PART TWO
Reading edition
I. FOUR-STRESS VERSE
English verse of four stresses is chiefly to be divided into two groups: that representing the primitive Germanic tendency to emphasize the element of accent rather than the counting of syllables, and that produced under foreign influence, showing comparative regularity in the number of syllables to the verse. The first group is made up of the various descendants of the original "long line," sometimes rimed and sometimes unrimed; the second group of forms of the familiar octosyllabic couplet. (Of modern verse only iambic measures are included here.)
A.—NON-SYLLABLE-COUNTING
The earliest English verse, like early Germanic verse generally, is based on the recurrence of strong accents, and is composed of a long line made up of two short lines, or half-lines, which are bound together by alliteration. As to the number of accents to be counted in the line, there are two theories, the "two-accent" and the "four-accent." According to the first, we should count two accents to the half-line, and four to the long line; according to the second, we should count four to the half-line and eight to the long line. The distinction is not so marked, however, as would appear at first thought; for the two-accent theorists recognize a considerable number of secondary accents in addition to the principal ones, while the four-accent theorists recognize half the accents as being commonly weaker than the other half.
The four-accent theory is that of Lachmann, represented chiefly in more recent scholarship by ten Brink and Kaluza. Lachmann took, as the typical Germanic line, such a verse as this from the Hildebrandlied,—
"Garutun se iro guðhama: gurtun sih iro suert ana;"
but admitted that the Anglo-Saxon line was a departure from the type in the direction of fewer accents. Ten Brink, however, found the full number of accents in the typical Anglo-Saxon line. "It is based upon a measure which belonged to the antiquity of all Germanic races, namely, the line with eight emphatic syllables, divided into equal parts by the cesura." (English Literature, trans. Kennedy, vol. i. pp. 21, 22.) The principal representative of the two-accent theory is Sievers, whose conclusions have been pretty generally accepted by English and American scholars. He admits that very many, perhaps most, Anglo-Saxon lines can be read with eight accents, but shows that there is still a large proportion (some eleven hundred in Beowulf) which cannot be so read without wrenching the natural reading. On this subject, see Westphal's Allgemeine Metrik, Sievers's Altgermanische Metrik, Kaluza's Der Altenglische Vers, and the articles by Sievers, Luick, and ten Brink in Paul's Grundriss der Germanische Philologie.
Aside from the two-part structure of the long line, the number of accents, and the alliteration, Anglo-Saxon verse is marked by the usual coincidence of the principal accents with long syllables. The unaccented parts of the line vary in both the number and length of the syllables. In general, each half-line is divided into two feet, or measures; and, according to the structure of these feet, the ordinary half-lines of Anglo-Saxon verse have been reduced by Sievers to five fundamental types.
Type A is represented by such a half-line as "stiðum wordum."
Type B inverts the rhythm of A, as in the half-line "nē winterscūr."
Type C is characterized by the juxtaposition of the two accents, as in the half-line "and forð gangan."
Type D commonly has only the accented syllable in the first foot, while the second foot is characterized by a sort of dactylic rhythm, as in the half-lines "sǣlīðende" and "flet innanweard."
Type E inverts the rhythm of D, as in the half-line "gylp-wordum spræc."[16]
In all the types many variations are found. The beginning of the line may show anacrusis, and two short syllables may take the place of a long syllable; while an indeterminate number of light syllables may often be introduced before or after the principal accents.
Hafað ūs ālȳfed lucis auctor, þæt wē mōtun hēr merueri gōddǣdum begietan gaudia in celo, þǣr wē mōtun maxima regna sēcan and gesittan sedibus altis, lifgan in lisse lucis et pacis, āgan eardinga almæ letitæ, brūcan blǣddaga blandem et mitem gesēon sigora Frēan sine fine, and him lof singan laude perenne ēadge mid englum Alleluia.
(From the Anglo-Saxon Phœnix. ab. 700 A.D.)
These closing lines of the poem furnish an important opportunity to compare the Latin half-lines with those in Anglo-Saxon. Each half seems to be influenced by the metrical nature of the other; the Anglo-Saxon being a little more regular in the number of syllables than usual, the Latin less regular. Since, to the ear of the writer, the two halves of each verse were doubtless fairly equivalent, metrically, and since each of the Latin half-lines appears to have two accents, these combination verses have been thought to be an argument for the "two-accent" theory of Anglo-Saxon verse. On the other hand, the advocates of the four-accent theory would read the Latin half-lines with four stresses each, on the ground that nearly every syllable was stressed in the chanting of such religious verse (lú-cís aúc-tór, etc.).
See also the specimens on pp. 13 and 14, above.
Alle beon he bliþe Þat to my song lyþe: A song ihc schal ȝou singe Of Mury þe kinge. King he was bi weste So longe so hit laste. Godhild het his quen, Fairer ne miȝte non ben. He hadde a sone þat het Horn, Fairer ne miȝte non beo born, Ne no rein upon birine, Ne sunne upon bischine.
(King Horn, ll. 1-12. ab. 1200-1250.)
The metre of King Horn is very irregular, and has proved somewhat puzzling to scholars. It seems to be the direct result of the primitive "long line" broken into two halves by internal rime. The number of accents varies greatly: we may have verses which are easily read with two, such as—
"Into schupes borde At the furst worde."
Yet these it is evident might also be read with three accents, as in the following couplet also:
"The se bigan to flowe, And Horn child to rowe."
According as one reads the Anglo-Saxon verse with two or four accents to the half-line, he will regard the typical half-line of King Horn as made up of two or four accents. If the fundamental number was two, the additional accented syllables were doubtless introduced under the influence of the French eight-syllable couplet. It is not difficult to see how the more regular (Latin or French) and the less regular (native) measures might have been confused, and soon have coalesced in popular use. Ten Brink, reading the King Horn lines with four accents, speaks of them as "formed entirely on the Teutonic principle, with two accents upon the sonorous close of the verse, so that it appears to be an organic continuation of the chief form in Layamon and in Ælfred's Proverbs. This circumstance makes the poem exceptional among the early English romances." He also speaks of "an unmistakably strophic construction in the text as we have it." (English Literature, Kennedy translation, vol. i. p. 227.)
