Lectures on Rhetoric and Belles Lettres: Lecture XXXVIII — Nature of Poetry — Its Origin and Progress — Versification
I have now finished my observations on the different kinds of writing in prose. What remains is, to treat of poetical composition. Before entering on the consideration of any of its particular kinds, I design this lecture as an introduction to the subject of poetry in general, wherein I shall treat of its nature, give an account of its origin, and make some observations on versification, or poetical numbers.
Our first inquiry must be, What is poetry? and wherein does it differ from prose? The answer to this question is not so easy as might at first be imagined; and critics have differed and disputed much, concerning the proper definition of poetry. Some have made its essence to consist in fiction, and support their opinion by the authority of Aristotle and Plato. But this is certainly too limited a definition; for though fiction may have a great share in many poetical compositions, yet many subjects of poetry may not be feigned; as where the poet describes objects which actually exist, or pours forth the real sentiments of his own heart. Others have made the characteristic of poetry to lie in imitation. But this is altogether loose: for several other arts imitate as well as poetry; and an imitation of human manners and characters may be carried on in the humblest prose, no less than in the more lofty poetic strain.
The most just and comprehensive definition which, I think, can be given of poetry, is, ‘ that it is the language of passion, or of enlivened imagination, formed, most commonly, into regular numbers.* The historian, the orator, the philosopher, address themselves, for the most part, primarily to the understanding: their direct aim is to Inform, to persuade, or to instruct. But the primary aim of a poet is to please, and to move; and, therefore, it is to the imagination, and the passions, that he speaks. He may, and he ought to have it in his view, to instruct, and to reform; but it is indirectly, and by pleasing and moving, that he accomplishes this end. His mind is supposed to be animated by some interesting object which fires his imagination, or engages his passions; and which, of course, communicates to his style a peculiar elevation suited to his ideas; very different from that mode of expression, which is natural to the mind in its calm, ordinary state. I have added to my definition, that this language of passion, or imagination, is formed, most commonly, into regular numbers; because, though versification be, in general, the exterior distinction of poetry, yet there are some forms of verse so loose and familiar, as to be hardly distinguishable from prose; such as the verse of Terence’s Comedies; and there is also a species of prose, so measured in its cadence, and so much raised in its tone, as to approach very near to poetical numbers; such as the Telemachus of Fenelon; and the English translation of Ossian. The truth is, verse and prose, on some occasions, run into one another, like light and shade. It is hardly possible to determine the exact limit where eloquence ends, and poetry begins; nor is there any occasion for being very precise about the boundaries, as long as the nature of each is understood. These are the minutiae of criticism, concerning which, frivolous writers are always disposed to squabble; but which deserve not any particular discussion. The truth and justness of the definition, which I have given of poetry, will appear more fully from the account which I am now to give of its origin; and which will tend to throw light on much of what I am afterwards to deliver, concerning its various kinds.
The Greeks, ever fond of attributing to their own nation the invention of all sciences and arts, have ascribed the origin of poetry to Orpheus, Linus, and Musseus. There were, perhaps, such persons as these, who were the first distinguished bards in the Grecian countries. But long before such names were heard of, and among nations where they were never known, poetry existed. It is a great error to imagine, that poetry and music are arts which belong only to polished nations. They have their foundation in the nature of man, and belong to all nations, and to all ages; though, like other arts founded in nature, they have been more cultivated, and from a concurrence of favourable circumstances, carried to greater perfection in some countries than in others. In order to explore the rise of poetry, we must have recourse to the deserts and the wilds; we must go back to the age of hunters and of shepherds; to the highest antiquity; and to the simplest form of manners among mankind.
It has been often said, and the concurring voice of all antiquity affirms, that poetry is older than prose. But in what sense this seemingly strange paradox holds true, has not always been well understood. There never, certainly, was any period of society, in which men conversed together in poetical numbers. It was in very humble and scanty prose, as we may easily believe, that the first tribes carried on intercourse among themselves, relating to the wants and necessities of life. But from the very beginning of society, there were occasions on which they met together for feasts, sacrifices, and public assemblies; and on all such occasions, it is well known, that music, song, and dance, made their principal entertainment. It is chiefly in America, that we have had the opportunity of being made acquainted with men in their savage state. We learn from the particular and concurring accounts of travellers, that among all the nations of that vast continent, especially among the northern tribes, with whom we have had most intercourse, music and song are, at all their meetings, carried on with an incredible degree of enthusiasm; that the chiefs of the tribe are those who signalize themselves most on such occasions; that it is in songs they celebrate their religious rites; that by these they lament their public and private calamities, the death of friends, or the loss of warriors; express their joy on their victories; celebrate the great actions of their nation, and their heroes; excite each other to perform brave exploits in war, or suffer death and torments with unshaken constancy.
