CHAPTER II.
OF VERSIFICATION.
Hurrah!
It is with peculiar pleasure that we approach this part of Prosody; and we have therefore prefaced it with an exclamation indicative of delight. We belong to a class of persons to whom a celebrated phrenological manipulator ascribes “some poetical feeling, if studied or called forth;” and, to borrow another expression from the same quarter, we sometimes “versify a little;” that is to say, we diversify our literary occupations by an occasional flirtation with the muses. Now it gives us great concern to observe that popular literature is becoming very prosaic. Poetry and Boxing have gone out of favour together, and most probably,—though we have not quite time enough just at present to show how,—from the same cause; namely, bad taste. We mention Boxing along with Poetry, because it is remarkable that their decline should have been contemporaneous; and because we are of those who believe that there exists an essential similarity between all the branches of the Fine Arts; and moreover, because—and we mention it as a fact no less singular in itself than creditable to the paper in question—that a celebrated weekly periodical bestows especial patronage on both. With regard to Boxing, we are glad to see that a few patriotic individuals have of late been endeavouring to revive the taste for it; and we have some hope that their exertions, backed by certain cases of stabbing which every now and then occur, will eventually prove successful. But no one can be found to labour in an equal degree for the advancement of poetry. Our innate modesty is prompting us to say, that we fear we can do but little in the cause; but early impressions are known to be very strong and lasting: and we have a notion that, in teaching youth to make verses, we shall in a great degree contribute to the breeding up of a race of poets, and thereby secure, not only laurels, at least, for them, but also gratitude, veneration, and all that kind of thing, for ourselves.
We have a great respect for the memory of our old schoolmaster; notwithstanding which, we think we can beat him (which, we shall be told by the wags, would be tit for tat) at poet-making, though, indeed, he was a magician in his way. “I’ll make thee a poet, my boy,” he used to say, “or the rod shall.”
Let us try what we can do.
A verse consists of a certain number and variety of syllables, put together and arranged according to certain laws.
Verses being also called dulcet strains, harmonious numbers, tuneful lays, and so forth, it is clear that such combination and arrangement must be so made as to please the ear.
Versification is the making of verses. This seems such a truism as to be not worth stating; but it is necessary to define what Versification is, because many people suppose it to be the same thing with poetry. We will prove that it is not.
“Much business in the Funds has lately been
Transacted various monied men between;
Though speculation early in the week
Went slowly; nought was done whereof to speak.
The largest operations, it was found,
Were twenty-five and fifty thousand pound;
The former in reduced Annuities,
And in the Three per Cents. the last of these.”
We might proceed in the same strain, but we have already done eight verses without a particle of poetry in them; and we do not wish to overwhelm people with proofs of what a great many will take upon trust.
Every fool knows what Rhyme is; so we need not say anything about that.
OF POETICAL FEET.
Poetical feet! Why, Fanny Elsler’s feet and Taglioni’s feet are poetical feet—are they not? or else what is meant by calling dancing the Poetry of Motion? And cannot each of those artistes boast of a toe which is the very essence of all poetry—a ΤΟ` ΚΑΛΟ`Ν?
No. You may make verses on Taglioni’s feet, (though if she be a poetess, she can do that better than you, standing, too, on one leg, like the man that Horace speaks of); but you cannot make them of her feet. Feet of which verses are composed are made of syllables, not of bones, muscles, and ligaments.
Feet and pauses are the constituent parts of a verse.
We have heard one boy ask another, who was singing, “How much is that a yard?” still the yard is not a poetical measure.
The feet which are used in poetry consist either of two or of three syllables. There are four kinds of feet of two, and an equal number of three syllables. Four and four are eight: therefore Pegasus is an octoped; and if our readers do not understand this logic, we are sorry for it. But as touching the feet—we have
1. The Trochee, which has the first syllable accented, and the last unaccented: as, “Yānkĕe dōodlĕ.”
2. The Iambus, which has the first syllable unaccented, and the last accented: as, “Thĕ māid hĕrsēlf wĭth roūge, ălās! bĕdaūbs.”
3. The Spondee, which has both the words or syllables accented: as, “Āll hāil, grēat kīng, Tōm Thūmb, āll haīl!”
4. The Pyrrhic, which has both the words or syllables unaccented: as, “Ŏn thĕ tree-top.”
5. The Dactyl, which has the first syllable accented and the two latter unaccented: as, “Jōnăthăn, Jēffĕrsŏn.”
6. The Amphibrach has the first and last syllables unaccented and the middle one accented: as, “Oĕ’rwħelmĭng, trănspōrtĕd, ĕcstātĭc, dĕlīghtfŭl, ăccēptĕd, ăddrēssĕs.”
