they meant was, whether they knew it or not, that he managed that line and that couplet differently from Pope.

Eighteenth-century octosyllable and anapæst.

Although, however, the stopped couplet thus gradually established in the latter part of the seventeenth century, and exercised during the whole of the eighteenth, a sort of tyranny, not every poet nor every metre bowed his or its head to this. Even in the first half of the eighteenth, poets like Collins and Gray practically shook it off, the first using it only in his early and immature work, the second hardly at all. They will therefore be reserved for the next chapter. Others, though using it, also practised metres different from it, and some of these were of a character peculiarly suited to counteract any bad influence that it might have. Among these the most important and the earliest—for both of them passed a considerable portion of their lives in the seventeenth century itself—were Prior and Swift, both of whom, but especially Prior, were proficients in the "Hudibrastic" octosyllable and in the new continuous anapæstic. The octosyllable, with its easy ambling pace, its fluent overlapping, and its often prolonged and fanciful rhymes, corrected the somewhat stiff snip-snap of the larger couplet; while the anapæst peremptorily brought back trisyllabic rhythm, with all its marvellous refreshments and advantages, and, if only for convenience, suggested substitution of feet.[98] The great literary authority and popularity of these two poets, and the intrinsic charm of Prior, established, for metres that they used, a safe position throughout the period of decasyllabic domination. Even Bysshe put "lines of eight and seven syllables" almost on a level with those of "ten or eleven"; and though he sneered at anapæsts, and introduced them by a singular roundaboutness of expression,[99] did not absolutely bar them in fact.

Blank verse

Blank verse—than which, in its perfection, there is no more powerful guard and corrective as regards the possible errors of the stopped couplet—was not put in operation, except by Milton at the very beginning of the period, so early as these. In fact, as has been said, it was the degradation of blank verse, almost as much as anything else which encouraged the growth of this form of rhyme. Nor was the all-powerful influence of Milton himself at once felt, except by a very few persons;[100] while, when it began to be felt, it was not fully understood. Attempts, however, were by degrees made in it;[101] and, some sixty years after the appearance of Paradise Lost, the beginning of Thomson's Seasons brought to bear a new, popular, and powerful agency. Although Thomson may have been under the elision and "apostrophation" delusions of his time, he did not attempt to avoid what his younger contemporary, Shenstone, called "virtual" trisyllabic feet. One of his best lines, for instance—

The yellow wall-|flŏwĕr, stāin|ed with iron-brown,

contains such a foot naturally, though you may slur and "apostrophate" it into "flow'r"; and there are endless others, ready to suggest themselves to a nice ear, whenever you come across such words as "pastoral" and "impetuous" in—

But an even more valuable effect of blank-verse practice was the inevitable reappearance of the verse-paragraph, with its necessary constituents the verse-sentences and verse-clauses, which need not—and, if a good effect is to be produced, must not—be made of successive batches of complete lines, still less of batches of equal size. In forging the verse-paragraph, variation of pause, overrunning of sense as regards line-ends, strong breaks in the actual lines (a thing almost abused by Thomson himself, and quite so by his followers, but in itself a caustic to one of the evils of couplet verse), are necessary implements and materials. Accordingly the staunchest devotees of the couplet, such as Johnson, always dislike blank verse; and when, later, a poet like Cowper takes it up, his action is similarly connected with dislike to the "mechanic warbling" of the Popian style. In his hands, especially in the late and splendid example of "Yardley Oak," almost the full Miltonic variety is recovered. But always, and throughout its practice during the eighteenth century, it acts as a foil, a relief and a refuge to and from the limitations and restrictions of the couplet itself.

and lyric.

Lastly, a similar enfranchising influence was exercised by lyric; but to a comparatively limited extent. The genius of the latest seventeenth century and of almost the whole eighteenth, except in a few poets (mostly to be kept as exceptions, with Gray and Collins, who were of them, to the next chapter), was by no means lyrical. The healthiest influence of it was supplied by anapæstic forms, especially in light verse. "Pindarics" were at first much used, but were too often of a most prosaic character. "Romance-six" was affected to an almost surprising degree, but for the most part in a rather Sir Thopas-like form, exact and sing-song. This was also the fault of most of the common measure or ballad-quatrain, such as the well-known examples of Percy and Goldsmith; though the Reliques of the former gave better models (somewhat tampered with by the editor) forty years before 1800; and the miscellaneous collections of Durfey and Philips had to some extent done so nearly as much earlier still. The Evangelical revival, by infusing more passion and reality into hymns, had a good effect; and when we come to Cowper, this influenced his profane as well as his sacred poetry. Nor should we omit to mention—as a really powerful counter-agent to the couplet, with its monotonous regularity, unqualified rhyme, and so on—the irregularly rhythmed prose of Macpherson's Ossian, which appeared about the same time as the Reliques, and attracted much attention.

Merit of eighteenth-century "regularity."

By all these things, and by the special influence of the poets to be mentioned in the early part of the next chapter, useful testimony was continuously given, to the effect that, after all, the decasyllabic couplet, especially in the prevailing form, was not the only metre, nor even the only important metre, in English. But its predominance continued, and its characteristics, as has been said, to some extent infected or inoculated its rivals. "Inoculated" rather than "infected," for, once more let it be repeated, this predominance undoubtedly beat into the English tongue, ear, and mind a sense of the importance of real and regular rhythm—a sense which, for another hundred years and more, has prevented, in the freest expatiation of released prosody, any kind of return to the disorder of the whole fifteenth century, and in some respects, at any rate, of the mid-seventeenth.

FOOTNOTES:

[CHAPTER IV]HALT AND RETROSPECT—CONTINUATION ON HEROIC VERSE AND ITS COMPANIONS FROM DRYDEN TO CRABBE

[CHAPTER IV]
HALT AND RETROSPECT—CONTINUATION ON HEROIC VERSE AND ITS COMPANIONS FROM DRYDEN TO CRABBE