Anon out of þe north est þe noys bigynes: When boþe breþes con blowe upon blo watteres, Roȝ rakkes per ros with rudnyng anunder, Þe see souȝed ful sore, gret selly to here, Þe wyndes on þe wonne water so wrastel togeder, Þat þe wawes ful wode waltered so hiȝe And efte busched to þe abyme, þat breed fysches, Durst nowhere for roȝ arest at þe bothem. When þe breth and þe brok and þe bote metten, Hit watz a ioyles gyn, þat Ionas watz inne; For hit reled on roun upon þe roȝe yþes.
(Patience, ll. 137-147. ab. 1375.)
Til þe knyȝt com hym-self, kachande his blonk, Syȝ hym byde at þe bay, his burneȝ bysyde, He lyȝtes luflych adoun, leveȝ his corsour, Braydeȝ out a bryȝt bront, & bigly forth strydeȝ, Foundeȝ fast þurȝ the forþ, þer þe felle byde, Þe wylde watȝ war of þe wyȝe with weppen in honde. Hef hyȝly þe here, so hetterly he fnast, Þat fele ferde for þe frekeȝ, lest felle hym þe worre Þe swyn setteȝ hym out on þe segge even, Þat þe burne & þe bor were boþe upon hepeȝ, In þe wyȝt-est of þe water, þe worre had þat oþer; For þe mon merkkeȝ hym wel, as þay mette fyrst, Set sadly þe scharp in þe slot even, Hit hym up to þe hult, þat þe hert schyndered, & he ȝarrande hym ȝelde, & ȝedoun þe water, ful tyt; A hundreth houndeȝ hym hent, Þat bremely con hym bite, Burneȝ him broȝt to bent, & doggeȝ to dethe endite.
(Sir Gawayne and the Green Knight, strophe xviii. ab. 1375.)
These two specimens, both doubtless the work of the same author (to whom are also attributed the Pearl and Cleanness), represent the patriotic revival of the alliterative long line by contemporaries of Chaucer in the latter half of the fourteenth century. In Sir Gawayne the rimeless long line is gathered into strophes, each of which concludes with four riming lines. (See above, p. 109.)
For analysis of this revived alliterative verse, see a valuable article by Dr. Luick, Die Englische Stabreimzeile im 14n, 15n, und 16n Jahrhundert, in Anglia, vol. xi. pp. 392 and 553. Luick analyzes not only the poems of the "Pearl poet," but also the Troy Book, the Alexander Fragments, William of Palerne, Joseph of Arimathea, Morte Arthure, and minor poems. He finds the Troy Book the most regular alliterative poem of Middle English, but in all of the group a general tendency to preserve not only the early laws of alliteration but also the "five types" of Sievers's Anglo-Saxon metrics. Dr. Luick attributes the final decline of the old measure in large degree to the falling away of the final syllables in -e, etc.; without these numerous feminine endings the primitive "long line" was impossible. This he regards as regrettable, since the old alliterative verse, "growing up on native soil with the language itself," represented the natural accent-relations of the Germanic languages, especially the recognition of two principal degrees of accent; whereas the modern rimed verse requires the reduction of this to a uniform "tick-tack" of alternating stress and non-stress.
He put on his back a good plate-jack, And on his head a cap of steel, With sword and buckler by his side; O gin he did not become them weel!
(Ballad of Bewick and Grahame. In Gummere's English Ballads, p. 176.)
The regular stanza of the old ballads was of this four-stress type, with extra light syllables admitted anywhere yet not in great numbers. More commonly, however, the fourth stress was lost from the second and fourth lines. (See p. 264, below.)
I thanke hym full thraly, and sir, I saie hym the same, But what marvelous materes dyd this myron ther mell? For all the lordis langage his lipps, sir, wer lame, For any spirringes in that space no speche walde he spell.
(York Mystery Plays: The Trial before Pilate. Ed. L. T. Smith, p. 322.)
As Gammer Gurton, with manye a wyde styche, Sat pesynge and patching of Hodg her mans briche, By chance or misfortune, as shee her geare tost, In Hodge lether bryches her needle shee lost.
(Gammer Gurton's Needle, Prologue. 1566.)
In these specimens we have the later descendant of the long line as used in the early drama of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries,—the "tumbling verse," regular in rhythm and rime, but indifferent to the number of syllables.[17] Sometimes, where most regular, as in lines 2-4 of the second specimen, the measure approximates closely to regular four-stress anapestic.
The time was once, and may againe retorne, (For ought may happen that hath bene beforne), When shepheards had none inheritaunce, Ne of land, nor fee in sufferaunce, But what might arise of the bare sheepe, (Were it more or lesse) which they did keepe. Well ywis was it with shepheards thoe: Nought having, nought feared they to forgoe; For Pan himselfe was their inheritaunce, And little them served for their mayntenaunce. The shepheards God so wel them guided, That of nought they were unprovided; Butter enough, honye, milke, and whay, And their flockes' fleeces them to araye.
(Spenser: The Shepherd's Calendar, May. 1579.)
Spenser's use of the tumbling verse in the Shepherd's Calendar was a part of his imitation of older forms for the sake of an uncultivated, bucolic effect. In his hands the irregular measure showed a tendency to reduce itself to regular ten-syllable lines, like the first two of the present specimen, which, by themselves, might easily be read as decasyllabic iambics. On this, see further under Five-Stress Verse. Spenser was perhaps the last cultivated poet to use the irregular measure, until we come to modern imitators of the early popular poetry. The following specimen is of this class.
It was up in the morn we rose betimes From the hall-floor hard by the row of limes. It was but John the Red and I, And we were the brethren of Gregory; And Gregory the Wright was one Of the valiant men beneath the sun, And what he bade us that we did, For ne'er he kept his counsel hid. So out we went, and the clattering latch Woke up the swallows under the thatch. It was dark in the porch, but our scythes we felt, And thrust the whetstone under the belt. Through the cold garden boughs we went Where the tumbling roses shed their scent. Then out a-gates and away we strode O'er the dewy straws on the dusty road, And there was the mead by the town-reeve's close Where the hedge was sweet with the wilding rose.