Here then we see the first beginnings of poetic composition, in those rude effusions, which the enthusiasm of fancy or passion suggested to untaught men, when roused by interesting events, and by their meeting together in public assemblies. Two particulars would early distinguish this language of song, from that in which they conversed on the common occurrences of life; namely, an unusual arrangement of words, and the employment of bold figures of speech. It would invert words, or change them from that order in which they are commonly placed, to that which most suited the train in which they rose in the speaker’s imagination, or which was most accommodated to the cadence of the passion by which he was moved. Under the influence too of any strong emotion, objects do not appear to us such as they really are, but such as passion makes us see them. We magnify and exaggerate; we seek to interest all others in what causes our emotion; we compare the least things to the greatest; we call upon the absent as well as the present, and even address ourselves to things inanimate. Hence, in congruity with those various movements of the mind, arise those turns of expression, which we now distinguish by the learned names of hyperbole, prosopopoeia, simile, &c. but which are no other than the native original language, of poetry among the most barbarous nations.
Man is both a poet and a musician by nature. The same impulse which prompted the enthusiastic poetic style, prompted a certain melody, or modulation of sound, suited to the emotions of joy or grief, of admiration, love, or anger. There is a power in sound, which, partly from nature, partly from habit and association, makes such pathetic impressions on the fancy, as delight even the most wild barbarians. Music and poetry, therefore, had the same rise: they were prompted by the same occasions; they were united in song; and, as long as they continued united, they tended, without doubt, mutually to heighten and exalt each other’s power. The first poets sung their own verses; and hence the beginning of what we call versification, or words arranged in a more artful order than prose, so as to be suited to some tune or melody. The liberty of transposition, or inversion, which the poetic style, as I observed, would naturally assume, made it easier to form the words into some sort of numbers that fell in with the music of the song. Very harsh and uncouth, we may easily believe, these numbers would be at first. But the pleasure was felt; it was studied; and versification, by degrees, passed into an art.
It appears from what has been said, that the first compositions which were either recorded by writing, or transmitted by tradition, could be no other than poetical compositions. No other than these could draw the attention of men in their rude uncivilized state. Indeed, they knew no other. Cool reasoning and plain discourse had no power to attract savage tribes, addicted only to hunting and war. There was nothing that could either rouse the speaker to pour himself forth, or to draw the crowd to listen, but the high powers of passion, of music, and of song. This vehicle, therefore, and no other would be employed by chiefs and legislators, when they meant to instruct or to animate their tribes. There is, likewise, a farther reason why such compositions only could be transmitted to posterity; because, before writing was invented, songs only could last, and be remembered. The ear gave assistance to the memory, by the help of numbers; fathers repeated and sung them to their children; and oral tradition of national ballads, were conveyed all the historical knowledge, and all the instruction of the first ages.
The earliest accounts which history gives us concerning all nations, bear testimony to these facts. In the first ages of Greece, priests, philosophers, and statesmen, all delivered their instructions in poetry. Apollo, Orpheus, and Amphion, their most ancient bards, are represented as the first tamers of mankind, the first founders of law and civilisation. Minos and Thales sung to the lyre the laws which they composed ;* and till the age immediately preceding that of Herodotus, history had appeared in no other form than that of poetical tales.
In the same manner, among all other nations, poets and songs are the first objects that make their appearance. Among the Scythian or Gothic nations, many of their kings and leaders were scalders, or poets; and it is from their Runic songs, that the most early writers of their history, such as Saxo-Grammaticus, acknowledge that they had derived their chief information. Among the Celtic tribes, in Gaul, Britain, and Ireland, we know in what admiration their bards were held, and how great influence they possessed over the people. They were both poets and musicians, as all the first poets, in every country, were. They were always near the person of the chief or sovereign; they recorded all his great exploits; they were employed as the ambassadors between contending tribes, and their persons were held sacred.