7. The Anapæst (or as we used to say, Nasty-beast) has the two first syllables unaccented and the last accented: as, “Ŏvĕrgrōwn grĕnădiēr.”
8. The Tribrach has all its syllables unaccented: as, “Matrĭmŏny̆, exquĭsĭtenĕss.”
These feet are divided into principal feet, out of which pieces of poetry may be wholly or chiefly formed; and secondary feet, the use of which is to diversify the number and improve the verse.
We shall now proceed to explain the nature of the principal feet.
Iambic verses are of several kinds, each kind consisting of a certain number of feet or syllables.
1. The shortest form of the English Iambic consists of an Iambus, with an additional short syllable, thus coinciding with the Amphibrach: as,
“Whăt, Sūsăn,
My beauty!
Refuse one
So true t’ ye?
This ditty
Of sadness
Begs pity
For madness.”
2. The second form of the English Iambic consists of two Iambuses, and sometimes takes an additional short syllable: as,
“My̆ eȳe, whăt fūn,
With dog and gun,
And song and shout,
To roam about!
And shoot our snipes!
And smoke our pipes!
Or eat at ease,
Beneath the trees,
Our bread and cheese!
To rouse the hare
From gloomy lair;
To scale the mountain
And ford the fountain,
While rustics wonder
To hear our thunder.”
Everybody has heard of the “Cockney School,” of course.
3. The third form consists of three Iambuses: as in the following morceau, the author of which is, we regret to say, unknown to us; though we did once hear somebody say that it was a Mr. Anon.
“Jăck Sprāt ĕat āll thĕ fāt,
His wife eat all the lean,
And so between them both,
They lick’d the platter clean.”
In this verse an additional short syllable is also admitted: as,
“Ălēxĭs, yoūthfŭl ploūgh-bŏy,
A shepherdess adored,
Who loved fat Hodge, the cow-boy,
So t’other chap was floored.”
4. The fourth form is made up of four Iambuses: as,
“Ădieū my̆ bōots, cŏmpāniŏns ōld,
New footed twice, and four times soled;
My footsteps ye have guarded long,
Life’s brambles, thorns, and flints among;
And now you’re past the cobbler’s art,
And Fate declares that we must part.
Ah me! what cordial can restore
The gaping patch repatch’d before?
What healing art renew the weal
Of subject so infirm of heel?
What potion, pill, or draught control
So deep an ulcer of the sole?”
5. The fifth species of English Iambic consists of five Iambuses: as,
“Cŏme, Trāgĭc Mūse, ĭn tāttĕr’d vēst ărrāy’d,
And while through blood, and mud, and crimes I wade,
Support my steps, and this, my strain, inspire
With Horror’s blackest thoughts and bluest fire!”
The Epic of which the above example is the opening, will perhaps appear hereafter. This kind of Iambic constitutes what is called the Heroic measure:—of which we shall have more to say by and by; but shall only remark at present that it, in common with most of the ordinary English measures, is susceptible of many varieties, by the admission of other feet, as Trochees, Dactyls, Anapæsts, &c.
6. Our Iambic in its sixth form, is commonly called the Alexandrine measure. It consists of six Iambuses: as,
“Hĭs wōrshĭp gāve thĕ wōrd, ănd Snōoks wăs bōrne ăwāy.”
The Alexandrine is sometimes introduced into heroic rhyme, and when used, as the late Mr. John Reeve was wont to say, “with a little moderation,” occasions an agreeable variety. Thus, the example quoted is preceded by the following lines:—
“What! found at midnight with a darkey, lit,
A bull-dog, jemmy, screw, and centre-bit
And tongueless of his aim? It cannot be
But he was bent, at least, on felony;
He stands remanded. ‘Ho! Policeman A!’
His Worship gave the word, and Snooks was borne away.”
7. The seventh and last form of our Iambic measure is made up of seven Iambuses. This species of verse has been immortalised by the adoption of those eminent hands, Messrs. Sternhold and Hopkins. It runs thus:—
“Goŏd pēoplĕ āll, Ĭ prāy drăw nēar, fŏr yōu Ĭ neēds mŭst tēll,
That William Brown is dead and gone; the man you knew full well.
A broad brimm’d hat, black breeches, and an old Welch wig he wore:
And now and then a long brown coat all button’d up before.”