(William Morris: The Folk-Mote by the River. In Poems by the Way. 1896.)
B.—SYLLABLE-COUNTING (OCTOSYLLABIC COUPLET)
The more regular four-stress verse, in rimed couplets showing a tendency to be octosyllabic, we have seen to be generally attributed to the influence of the French octosyllabics, which were in common use in late mediæval French poetry, such as that of Wace and Chrestien de Troyes.
According to Stengel (in Gröber's Grundriss der Romanischen Philologie), this octosyllabic French verse goes back to a lost vulgar Latin verse; this view is opposed by Dr. C. M. Lewis, in his Foreign Sources of Modern English Versification (Yale Studies in English, 1898), who finds its origin in the tetrameter of the Latin hymns. Dr. Lewis also attributes to this Latin verse more direct influence on English verse than is commonly assumed. Thus he finds in it, rather than in the French octosyllabics, the model of the verse of the Pater Noster, quoted below. The argument is briefly this: the Latin verse was both accentual and syllabic; the French verse was syllabic but not accentual; that of the Pater Noster is accentual but not syllabic; hence it is more nearly like the Latin than the French. A stanza of the Latin tetrameter, cited by Dr. Lewis from the hymn Aurora lucis rutilat, is as follows:
"Tristes erat apostoli de nece sui Domini, quem pœna mortis crudeli servi damnarunt impii."
Compare these lines from the Brut of Wace:
"Adunt apela Cordeille qui esteit sa plus joes ne fille; pur ce que il l'aveit plus chiere que Ragaü ne la premiere quida que el e cuneüst que plus chier des al tres l'eüst. Cordeil le out bien escuté et bien out en sun cuer noté cument ses deus sorurs parloënt, cument lur pere losengoënt."
The last four verses of this passage are cited by Schipper as illustrating the regular iambic character of the French octosyllabics; but Dr. Lewis regards the measure as purely syllabic, with no regard for alternation of accents, and instances the earlier lines of the passage as being quite as nearly anapestic as iambic. (See Schipper, vol. i. p. 107, and Lewis's monograph, as cited above, pp. 73 ff. See also Crow: Zur Geschichte des Kurzen Reimpaares in Mittel Englisch.) Dr. Lewis's conclusion is: "We may therefore sum up the whole history of our octosyllabic verse in this way: we borrowed its number of accents from the Latin, but owing to the vitality of our own native traditions we at first borrowed nothing further; the syllabic character of the verse (so far as it has been imported at all), came in only gradually, against stubborn resistance; and it came not directly from the Latin, but indirectly, through the French" (pp. 97, 98). Some of these statements are open to question; but however we may interpret the French verse of Wace and his contemporaries, it is obvious that in English the influence of the Latin and the French poetry would very naturally be fused, with no necessarily clear conception of definite verse-structure. Whether under French or Latin influence, however, the new tendency was for the more accurate counting of syllables. We may see some suggestion of this in the verses of St. Godric, quoted on p. 126, above, although they are not regularly iambic. The poem on the "Eleven Pains of Hell" (in the Old English Miscellany) shows the French influence clearly marked by the language of its opening verses:
"Ici comencent les unze peynes De enfern, les queus seynt pool v[ist]."
Ure feder þet in heovene is, Þet is al soþ ful iwis! Weo moten to theor weordes iseon, Þet to live and to saule gode beon, Þet weo beon swa his sunes iborene, Þet he beo feder and we him icorene, Þet we don alle his ibeden And his wille for to reden.
(The Pater Noster, ab. 1175. In Morris's Old English Homilies, p. 55.)
This poem is sometimes said to show the first appearance of the octosyllabic couplet in English. It suggests the struggle between native indifference to syllable-counting and imitation of the greater regularity of its models. As Dr. Morris says of the next specimen: "The essence of the system of versification which the poet has adopted is, briefly, that every line shall have four accented syllables in it, the unaccented syllables being left in some measure, as it were, to take care of themselves." But this does not altogether do justice to the new regularity. Schipper says that of the first 100 lines of the poem 20 are perfectly regular. (See his notes in vol. i. p. 109.) In the following specimens we may trace the gradual growth of skill and accuracy.
ðo herde Abraham stevene fro gode, newe tiding and selkuð bode: 'tac ðin sune Ysaac in hond and far wið him to siðhinges lond. and ðor ða salt him offren me, on an hil, ðor ic sal taunen ðe.
(Genesis and Exodus, ll. 1285-1290. ab. 1250-1300.)
"Abid! abid!" the ule seide. "Thu gest al to mid swikelede; All thine wordes thu bi-leist, That hit thincth soth al that thu seist; Alle thine wordes both i-sliked, An so bi-semed and bi-liked, That alle tho that hi avoth, Hi weneth that thu segge soth."
(The Owl and the Nightingale, ll. 835-842. Thirteenth century.)
Quhen þis wes said, þai went þare way, and till þe toun soyn cumin ar thai sa prevely bot noys making, þat nane persavit þair cummyng. þai scalit throu þe toune in hy and brak up dures sturdely and slew all, þat þai mycht ourtak; and þai, þat na defens mycht mak, fall pitwisly couth rair and cry, and þai slew þame dispitwisly.
(Barbour: Bruce, v. 89-98. ab. 1375.)
Ȝyf þou ever þurghe folye Dydyst ouȝt do nygromauncye. Or to the devyl dedyst sacryfyse þurghe wychcraftys asyse, Or any man ȝaf þe mede For to reyse þe devyl yn dede, For to telle, or for to wrey, þynge þat was don awey; ȝyf þou have do any of þys, þou hast synnede and do a mys, And þou art wurþy to be shent þurghe þys yche commaundement.[18]
(Robert Manning of Brunne: Handlyng Synne, ll. 339-350. ab. 1300.)