From this deduction it follows, that as we have reason to look for poems and songs among the antiquities of all countries, so we may expect, that in the strain of these there will be a remarkable resemblance, during the primitive periods of every country. The occasions of their being composed, are every where nearly the same. The praises of gods and heroes, the celebration of famed ancestors, the recital of martial deeds, songs of victory, and songs of lamentation over the misfortunes and death of their countrymen, occur among all nations; and the same enthusiasm and fire, the same wild and irregular, but animated composition, concise and glowing style, bold and extravagant figures of speech, are the general distinguishing characters of all the most ancient original poetry. That strong hyperbolical manner which we have been long accustomed to call the oriental manner of poetry, (because some of the earliest poetical productions came to us from the East,) is in truth no more oriental than occidental; it is characteristical of an age rather than of a country; and belongs, in some measure, to all nations at that period which first gives rise to music and to song. Mankind never re
* Strabo, lib. x.
semble each other so much as they do in the beginnings of society. Its subsequent revolutions give birth to the principal distinctions of character among nations, and divert, into channels widely separated, that current of human genius and manners, which descends originally from one spring.
Diversity of climate, and of manner of living, will, however, occasion some diversity in the strain of the first poetry of nations chiefly according as those nations are of a more ferocious, or of a more gentle spirit; and according as they advance faster or slower in the arts of civilization. Thus we find all the remains of the ancient Gothic poetry remarkably fierce, and breathing nothing but slaughter and blood; while the Peruvian and the Chinese songs turned, from the earliest times, upon milder subjects. The Celtic poetry, in the days of Ossian, though chiefly of the martial kind, yet had attained a considerable mixture of tenderness and refinement; in consequence of the long cultivation of poetry among the Celtae, by means of a series and succession of bards which had been established for ages. So Lucan informs us:
Vos quoque qui fortes animos, belloque peremptos
Laudibus in longum vates diffunditis aevum,
Plurima securi fudistis carmina bardi.* L. 44.
Among the Grecian nations, their early poetry appears to have soon received a philosophical cast, from what we are informed concerning the subjects of Orpheus, Linus, and Musaeus, who treated of creation and of chaos, of the generation of the world, and of the rise of things; and we know that the Greeks advanced sooner to philosophy, and proceeded with a quicker pace in all the arts of refinement, than most other nations.
The Arabians and the Persians have always been the greatest poets of the east; and, among them, as among other nations, poetry was the earliest vehicle of all their learning and instruction. t The ancient Arabs, we are informed,]: valued themselves much on their metrical compositions, which were of two sorts; the one they compared to loose pearls, and the other to pearls strung. In the former, the sentences or verses were without connexion; and their beauty arose from the elegance of the expression, and the acuteness of the sentiment. The moral doctrines of the Persians were generally comprehended in such independent proverbial apophthegms, formed into verse. In this respect they bear a considerable resemblance to the Proverbs of Solomon; a great part of which book consists of unconnected poetry, like the loose pearls of the Arabians. The same form of composition appears also in the book of Job. The
* You too, ye bards, whom sacred raptures fire,
To chaunt your heroes to your country’s lyre,
Who consecrate in your immortal strain,
Brave patriot souls in righteous battle slain;
Securely now the useful task renew,
And noblest themes in deathless songs pursue Rowe., f Vid. Voyages de Chardin, chap de la Poésie des Persans. t Vid. Preliminary discourse to Sale’s Translation of the Koran Greeks seem to have been the first who introduced a more regular structure, and closer connexion of parts, into their poetical writings.
During the infancy of poetry, all the different kinds of it lay confused, and were mingled in the same composition, according as inclination, enthusiasm, or casual incidents, directed the poet ’s strain. In the progress of society and arts, they began to assume those different regular forms, and to be distinguished by those different names under which we now know them. But in the first rude state of poetical effusions, we can easily discern the seeds and beginnings of all the kinds of regular poetry. Odes and hymns, of every sort, would naturally be among the first compositions; according as the bards were moved by religious feelings, resentment, love, or any other warm sentiment, to pour themselves forth in song. Plaintive or elegiac poetry, would as naturally arise from lamentations over their deceased friends. The recital of the achievements of their heroes, and their ancestors, gave birth to what we now call epic poetry; and as not content with simply reciting these, they would infallibly be led, at some of their public meetings, to represent them, by introducing different bards, speaking in the character of their heroes, and answering each other, we find in this the first outlines of tragedy, or dramatic writing.
