To view the cross-aisles and the arches fair
Through the half-hidden silver-twinkling glare
Of yon bright moon in foggy mantle dress’d.
(“Parliament of Sprites,” Canto XXI)
The remaining examples of Chatterton’s compound formations do not call for much attention, though “gently-plaintive rill” (“Elegy on Phillips”) and “loudly-dinning stream” (“Ælla,” 84) are new and fresh. Chatterton has much of the conventional poetical language and devices of his time throughout his work, and his compound epithets do not in the mass vary much from contemporary usage in this respect. But some of them at least are significant of the position which he occupies in the history of the Romantic revival.
The greatest figure in this revival, as it appears to us now, was William Blake, but from our present point of view he is almost negligible. It may safely be said that few poets of such high rank have made less use of compound formations: in his entire poetical work scarcely half a dozen instances are to be found. Yet the majority of these, such as “angel-guarded bed” (“A Dream,” 2), “mind-forg’d manacles” (“London,” 8), “Winter’s deep-founded habitation” (“Winter,” 3), “softly-breathing song” (“Song,” 2: “Poetical Sketches”) are a sufficiently striking tribute to his ability to form expressive compounds had he felt the need. But in the beautiful purity and simplicity of his diction, for which he has in our own time at least received adequate praise, there was no place for long compound formations, which, moreover, are more valuable and more appropriate for descriptive poetry, and likely to mar the pure singing note of the lyric.
It is curious to find a similar paucity of compound formations in the poems of George Crabbe, the whole number being well represented by such examples as “dew-press’d vale” (“Epistle to a Friend,” 48), “violet-wing’d Zephyrs” (“The Candidate,” 268), and “wind-perfuming flowers” (“The Choice”). No doubt the narrative character of much of Crabbe’s verse is the explanation of this comparative lack of compounds, but the descriptions of wild nature that form the background for many of “The Tales” might have been expected to result in new descriptive terms.
Two lesser poets of the time are more noteworthy as regards our especial topic. William Mickle (1735-1788), in his “Almada Hill” (1781) and his “May Day,” as well as in his shorter poems, has new epithets for hills and heights, as in such phrases as “thyme-clad mountains” and “fir-crown’d hill” (“Sorcerers,” 4). His Spenserian imitation “Syr Martyn,” contains a few happy epithets:
How bright emerging o’er yon broom-clad height