Herknet to me, gode men, Wives, maydnes, and alle men, Of a tale þat ich you wile telle, Wo so it wile here, and þer-to duelle. Þe tale is of Havelok i-maked; Wil he was litel he yede ful naked: Havelok was a ful god gome, He was ful god in everi trome, He was þe wicteste man at nede, Þat þurte riden on ani stede. Þat ye mowen nou y-here, And þe tale ye mowen y-lere. At the beginning of ure tale, Fil me a cuppe of ful god ale; And y wile drinken her y spelle, Þat Crist us shilde alle fro helle!
(Lay of Havelok the Dane. ll. 1-16. ab. 1300.)
For lays and romances, both French and English, the four-stress couplet was an easy and favorite form. Compare the remarks of ten Brink: "We see how the short couplet, which is the standing form of the court-romance, was not only transmitted to it from the legendary, didactic, and historical poems, but was also suggested to it by those songs to which it was indebted for its own subject-matter. Other tokens indicate that a short strophe composed of eight-syllabled lines, with single or alternating rhymes, was a favorite form for many subjects in this jongleur poetry.... The simple form of the short couplet offered to the romance-poet no scope to compete in metrical technique with the skilled court-lyrists. He could prove his art only within a limited portion of this field: in the treatment of the enjambement and particularly of rhyme. The poet strove not only to form pure rhymes, but often to carry them forward with more syllables than were essential, and he was fond of all sorts of grammatical devices in rhyme." (English Literature, Kennedy trans., vol. i. pp. 174, 175.)
The world stant ever upon debate, So may be siker none estate; Now here, now there, now to, now fro, Now up, now down, the world goth so, And ever hath done and ever shal; Wherof I finde in special A tale writen in the bible, Which must nedes be credible, And that as in conclusion Saith, that upon division Stant, why no worldes thing may laste, Til it be drive to the laste, And fro the firste regne of all Unto this day how so befall Of that the regnes be mevable, The man him self hath be coupable, Whiche of his propre governaunce Fortuneth al the worldes chaunce.
(John Gower: Prologue to Confessio Amantis. Ed. Pauli, vol. i. pp. 22, 23. ab. 1390.)
O god of science and of light, Apollo, through thy grete might, This litel laste bok thou gye! Nat that I wilne, for maistrye, Here art poetical be shewed; But, for the rym is light and lewed, Yit make hit sumwhat agreable, Though som vers faile in a sillable; And that I do no diligence To shewe craft, but o sentence. And if, divyne vertu, thou Wilt helpe me to shewe now That in myn hede y-marked is— Lo, that is for to menen this, The Hous of Fame to descryve— Thou shalt see me go, as blyve, Unto the nexte laure I see, And kisse hit, for hit is thy tree.
(Chaucer: House of Fame, ll. 1091-1108. ab. 1385.)
It was Gower and Chaucer, in the fourteenth century, who brought the use of the eight-syllable couplet to the point of accuracy and perfection. Gower made it the vehicle of the interminable narrative of the Confessio Amantis, using it with regularity but with great monotony. Chaucer transformed it into a much more flexible form (with freedom of cesura, enjambement, and inversions), using it in about 3500 lines of his poetry (excluding the translation of the Roman de la Rose), but early leaving it for the decasyllabic verse. In modern English poetry this short couplet has rarely been used for continuous narrative of a serious character, except by Byron and Wordsworth.
But let my due feet never fail To walk the studious cloister's pale, And love the high embowed roof, With antique pillars massy proof, And storied windows richly dight, Casting a dim religious light. There let the pealing organ blow, To the full-voiced choir below, In service high, and anthems clear, As may with sweetness, through mine ear, Dissolve me into ecstasies, And bring all heaven before my eyes.
(Milton: Il Penseroso, ll. 155-166. 1634.)
A sect whose chief devotion lies In odd, perverse antipathies, In falling out with that or this And finding something still amiss; More peevish, cross, and splenetic Than dog distract or monkey sick: That with more care keep holyday The wrong, than others the right way; Compound for sins they are inclined to By damning those they have no mind to.... Rather than fail they will defy That which they love most tenderly; Quarrel with mince-pies, and disparage Their best and dearest friend plum-porridge, Fat pig and goose itself oppose, And blaspheme custard through the nose.
(Samuel Butler: Hudibras, Part I. 1663.)
Butler made the octosyllabic couplet so entirely his own, for the purposes of his jogging satiric verse, that ever since it has frequently been called "Hudibrastic." The ingenuity of his rimes added not a little to its effectiveness. In the Spectator (No. 249) Addison said that burlesque poetry runs best "in doggrel like that of Hudibras, ... when a hero is to be pulled down and degraded;" otherwise in the heroic measure. He speaks also of "the generality" of Butler's readers as being "wonderfully pleased with the double rhymes."
How deep yon azure dyes the sky, Where orbs of gold unnumber'd lie, While through their ranks in silver pride The nether crescent seems to glide! The slumbering breeze forgets to breathe, The lake is smooth and clear beneath, Where once again the spangled show Descends to meet our eyes below. The grounds which on the right aspire, In dimness from the view retire: The left presents a place of graves, Whose wall the silent water laves. That steeple guides thy doubtful sight Among the livid gleams of night. There pass, with melancholy state, By all the solemn heaps of fate, And think, as softly-sad you tread Above the venerable dead, 'Time was, like thee they life possest, And time shalt be, that thou shalt rest.'
(Thomas Parnell: A Night-Piece on Death, ab. 1715.)
Mr. Gosse speaks of Parnell's employment of the octosyllabic couplet in this poem as "wonderfully subtle and harmonious." (Eighteenth Century Literature, p. 137.)
A Hare who, in a civil way, Complied with everything, like Gay, Was known by all the bestial train Who haunt the wood, or graze the plain. Her care was never to offend, And every creature was her friend. As forth she went at early dawn, To taste the dew-besprinkled lawn, Behind she hears the hunter's cries, And from the deep-mouthed thunder flies: She starts, she stops, she pants for breath; She hears the near advance of death; She doubles, to mislead the hound, And measures back her mazy round: Till, fainting in the public way, Half dead with fear she gasping lay.