The present measure is as admirably adapted for the Platform as for the Conventicle.
“My name it is Bill Scroggins, and my fate it is to die,
For I was at the Sessions tried and cast for felony.
My friends, to these my dying words I pray attention lend,
The public-house has brought me unto this untimely end.”
Verses of this kind are now usually broken into two lines, with four feet in the first line, and three in the second: as,
“Ĭ wīsh Ĭ wēre ă līttlĕ p̄ig
To wallow in the mire,
To eat, and drink, and sleep at ease
Is all that I desire.”
Trochaic verse is of several kinds.
1. The shortest Trochaic verse in the English language consists of one Trochee and a long syllable: as,
“Bīlly̆ Blāck
Got the sack.”
Lindley Murray asserts that this measure is defective in dignity, and can seldom be used on serious occasions. Yet it is Pope who thus sings:
“Dreadful screams,
Dismal gleams.
Fires that glow,
Shrieks of woe,” &c.
And for our own poor part, let us see what we can make out of a storm.
“See the clouds
Like to shrouds
All so dun,
Hide the Sun;
Daylight dies;
Winds arise;
Songsters quake,
’Midst the brake;
Shepherds beat
Swift retreat:
“Lo you there!
High in air
Whirlwinds snatch
Tiles and thatch!
Steeple nods!
Oh! ye Gods!
Hark!—that bang!—
Brazen clang!
There the bell
Thund’ring fell!
Thunder rolls—
Save our souls!—
Welkin glares—
Lightning flares,
While it splits
Oak to bits—
Hail comes down—
Oh, my crown!
Patter crack!
Clatter whack!
How it pours!
Ocean roars,
Earth replies—
Mind your eyes—
Here’s a cave—
Oh! that’s brave!
Gracious Powers
Safety’s ours!”
2. The second English form of the Trochaic consists of two feet: as,
“Vērmĭcēllĭ,
Cūrrănt jēlly̆.”
It sometimes contains two feet, or trochees, with an additional long syllable: as,
“Yoūth ĭnclīned tŏ wēd,
Go and shave thy head.”
3. The third species consists of three trochees: as,
“Sīng ă son̄g ŏf sīxpĕnce.”
or of three trochees, with an additional long syllable: as,
“Thrīce my̆ cōat, hăve ō’er thĕe rōll’d,
Summer hot and winter cold,
Since the Snip’s creative art
Into being bade thee start;
“Now like works the most sublime,
Thou display’st the power of Time.
Broad grey patches plainly trace,
Right and left each blade-bone’s place;
When thy shining collar’s scann’d,
Punsters think on classic land:
Thread-bare sleeves thine age proclaim,
Elbows worn announce the same;
Elbows mouldy-black of hue,
Save where white a crack shines through;
While thy parting seams declare
Thou’rt unfit for farther wear—
Then, farewell! “What! Moses! ho!”
“Clo’, Sir? clo’, Sir? clo’, Sir? clo’?”
4. The fourth Trochaic species consists of four trochees: as,
“Ūgh! yŏu līttlĕ lūmp ŏf blūbbĕr,
Sleep, oh! sleep in quiet, do!
Cease awhile your bib to slobber—
Cease your bottle mouth to screw.
“How I wish your eyelids never
Would unclose again at all;
For I know as soon as ever
You’re awake, you’re sure to squall.
“Dad and Mammy’s darling honey,
Tomb-stone cherub, stuff’d with slops,
Let each noodle, dolt, and spooney
Smack, who will, your pudding chops.
“As for me, as soon I’d smother,
As I’d drown a sucking cat,
You, you cub, or any other
Nasty little squalling brat.”
“Would you, you disagreeable old Bachelor?”
This form may take an additional long syllable, but this measure is very uncommon. Example:
“Chrōnŏnhōtŏnthōlŏgōs thĕ Grēat,
Godlike in a barrow kept his state.”
5. The fifth Trochaic species is likewise uncommon; and, as a Bowbellian would say, “uncommon” ugly. It contains five trochees: as,
“Hēre lĭes Māry̆, wīfe ŏf Thōmăs Cārtĕr,
Who to typhus fever proved a martyr.”
These are a specimen of the “uncouth rhymes” so touchingly alluded to by Gray.
6. The sixth form of the English Trochaic is a line of six trochees: as,
“Mōst bĕwītchĭng dāmsĕl, c̄harmĭng Ārăbēllă,
Prithee, cast an eye of pity on a fellow.”