None of these kinds of poetry, however, were in the first ages of society properly distinguished or separated, as they are now, from each other. Indeed, not only were the different kinds of poetry then mixed together, but all that we now call letters, or composition of any kind, was then blended in one mass. At first, history, eloquence, and poetry, were all the same. Whoever wanted to move or to persuade, to inform or to entertain his countrymen and neighbours, whatever was the subject, accompanied his sentiment and tales with the melody of song. This was the case in that period of society, when the character and occupations of the husbandman and the builder, the warrior and the statesman, were united in one person. When the progress of society brought on a separation of the different arts and professions of civil life, it led also by degrees to a separation of the different literary provinces from each other.
The art of writing was in process of time invented; records of past transactions began to be kept; men, occupied with the subjects of policy and useful arts, wished now to be instructed and informed, as well as moved. They reasoned and reflected upon the affairs of life; and were interested by what was real, not fabulous, in past transactions. The historian, therefore, now laid aside the buskins of poetry; he wrote in prose, and attempted to give a faithful and judicious relation of former events. The philosopher addressed himself chiefly to the understanding. The orator studied to persuade by reasoning, and retained more or less of the ancient passionate and glowing style, according as it was conducive to his purpose. Poetry became now a separate art, calculated chiefly to please, and confined generally to such subjects as related to the imagination and passions. Even its earliest companion, music, was in a great measure divided from it.
These separations, brought all the literary arts into a more regular form, and contributed to the exact and accurate cultivation of each. Poetry, however, in its ancient original condition, was perhaps more vigorous than it is in its modern state. It included then the whole burst of the human mind; the whole exertion of its imaginative faculties. It spoke then the language of passion, and no other; for to passion, it owed its birth. Prompted and inspired by events which interested his country or his friends, the early bard arose and sung. He sung indeed in wild and disorderly strains; but they were the native effusions of his heart; they were the ardent conceptions of admiration or resentment, of sorrow or friendship, which he poured forth. It is no wonder, therefore, that in the rude and artless strain of the first poetry of all nations, we should often find somewhat that captivates and transports the mind. In after ages, when poetry became a regular art, studied for reputation and for gain, authors began to effect what they did not feel. Composing coolly in their closets, they endeavoured to imitate passion, rather than to express it; they tried to force their imagination into raptures, or to supply the defect of native warmth, by those artificial ornaments which might give composition a splendid appearance.
The separation of music from poetry, produced consequences not favourable in some respects to poetry, and in many respects hurtful to music. * As long as they remained united, music enlivened and animated poetry, and poetry gave force and expression to musical sound. The music of that early period was, beyond doubt, extremely simple; and must have consisted chiefly of such pathetic notes, as the voice could adapt to the words of the song. Musical instruments, such as flutes, and pipes, and a lyre with a very few strings, appear to have been early invented among some nations; but no more was intended by these instruments, than simply to accompany the voice, and to heighten the melody of song. The poet’s strain was always heard; and, from many circumstances, it appears, that among the ancient Greeks, as well as among other nations, the bard sung his verses, and played upon his harp or lyre at the same time. In this state, the art of music was, when it produced all those great effects, of which we read so much in ancient history. And certain it is, that from simple music only, and from music accompanied with verse or song, we are to look for strong expression, and powerful influence over the human mind. When instrumental music came to be studied as a separate art, divested of the poet’s song, and formed into the artificial and intricate combinations of harmony, it lost all its ancient power of inflaming the hearers with strong emotions; and sunk into an art of mere amusement, among polished and luxurious nations.
Still, however, poetry preserves, in all countries, some remains of its first and original connexion with music. By being uttered
* See Dr. Brown’s Dissertation on the Rise, Union, and Separation of Poetry and Music.
in song, it was formed into numbers, or into an artificial arrangement of words and syllables, very different in different countries; but such, as to the. inhabitants of each, seemed most melodious and agreeable in sound. Whence arises that great characteristic of poetry which we now call verse; a subject which comes next to be treated of.
It is a subject of a curious nature; but as I am sensible, that were I to pursue it as far as my inclination leads, it would give rise to discussions, which the greater part of readers would consider as minute, I shall confine myself to a few observations upon English versification.