(John Gay: The Hare and Many Friends, in Fables. 1727.)
Gay's use of the short couplet in his Fables sometimes shows it at its best for narrative purposes.
My female friends, whose tender hearts Have better learned to act their parts, Receive the news in doleful dumps: 'The Dean is dead: (Pray what is trumps?) Then, Lord have mercy on his soul! (Ladies, I'll venture for the vole.) Six Deans, they say, must bear the pall: (I wish I knew what king to call). Madam, your husband will attend The funeral of so good a friend? No, madam, 'tis a shocking sight: And he's engaged to-morrow night: My Lady Club will take it ill, If he should fail her at quadrille. He loved the Dean—(I lead a heart) But dearest friends, they say, must part. His time was come: he ran his race; We hope he's in a better place.'
(Swift: On the Death of Dr. Swift. 1731.)
Swift made use of the octosyllabic couplet in nearly all his verse, and with no little vigor and originality. Mr. Gosse remarks: "His lines fall like well-directed blows of the flail, and he gives the octosyllabic measure, which he is accustomed to choose on account of the Hudibrastic opportunities it offers, a character which is entirely his own." (Eighteenth Century Literature, p. 153.)
Ye forms divine, ye laureat band, That near her inmost altar stand! Now soothe her to her blissful train Blithe concord's social form to gain; Concord, whose myrtle wand can steep Even anger's bloodshot eyes in sleep; Before whose breathing bosom's balm Rage drops his steel, and storms grow calm; Her let our sires and matrons hoar Welcome to Britain's ravaged shore; Our youths, enamored of the fair, Play with the tangles of her hair, Till, in one loud applauding sound, The nations shout to her around,— O how supremely thou art blest, Thou, lady, thou shalt rule the West!
(Collins: Ode to Liberty. 1746.)
When chapman billies leave the street, And drouthy neibors, neibors meet; As market days are wearing late, And folk begin to tak the gate, While we sit bousing at the nappy, An' getting fou and unco happy, We think na on the lang Scots miles, The mosses, waters, slaps and stiles, That lie between us and our hame, Where sits our sulky, sullen dame, Gathering her brows like gathering storm, Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.
(Burns: Tam O'Shanter, ll. 1-12. 1790.)
They chain'd us each to a column stone, And we were three—yet, each alone; We could not move a single pace, We could not see each other's face, But with that pale and livid light That made us strangers in our sight: And thus together—yet apart, Fetter'd in hand, but joined in heart, 'Twas still some solace, in the dearth Of the pure elements of earth, To hearken to each other's speech, And each turn comforter to each, With some new hope, or legend old, Or song heroically bold.
(Byron: The Prisoner of Chillon, iii. 1816.)
A mortal song we sing, by dower Encouraged of celestial power; Power which the viewless Spirit shed By whom we first were visited; Whose voice we heard, whose hand and wings Swept like a breeze the conscious strings, When, left in solitude, erewhile We stood before this ruined Pile, And, quitting unsubstantial dreams, Sang in this Presence kindred themes.
(Wordsworth: White Doe of Rylstone, canto vii. ll. 282-291. 1815.)
Ill fared it then with Roderick Dhu, That on the field his targe he threw, Whose brazen studs and tough bull-hide Had death so often dash'd aside; For, train'd abroad his arms to wield, Fitz-James's blade was sword and shield.... Three times in closing strife they stood, And thrice the Saxon blade drank blood; No stinted draught, no scanty tide, The gushing flood the tartans dyed. Fierce Roderick felt the fatal drain, And shower'd his blows like wintry rain; And, as firm rock, or castle-roof, Against the winter shower is proof, The foe, invulnerable still, Foil'd his wild rage by steady skill; Till, at advantage ta'en, his brand Forced Roderick's weapon from his hand, And backward borne upon the lea, Brought the proud Chieftain to his knee.
(Scott: The Lady of the Lake, canto v. st. xv. 1810.)
How this their joy fulfilled might move The world around I know not well; But yet this idle dream doth tell That no more silent was the place, That new joy lit up every face, That joyous lovers kissed and clung, E'en as these twain, that songs were sung From mouth to mouth in rose-bowers, Where hand in hand and crowned with flowers, Folk praised the Lover and Beloved That such long years, such pain had proved; But soft, they say, their joyance was When midst them soon the twain did pass, Hand locked in hand, heart kissing heart, No more this side of death to part— No more, no more—full soft I say Their greetings were that happy day, As though in pensive semblance clad; For fear their faces over-glad This certain thing should seem to hide, That love can ne'er be satisfied.
(William Morris: The Earthly Paradise; The Land East of the Sun. 1870.)
FOOTNOTES:
II. FIVE-STRESS VERSE
The five-stress or decasyllabic verse (iambic pentameter) is so much more widely used in modern English poetry than any other verse-form, that its history is of special interest. It is curious that a form so completely adopted as the favorite of English verse should be borrowed rather than native; but, the syllable-counting principle once being admitted, there is nothing in five-stress verse inconsistent with native English tendencies. A very great part of such verse has really only four full accents, and this we have seen to be the number of accents in the native English verse. On this point, see further remarks in connection with the specimen from Spenser, p. 180 below.
This verse appears in two great divisions, rimed (the decasyllabic couplet) and unrimed (blank verse). The rimed form was the earlier, the unrimed being merely a modification of it under the influence of other unrimed metres.
A.—THE DECASYLLABIC COUPLET
Lutel wot hit anymon, hou love hym haveþ ybounde, Þat for us oþe rode ron, ant boht us wiþ is wounde. Þe love of hym us haveþ ymaked sounde, ant ycast þe grimly gost to grounde. Ever & oo, nyht & day, he haveþ us in is þohte, He nul nout leose þat he so deore bohte.