The Dactylic measure is extremely uncommon. The following may be considered an example of one species of it:
“Cēliă thĕ crūĕl, rĕsōlv’d nŏt tŏ mārry̆ sŏon,
Boasts of a heart like a fortified garrison,
Bulwarks and battlements keeping the beaux all off,
Shot from within knocking lovers like foes all off.”
Anapæstic verses are of various kinds.
1. The shortest anapæstic verse is a single anapæst: as,
“Ĭn thĕ glāss
There’s an ass.”
This measure, after all, is ambiguous; for if the stress of the voice be laid on the first and third syllables, it becomes trochaic. Perhaps, therefore, it is best to consider the first form of our Anapæstic verse, as made up of two anapæsts: as,
“Sĕt ă schōolbŏy ăt wōrk
With a knife and a fork.”
And here, if you like, you may have another short syllable: as,
“Ănd hŏw sōon thĕ yoŭng glūttŏn
Will astonish your mutton!”
2. The second species consists of three anapæsts: as,
“Ămărȳllĭs wăs slēndĕr ănd tāll,
Colin Clodpole was dumpy and fat;
And tho’ she did’n’t like him at all,
Yet he doted on her for all that.”
This metre is sometimes donominated sing-song.
3. The third kind of English Anapæstics may be very well exemplified by an Irish song:
“Hăve yŏu ē’er hăd thĕ lūck tŏ sĕe Dōnny̆brŏok Fāir?”
It consists, as will have been observed, of four anapæsts. Sometimes it admits of a short syllable at the end of the verse: as,
“Ĭn thĕ dēad ŏf thĕ nīght, whĕn wĭth dīre cătĕrwāulĭng
Of grimalkins in chorus the house-tops resound;
All insensibly drunk, and unconsciously sprawling
In the kennel, how pleasant it is to be found!”
The various specimens of versification of which examples have been given, may be improved and varied by the admission of secondary feet into their composition; but as we are not writing an Art of Poetry, we cannot afford to show how: particularly as the only way, after all, of acquiring a real knowledge of the structure of English verse, is by extensive reading. Besides, there yet remain a few Directions for Poetical Beginners, which we feel ourselves called upon to give, and for which, if we do not take care, we shall not have room.
The commencement of a poet’s career is usually the writing of nonsense verses. The nonsense of these compositions is very often unintentional; but sometimes words are put together avowedly without regard to sense, and with no other view than that of acquiring a familiarity with metrical arrangement: as,
“Approach, disdain, involuntary, tell.”
But this is dry work. It may be necessary to compose in this way just at first, but in our opinion, there is a good and a bad taste to be displayed even in writing nonsense verses; that is, verses which really deserve that name. We recommend the young poet to make it his aim to render his nonsense as PERFECT as possible. He will find many bright examples to follow in the world of literature: but perhaps, for the present, he will put up with our own.
“Conclusive tenderness; fraternal grog,
Tidy conjunction; adamantine bog,
Impetuous, arrant toadstool; Thundering quince,
Repentant dog-star, inessential Prince
Expound. Pre-Adamite eventful gun,
Crush retribution, currant-jelly, pun.
Oh! eligible Darkness, fender, sting
Heav’n-born Insanity, courageous thing.
Intending, bending, scouring, piercing all,
Death like pomatum, tea, and crabs must fall.”
A very good method of making nonsense verses, consists in taking bits, selected here and there at random, out of some particular poet, or phrases in his style, and then putting them together with a few additions of your own secundùm artem. Sometimes, however, it answers very well to copy a page or so of an author word for word. Nonsense verses composed in this manner, form not only a beneficial exercise, but are also very useful for insertion in young ladies’ albums; as they can be made without much trouble, and when made, are not only thought just as well of as the most sensible productions would be, but very often cried over into the bargain, as affecting and pathetic.
EXAMPLE.
THE OCEAN WANDERER.
“Bright breaks the warrior o’er the ocean wave
Through realms that rove not, clouds that cannot save,
Sinks in the sunshine; dazzles o’er the tomb,
And mocks the mutiny of Memory’s gloom.
Oh! who can feel the crimson ecstasy
That soothes with bickering jar the Glorious Free?
O’er the high rock the foam of gladness throws,
While star-beams lull Vesuvius to repose:
Girds the white spray, and in the blue lagoon,
Weeps like a walrus o’er the waning moon?
Who can declare?—not thou, pervading boy
Whom pibrochs pierce not, crystals cannot cloy;—
Not thou, soft Architect of silvery gleams,
Whose soul would simmer in Hesperian streams,
Th’ exhaustless fire—the bosom’s azure bliss,
That hurtles, life-like, o’er a scene like this;—
Defies the distant agony of Day—
And sweeps o’er hecatombs—away! away!