Nations, whose language and pronunciation were of a musical kind, rested their versification chiefly upon the quantities, that is, the length or shortness of their syllables. Others, who did not make the quantities of their syllables be so distinctly perceived in pronouncing them, rested the melody of their verse upon the number of syllables it contained, upon the proper disposition of accents and pauses in it, and frequently upon that return of corresponding sounds, which we call rhyme. The former was the case with the Greeks and Romans; the latter is the case with us, and with most modern nations. Among the Greeks and Romans, every syllable, or the far greatest number at least, was known to have a fixed and determined quantity; and their manner of pronouncing rendered this so sensible to the ear, that a long syllable was counted precisely equal in time to two short ones. Upon this principle, the number of syllables contained in their hexameter verse was allowed to vary. It may extend to 17; it can contain, when regular, no fewer than 13; but the musical time was, notwithstanding, precisely the same in every hexameter verse, and was always equal to that of 12 long syllables. In order to ascertain the regular time of every verse, and the proper mixture and succession of long and short syllables which ought to compose it, were invented, what the grammarians call metrical feet, dactyles, spondees, iambus, &c. By these measures was tried the accuracy of composition in every line, and whether it was so constructed as to complete its proper melody. It was requisite, for instance, that the hexameter verse should have the quantity of its syllables so disposed, that it could be scanned or measured by six metrical feet, which might be either dactyles or spondees (as the musical time of both these is the same) with this restriction only, that the fifth foot was regularly to be a dactyle, and the last a spondee.*
* Some writers imagine, that the feet in Latin verse were intended to correspond to bars in music, and to form musical intervals or distinctions, sensible to the ear in the pronunciation of the line. Had this been the case, every kind of verse must have had a peculiar order of feet appropriated to it. But the common prosodies show that there are several forms of Latin verse which are capable of being measured indifferently, by a series of feet of very different kinds. For instance, what is called the Asclepedaean verse (in which the first ode of Horace is written) may be scanned either by a Spondeus, two Choriambus’s, and a Pyrrichius; or by a Spondeus, a Dactylus succeeded by a Caesura, and two Dactylus’s. The common Pentameter, and some other forms of verse, admit the like varieties; and yet the melody of the verse, remains always the same, though it be scanned by different feet. This proves, that the metrical feet were not sensible in the pronunciation of the line, but were intended only to regulate its construction, or applied as measures, to try The introduction of these feet into English verse, would be altogether out of place; for the genius of our language corresponds not in this respect to Greek or Latin. I say not, that we have no regard to quantity, or to long and short, in pronouncing. Many words we have, especially our words consisting of several syllables, where the quantity, or the long and short syllables, are invariably fixed; but great numbers we have also, where the quantity is left altogether loose. This is the case with a great part of our words consisting of two syllables, and with almost all our monosyllables.
In general, the difference made between long and short syllables, in our manner of pronouncing them, is so very inconsiderable, and so much liberty is left us for making them either long or short at pleasure, that mere quantity is of very little effect in English versification. The only perceptible difference among our syllables, arises from some of them being uttered with that stronger percussion of voice, which we call accent. This accent does not always make the syllable longer, but gives it more force of sound only; and it is upon a certain order and succession of accented and unaccented syllables, infinitely more than upon their being long or short, that the melody of our verse depends. If we take any of Mr. Pope’s lines, and in reciting them alter the quantity of the syllables, as far as our quantities are sensible, the music of the verse will not be much injured:
whereas, if we do not accent the syllables according as the verse dictates, its melody will be totally destroyed.*
Our English heroic verse is of what may be called an iambic structure; that is, composed of a succession, nearly alternate, of syllables, not short and long, but unaccented and accented. With regard to the place of these accents, however, some liberty is admitted, for the sake of variety. Very often, though not always, the line begins with an unaccented syllable; and sometimes, in the course of it, two unaccented syllables follow each other. But in general, there are either five, or four, accented syllables in each line. The number of syllables is ten, unless where an Alexandrine verse is occasionally admitted. In verses not Alexandrine, instances occur where the line appears to have more than the limited number. But in such instances, I apprehend it will be found, that some of the liquid syllables are whether the succession of long and short syllables was such as suited the melody of the verse; and as feet of different kinds could sometimes be applied for this purpose, hence it happened, that some forms of verse were capable of being scanned in different ways. For measuring the hexameter line, no other feet were found so proper as dactyles and spondees, and therefore by these it is uniformly scanned. But no ear is sensible of the termination of each foot, in reading an hexameter line. From a misapprehension of this matter, I apprehend that confusion has sometimes arisen among writers, in treating of the prosody both of Latin and of English verse.