His deope wounde bledeþ fast, of hem we ohte munne! He haþ ous out of helle ycast, ybroht us out of sunne; ffor love of us his wonges waxeþ þunne, His herte blod he ȝaf for al mon kunne. Ever & oo, etc.
(Song from Harleian MS. 2253. In Böddeker's Altenglische Dichtungen, p. 231.)
This early religious lyric is of interest as containing the first known use of the five-stress couplet in English. Here it is only in a few lines that the couplet occurs, and so sporadic an occurrence should perhaps be regarded as due to nothing more than chance. See Schipper, vol. i. p. 439, and ten Brink's Chaucer's Sprache und Verskunst, p. 173 f. Ten Brink calls attention to another fairly regular five-stress verse, found on p. 253 of Wright's Political Songs:
"For miht is riht, the loud is laweless."[19]
And, as for me, though that my wit be lyte, On bokes for to rede I me delyte, And in myn herte have hem in reverence; And to hem yeve swich lust and swich credence, That ther is wel unethe game noon That from my bokes make me too goon, But hit be other up-on the haly-day, Or elles in the joly tyme of May; Whan that I here the smale foules singe, And that the floures ginne for to springe, Farwel my studie, as lasting that sesoun! Now have I therto this condicioun That, of alle the floures in the mede, Than love I most these floures whyte and rede, Swiche as men callen daysies in our toun. To them have I so greet affeccioun.
(Chaucer: Legend of Good Women, Prologue, ll. 29-44. Text A. ab. 1385.)
A good man was ther of religioun, And was a povre Persoun of a toun; But riche he was of holy thoght and werk. He was also a lerned man, a clerk, That Cristes gospel trewely wolde preche; His parisshens devoutly wolde he teche. Benigne he was, and wonder diligent, And in adversitee ful pacient;... He wayted after no pompe and reverence, Ne maked him a spyced conscience, But Cristes lore, and his apostles twelve, He taughte, and first he folwed it himselve.
(Chaucer: Prologue to Canterbury Tales, ll. 477-484, 525-528. ab. 1385.)
With Chaucer we have the first deliberate use of the five-stress couplet, in continuous verse, known to English poetry. His earliest use of the pentameter line was in the Compleynt to Pitee (perhaps written about 1371), in the "rime royal" stanza; his earliest use of the pentameter couplet was in the Legend of Good Women, usually dated 1385. From that time the measure became almost his only instrument, and we find altogether in his poetry some 16,000 lines in the couplet, besides some 14,000 more in rime royal. Too much praise cannot be given Chaucer's use of the couplet. Although it was an experiment in English verse, it has perhaps hardly been used since his time with greater skill. He used a variety of cesuras (see ten Brink's monograph for the enumeration of them), a very large number of feminine endings (such as the still pronounced final-e and similar syllables easily provided), free inversions in the first foot and elsewhere, and many run-on lines (in a typical 100 lines some 16 run-on lines and 7 run-on couplets appearing). The total effect is one of combined freedom and mastery, of fluent conversational style yet within the limits of guarded artistic form. "Much more regularly than the French and Provençals, and yet without pedantic stiffness, he made his verse advance with a sort of iambic gait, and he was therefore able to give up and exchange for a freer arrangement the immovable cesura, which these poets had always made to coincide with a foot-ending." (Ten Brink, in English Literature, Kennedy trans., vol. ii. p. 48.) On Chaucer's verse, see, besides the monograph of ten Brink already cited, Lounsbury's Studies in Chaucer, vol. iii. pp. 297 ff., and Schipper, vol. i. pp. 442 ff.
The common assumption is, that Chaucer borrowed the pentameter couplet directly from French poetry. On the history of this in France, see Stengel, in Gröber's Grundriss der Romanischen Philologie.[20] The decasyllabic verse was fairly common in France in the fourteenth century (being called "vers commun" according to Stengel); but in the form of the couplet it was not. Professor Skeat says: "To say that it [Chaucer's couplet] was derived from the French ten-syllable verse is not a complete solution of the mystery; for nearly all such verse is commonly either in stanzas, or else a great number of successive lines are rimed together; and these, I believe, are rather scarce. After some search I have, however, fortunately lighted upon a very interesting specimen, among the poems of Guillaume de Machault, a French writer whom Chaucer is known to have imitated, and who died in 1377. In the edition of Machault's poems edited by Tarbé, Reims and Paris, 1849, p. 89, there is a poem of exactly this character, of no great length, but fortunately dated; for its title is 'Complainte écrite après la bataille de Poitiers et avant le siège de Reims par les Anglais' (1356-1358). The first four lines run thus:
"'A toy, Henry, dous amis, me complain, Pour ce que ne cueur ne mont ne plein; Car a piet suy, sans cheval et sans selle, Et si n'ay mais esmeraude, ne belle.'
... Now as Chaucer was taken prisoner in France in 1359, he had an excellent opportunity for making himself acquainted with this poem, and with others, possibly, in a similar metre, which have not come down to us." (The Prioress's Tale, Introduction, pp. xix, xx.) Paris has shown that the real date of the poem in question was 1340; the title quoted by Skeat is Tarbé's modern French caption. Professor Kittredge has called my attention to the fact that there is another poem of Machault's in the same metre (P. Paris's edition of Voir-Dit, p. 56), and also a poem by Froissart, the "Orloge Amoureus."
Ten Brink calls attention to the possibility of the influence upon Chaucer's couplet of the Italian hendecasyllabic verse. The Compleynte to Pitee, it is true, was written probably before the Italian journey of 1372-1373; but in Italy the "full significance" of the metre may have become clear to Chaucer. "After that journey the heroic verse appears almost exclusively as his poetic instrument.... Of still greater significance is the fact that Chaucer's heroic verse differs from the French decasyllabic in all the particulars in which the Italian hendecasyllabic departs from the common source, and approaches the verse of Dante and Boccaccio as closely as the metre of a Germanic language can approach a Romance metre. It may be added also that the heroic verse in the Compleynte to Pitee stands nearer the French decasyllabic than that of the Troilus or the Canterbury Tales."