Say, shall Destruction’s lava load the gale,
The furnace quiver, and the mountain quail?
Say, shall the son of Sympathy pretend
His cedar fragrance with our Chief’s to blend?
There, where the gnarled monuments of sand
Howl their dark whirlwinds to the levin brand;
Where avalanches wail, and green Distress
Sweeps o’er the pallid beak of loveliness:
Where melancholy Sulphur holds her sway;
And cliffs of Conscience tremble, and obey;
And where Tartarean rattle-snakes expire,
Twisting like tendrils of a hero’s pyre?
No! dancing in the meteor’s hall of power,
See, Genius ponders o’er Affection’s tower!
A form of thund’ring import soars on high,
Hark! ’tis the gore of infant melody:
No more shall verdant Innocence amuse
The lips that death-fraught Indignation glues;—
Tempests shall teach the trackless tide of thought,
That undistinguish’d senselessness is nought:
Freedom shall glare; and oh! ye links divine,
The Poet’s heart shall quiver in the brine.”
Suppose we try another metre.
“The Spirit saw and smiled,
And an interminable radiance glowed
Throughout her lucid frame;
There rose within her soul
A wild unspeakable intelligence,
A sweet and gentle light,
Which through her eyes in countless flashes shone
Intolerably bright;
Like to an infinite multitude of stars
Gemming the arch of Heaven;
Or, rather, like the shining balls that come
Out of a Roman candle.”
However, we are not quite sure that, with the exception of the two last lines, we have not quoted the rest of the foregoing example from memory.
It were manifestly culpable to make no mention, in a work of this sort, of certain measures which are especially and essentially of a comic nature. Some of these have been already adverted to, but two principal varieties yet remain to be considered.
1. Measures taken from the Latin, in which the structure of the ancient verse, as far as the number and arrangement of the feet are concerned, is preserved, but the quantity of which is regulated in accordance with the spirit of our own language. The character of such verses will be best displayed by employing them on sentimental or serious subjects. Take, for example, Long and Short, or Hexameter and Pentameter verses.
“Jūlĭă, gīrl ŏf my̆ heārt, ĭs thăn jēssămĭne swēetĕr, ŏr frēsh mēads
Hāy-cŏvĕr’d; whāt rōse tīnts thōse ŏn hĕr chēeks, thăt flŏurīsh,
Approach? those bright eyes, what stars, what glittering dew-drops?
And oh! what Parian marble, or snow, that bosom?
If she my love return, what bliss will be greater than mine; but
What more deep sadness if she reprove my passion?
Either a bridegroom proud yon ivy-clad church shall receive me
Soon; or the cold church-yard me with its turf shall cover.”
Or the Sapphic metre, of which the late Mr. Canning’s “Knife-Grinder” is so brilliant an example. Sappho, fair reader, was a poetess, who made love-verses which could be actually scanned. History relates that, for the sake of some unprincipled or unfeeling fellow, she committed felo de se.
“‘Ī căn ēndūre thīs crŭĕl pāin nŏ lōngēr;
Fare ye well, blue skies, rivers, fields, and song-birds!’
Thus the youth spoke: and adding, ‘Oh, Jemima!’
Plunged in the billow!”
2. Measures reducible to no rule, or Doggrel. Sternhold and Hopkins, of whom such honourable mention has been made above, were illustrious as Doggrel writers. They have been somewhat eclipsed, however, by their modern successors, Nicholas Brady and Nahum Tate, who may, perhaps, be safely pronounced the chief of uninspired bards.
Original composers in this description of verse are often not much more particular about Syntax,—and we might add Orthography,—than they are about Prosody. The following extract from an unpublished satire on the singing of a country catch-club, is a tolerably fair specimen of English Doggrel:—
“A gentleman, who was passing by,
Was very much amazed at what they were going to try,
Said, ‘Hear their voices, how they sing,
How badly they all chime in!’
After such singing, what do you think of us,
To send forth sounds of mirthfulness?”
Doggrel is commonly used by anonymous poets for the purpose of embodying the moral reflections which a homicide or an execution excites in the sensitive mind. It is likewise the metre in which the imaginative sempstress pours forth the feelings of her bosom. May we hope that our remarks on Prosody will in some little degree tend to facilitate, perhaps to improve, the future treatment of those two deeply interesting subjects—Love and Murder?