* See this well illustrated in Lord Monboddo’s Treatise of The Origin and Progress oj Language, vol. ii. under the head of the prosody of language. He shows that this is not only the constitution of our own verse, but that, by our manner of reading Latin verse, we make its music nearly the same. For we certainly do not pronounce it according to the ancient quantities, so as to make the musical time of one long syllable equal to two short ones; but according to a succession of accented and unaccented syllables, only mixed in a ratio different from that of our own verse. No Roman could possibly understand our pronunciation.
so slurred in pronouncing, as to bring the verse, with respect to its effect upon the ear, within the usual bounds.
Another essential circumstance in the constitution of our verse, is the caesural pause, which falls towards the middle of each line. Some pause of this kind, dictated by the melody, is found in the verse of most nations. It is found, as might be shown, in the Latin hexameter. In the French heroic verse it is very sensible. That is a verse of twelve syllables; and in every line, just after the sixth syllable, there falls regularly and indispensably a caesural pause, dividing the line into two equal hemisticks. For example, in the first lines of Boileau’s Epistle to the King:
Jeune &, vaillant heros | dont la haute sagesse
N’est point le fruit tardif | d’une lente vieillesse,
Qui seul sans Ministre | à l’example des Dieux,
Soutient tout par toi-meme | & voit tous par tes yeux.
In this train all their verses proceed; the one half of the line always answering to the other, and the same chime returning incessantly on the ear without intermission or change; which is certainly a defect in their verse, and unfits it so very much for the freedom and dignity of heroic poetry. On the other hand, it is a distinguishing advantage of our English verse, that it allows the pause to be varied through four different syllables in the line. The pause may fall after the 4th, the 5th, the 6th, or the 7th syllable; and according as the pause is placed after one or other of these syllables, the melody of the verse is much changed, its air and cadence are diversified. By this means, uncommon richness and variety are added to English versification.
When the pause falls earliest, that is, after the 4th syllable, the melody is thereby formed, and the most spirited air given to the line. In the following lines of the Rape of the Lock, Mr. Pope has, with exquisite propriety, suited the construction of the verse to the subject.
On her white breast { a sparkling cross she wore,
Which Jews might kiss | and infidels adore;
Her lively looks | a sprightly mind disclose,
Quick as her eyes j and as unfix’d as those.
Favours to none, | to all she smiles extends,
Oft she rejects, | but never once offends.
When the pause falls after the 5th syllable, which divides the line into two equal portions, the melody is sensibly altered. The verse loses that brisk and sprightly air, which it had with the former pause, and becomes more smooth, gentle, and flowing.
Eternal sunshine j of the spotless mind,
Each prayer accepted | and each wish resign’d.
When the pause proceeds to follow the 6th syllable, the tenour of the music becomes solemn and grave. The verse marches now with a more slow and measured pace, than in any of the two former cases.
The wrath of Peleus’ son, | the direful spring
Of all the Grecian woes, | O goddess sing!
But the grave, solemn cadence becomes still more sensible, when the pause falls after the 7th syllable, which is the nearest place to the end of the line that it can occupy. This kind of verse occurs the seldomest, but has a happy effect in diversifying the melody. It produces that slow Alexandrine, which is finely suited to a close; and for this reason, such lines almost never occur together, but are used in finishing the couplet.
And in the smooth description [ murmur still.
Long-lov’d, ador’d ideas! | all adieu.
I have taken my examples from verses in rhyme; because in these, our versification is subjected to the strictest law. As blank verse is of a freer kind, and naturally is read with less cadence or tone, the pauses, in it, and the effect of them, are not always so sensible to the ear. It is constructed, however, entirely upon the same principles with respect to the place of the pause. There are some who, in order to exalt the variety and the power of our heroic verse, have maintained that it admits of musical pauses, not only after those four syllables, where I assigned their place, but after any one syllable in the verse indifferently, where the sense directs it to be placed. This, in my opinion, is the same thing as to maintain that there is no pause at all belonging to the natural melody of the verse; since, according to this notion, the pause is formed entirely by the meaning, not by the music. But this I apprehend to be contrary both to the nature of versification, and the experience of every good ear.* Those certainly are the happiest lines, wherein the pause, prompted by the melody, coincides in some degree with that of the sense, or at least does not tend to spoil or interrupt the meaning. Wherever any opposition between the music and the sense chances to take place, I observed before, in treating of pronunciation or delivery, that the proper method of reading these lines, is to read them according as the sense dictates, neglecting or slurring the caesural pause; which renders the line less graceful indeed, but, however, does not entirely destroy its sound.