Dr. Lewis, on the other hand, in The Foreign Sources of English Versification, would minimize the foreign sources of Chaucer's couplet. Not only the unaccentual character of the French verse is opposed to the theory of the French source, but also, he believes, the fixed cesura. "In the English verse there is no such thing: indeed there is no cesura at all, in the French sense of the word.... Schipper relegates to a foot-note the suggestion that our heroic verse may have originated in a different way, either through an abridgment of the alexandrine or through an extension of the four-foot line. This is of course more nearly the true view, but it is entirely immaterial which of the last two explanations we hit upon. Accentual verses of four, six, and seven feet were already familiar long before Chaucer's time. They exhibited a more or less regular alternation of arsis and thesis. To devise a verse which should be essentially the same in principle, but should have five accents instead of four, six, or seven, was a task that Chaucer's genius might well achieve unaided" (pp. 98, 99).
It is quite possible that a combination of all these views may be nearest the truth. The objection to the French influence on the ground of the syllabic (non-accentual) quality of the French verse does not seem to be serious, since any imitation of French verse by an Englishman would be likely to take on the accentual form; and, that once done, the need for the fixed cesura would vanish. But it is worth while to emphasize the fact that the genius of English verse was not so averse to the formation of a decasyllabic five-stress line as to make it a serious innovation. This view is further emphasized by the next specimen.
Is not thilke the mery moneth of May, When love-lads masken in fresh aray? How falles it, then, we no merrier bene, Ylike as others, girt in gawdy greene? Our bloncket liveryes bene all to sadde For thilke same season, when all is ycladd With pleasaunce: the grownd with grasse, the Woods With greene leaves, the bushes with bloosming buds. ... Tho to the greene Wood they speeden hem all, To fetchen home May with their musicall: And home they bringen in a royall throne, Crowned as king: and his Queene attone Was Lady Flora, on whom did attend A fayre flocke of Faeries, and a fresh bend Of lovely Nymphs. (O that I were there, To helpen the Ladyes their Maybush beare!) Ah! Piers, bene not thy teeth on edge, to thinke
(Spenser: The Shepherd's Calendar, May. 1579.)
This specimen is properly not in five-stress verse, but in irregular four-stress ("tumbling verse"); compare the specimen on p. 158, above. We have a close approach, however, to the regular five-stress verse, in such lines as the fourth, fifth, eleventh, thirteenth, and seventeenth. On this and similar passages in the Shepherd's Calendar, as illustrating the close relation between the native measure and the newer one, see an article by Professor Gummere, in the American Journal of Philology, vol. vii. pp. 53ff. Other verses cited by Dr. Gummere are:
"Whose way is wildernesse, whose ynne Penaunce." "And dirks the beauty of my blossomes rownd." "That oft the blood springeth from woundes wyde." "There at the dore he cast me downe hys pack."
It is pointed out that the regular five-stress line, when having—as very frequently—only four full stresses (two or three light syllables coming together, especially at the pause), can hardly be distinguished from certain forms of the native four-stress verse. See also the Eclogues for February and August, in the Shepherd's Calendar. Dr. Gummere's conclusion is, that "practically all the elements of Anglo-Saxon verse are preserved in our modern poetry, though in different combinations, with changed proportional importance."
But the false Fox most kindly played his part; For whatsoever mother-wit or art Could work, he put in proof: no practice sly, No counterpoint of cunning policy, No reach, no breach, that might him profit bring, But he the same did to his purpose wring.... He fed his cubs with fat of all the soil, And with the sweet of others' sweating toil; He crammed them with crumbs of benefices, And fill'd their mouths with meeds of malefices. ... No statute so established might be, Nor ordinance so needful, but that he Would violate, though not with violence, Yet under color of the confidence The which the Ape repos'd in him alone, And reckon'd him the kingdom's corner-stone.
(Spenser: Mother Hubbard's Tale, ll. 1137-1166. 1591.)
Spenser's use of the heroic couplet for the Mother Hubbard's Tale is the earliest instance of its adoption in English for satirical verse,—a purpose for which its later history showed it to be peculiarly well fitted.
Upon her head she wore a myrtle wreath, From whence her veil reach'd to the ground beneath: Her veil was artificial flowers and leaves, Whose workmanship both man and beast deceives: Many would praise the sweet smell as she past, When 'twas the odor which her breath forth cast; And there for honey bees have sought in vain, And, beat from thence, have lighted there again. About her neck hung chains of pebble-stone, Which, lighten'd by her neck, like diamonds shone.
(Marlowe: Hero and Leander, ll. 17-26. ab. 1590, pub. 1598.)
Too popular is tragic poesy, Straining his tip-toes for a farthing fee, And doth beside on rimeless numbers tread; Unbid iambics flow from careless head. Some braver brain in high heroic rhymes Compileth worm-eat stories of old times: And he, like some imperious Maronist, Conjures the Muses that they him assist. Then strives he to bombast his feeble lines With far-fetch'd phrase.— ... Painters and poets, hold your ancient right: Write what you will, and write not what you might: Their limits be their list, their reason will. But if some painter in presuming skill Should paint the stars in centre of the earth, Could ye forbear some smiles, and taunting mirth?
(Joseph Hall: Virgidemiarum Libri VI., bk. i. satire 4. 1597.)
Joseph Hall was the most vigorous satirist of the group of Elizabethans who, in the last decade of the sixteenth century, were imitating the satires of Horace, Juvenal, and Persius. Hall's satires have a curiously eighteenth-century flavor, and his couplets are frequently very similar to those of the age of Pope. Thus Thomas Warton (in his History of English Poetry) observed of Hall that "the fabric of the couplets approaches to the modern standard;" and Anderson, who edited the British Poets in 1795, said: "Many of his lines would do honor to the most harmonious of our modern poets. The sense has generally such a pause, and will admit of such a punctuation at the close of the second line, as if it were calculated for a modern ear." On the verse of these Elizabethan satirists in general, see The Rise of Formal Satire in England, by the present editor (Publications of the Univ. of Penna.).