Our blank verse possesses great advantages, and is indeed a noble, bold, and disencumbered species of versification. The principal defect in rhyme, is the full close which it forces upon the ear, at the end of every couplet. Blank verse is freed from this; and allows the lines to run into each other with as great liberty as the Latin hexameter permits, perhaps with greater. Hence it is particularly suited to subjects of dignity and force, which demand more
* In the Italian heroic verse, employed by Tasso in his Gierusalemme, and
Ariosto in his Orlando, the pauses are of the same varied nature with those which I have shown to belong to English versification, and fall after the same four syllables in the line. Marmontel, in his Poétique Françoise, vol. i. p. 269, takes no notice, that the construction of verse is common to the Italians and the English; and defends the uniformity of the French csesural pause upon this ground, that the alternation of masculine and feminine rhymes furnishes sufficient variety to the French poetry, whereas the change of movement occasioned by the four different pauses in English and Italian verse, produces, according to him, too great diversity. On the bead of pauses in English versification, see the Elements of Criticism, chap 18, sect. 4.
free and manly numbers than rhyme. The constraint and strict regularity of rhyme, are unfavourable to the sublime, or to the highly pathetic strain. An epic poem, or a tragedy, would be fettered and degraded by it. It is best adapted to compositions of a temperate strain, where no particular vehemence is required in the sentiments, nor great sublimity in the style; such as pastorals, elegies, epistles, satires, &c. To these, it communicates that degree of elevation which is proper for them; and without any other assistance sufficiently distinguishes the style from prose. He who should write such poems in blank verse, would render his work harsh and unpleasing. In order to support a poetical style, he would be obliged to affect a pomp of language unsuitable to the subject.
Though I join in opinion with those, who think that rhyme finds its proper place in the middle, but not in the higher regions of poetry, I can by no means join in the invectives which some have poured out against it, as if it were a mere barbarous jingling of sounds, fit only for children, and owing to nothing but the corruption of taste in the monkish ages. Rhyme might indeed be barbarous in Latin or Greek verse, because these languages, by the sonorousness of their words, by their liberty of transposition and inversion, by their fixed quantities and musical pronunciation, could carry on the melody of verse without its aid. But it does not follow, that therefore it must be barbarous in the English language, which is destitute of these advantages. Every language has powers and graces, and music peculiar to itself; and what is becoming in one, would be ridiculous in another. Rhyme was barbarous in Latin; and an attempt to construct English verses, after the form of hexameters, and pentameters, and sapphics, is as barbarous among us. It is not true, that rhyme is merely a monkish invention. On the contrary, it has obtained under different forms, in the versification of most known nations. It is found in the ancient poetry of the northern nations of Europe; it is said to be found among the Arabs, the Persians, the Indians, and the Americans. This shows that there is something in the return of similar sounds, which is grateful to the ears of most part of mankind. And if any one, after reading Mr. Pope’s Rape of the Lock, or Eloisa to Abelard, shall not admit our rhyme, with all its varieties of pauses, to carry both elegance and sweetness of sound, his ear must be pronounced to be of a very peculiar kind.
The present form of our English heroic rhyme in couplets, is a modern species of versification. The measure generally used in the days of Queen Elizabeth, King James, and King Charles I. was the stanza of eight lines, such as Spenser employs, borrowed from the Italian; a measure very constrained and artificial. Waller was the first who brought couplets into vogue; and Dryden afterwards established the usage. Waller first smoothed our verse; Dryden perfected it. Mr. Pope’s versification has a peculiar character. It is flowing and smooth in the highest degree; far more laboured and correct than that of any who went before him. He introduced one considerable change into verse, by totally throwing aside the triplets, or three lines rhyming together, in which Mr. Dryden abounded. Dryden’s versification, however, has very great merit; and, like all his productions, has much spirit, mixed with carelessness. If not so smooth and correct as Pope’s, it is, however, more varied and easy. He subjects himself less to the rule of closing the sense with the couplet; and frequently takes the liberty of making his couplets run into one another, with somewhat of the freedom of blank verse.