On the other hand, the verse of the satires of John Donne, from which the following specimen is taken, is the roughest and most difficult of all the satires of the group. The reputation of Donne's satires for metrical ruggedness has affected unjustly that of his other poetry and that of the Elizabethan satires in general. Dryden said: "Would not Donne's Satires, which abound with so much wit, appear more charming if he had taken care of his words and of his numbers?" (Essay on Satire.) And Pope "versified" two of them, so as to bring them into a form pleasing to the ear of his age.
Therefore I suffered this: towards me did run A thing more strange than on Nile's slime the sun E'er bred, or all which into Noah's ark came: A thing which would have posed Adam to name; Stranger than seven antiquaries' studies, Than Afric's monsters, Guiana's rarities;... Sleeveless his jerkin was, and it had been Velvet, but 'twas now (so much ground was seen) Become tufftaffaty; and our children shall See it plain rash awhile, then nought at all. This thing hath travelled, and faith, speaks all tongues, And only knoweth what to all states belongs.
(John Donne: Satire iv. ll. 17 ff. ab. 1593.)
This fellow pecks up wit, as pigeons peas, And utters it again when God doth please. He is wit's pedlar, and retails his wares At wakes, and wassails, meetings, markets, fairs; And we that sell by gross, the Lord doth know, Have not the grace to grace it with such show. This gallant pins the wenches on his sleeve. Had he been Adam, he had tempted Eve. He can carve too, and lisp: why, this is he That kiss'd his hand away in courtesy; This is the ape of form, monsieur the nice, That, when he plays at tables, chides the dice In honorable terms: nay, he can sing A mean most meanly, and, in ushering, Mend him who can: the ladies call him sweet; The stairs, as he treads on them, kiss his feet.
(Shakspere: Love's Labor's Lost, V. ii. 315-330. ab. 1590.)
The use of rimed couplets in Shakspere's dramas is especially characteristic of his earlier work. In this play, Love's Labor's Lost, Dowden says, "there are about two rhymed lines to every one of blank verse" (Shakspere Primer, p. 44). In the late plays, on the other hand, rime disappears almost altogether. It will be observed that while Shakspere's heroic verse is usually fairly regular, with not very many run-on lines, it yet differs in quality from that of satires. The dramatic use moulds it into different cadences, and the single couplet is, perhaps, less noticeably the unit of the verse.
Shepherd, I pray thee stay. Where hast thou been? Or whither goest thou? Here be woods as green As any; air likewise as fresh and sweet As where smooth Zephyrus plays on the fleet Face of the curled streams; with flowers as many As the young spring gives, and as choice as any; Here be all new delights, cool streams and wells, Arbors o'ergrown with woodbines, caves, and dells; Choose where thou wilt, whilst I sit by and sing, Or gather rushes, to make many a ring For thy long fingers; tell thee tales of love,— How the pale Phoebe, hunting in a grove, First saw the boy Endymion, from whose eyes She took eternal fire that never dies; How she conveyed him softly in a sleep, His temples bound with poppy, to the steep Head of old Latmus, where she stoops each night, Gilding the mountain with her brother's light, To kiss her sweetest.
(Fletcher: The Faithful Shepherdess, I. iii. ab. 1610.)
Fletcher uses the couplet in this drama with a freedom hardly found elsewhere until the time of Keats; see the remark of Symonds, quoted p. 210, below.
If Rome so great, and in her wisest age, Fear'd not to boast the glories of her stage, As skilful Roscius, and grave Æsop, men, Yet crown'd with honors, as with riches, then; Who had no less a trumpet of their name Than Cicero, whose every breath was fame: How can so great example die in me, That, Allen, I should pause to publish thee? Who both their graces in thyself hast more Outstript, than they did all that went before: And present worth in all dost so contract, As others speak, but only thou dost act. Wear this renown. 'Tis just, that who did give So many poets life, by one should live.
(Ben Jonson: Epigram LXXXIX, to Edward Allen. 1616.)
Jonson is thought by some to have been the founder of the classical school of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, which made the heroic couplet peculiarly its own. See on this subject an article by Prof. F. E. Schelling, "Ben Jonson and the Classical School," in the Publications of the Modern Language Association, n. s. vol. vi. p. 221. Professor Schelling finds in Jonson's verse all the characteristics of the later couplet of Waller and Dryden: end-stopped lines and couplets, a preference for medial cesura, and an antithetical structure of the verse. "No better specimen of Jonson's antithetical manner could be found," he says further, than the Epigram here quoted. So far as this antithetical quality of Jonson's verse is concerned, Professor Schelling's view cannot be questioned; but that Jonson shows any singular preference for end-stopped lines and couplets may be seriously questioned.
These mighty peers placed in the gilded barge, Proud with the burden of so brave a charge, With painted oars the youths begin to sweep Neptune's smooth face, and cleave the yielding deep; Which soon becomes the seat of sudden war Between the wind and tide that fiercely jar. As when a sort of lusty shepherds try Their force at football, care of victory Makes them salute so rudely breast to breast, That their encounters seem too rough for jest; They ply their feet, and still the restless ball, Tossed to and fro, is urged by them all: So fares the doubtful barge 'twixt tide and winds, And like effect of their contention finds.
(Waller: Of the Danger his Majesty [being Prince] escaped in the Road at St. Andrews. 1623?)
Such is the mould that the blest tenant feeds On precious fruits, and pays his rent in weeds; With candied plantains, and the juicy pine, On choicest melons and sweet grapes they dine, And with potatoes fat their wanton swine; Nature these cates with such a lavish hand Pours out among them, that our coarser land Tastes of that bounty, and does cloth return, Which not for warmth but ornament is worn; For the kind spring, which but salutes us here, Inhabits there and courts them all the year; Ripe fruits and blossoms on the same trees live, At once they promise what at once they give; So sweet the air, so moderate the clime, None sickly lives, or dies before his time.... 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!
(Waller: The Battle of the Summer Islands, canto i. 1638.)
Edmund Waller is the chief representative of the early classical poetry of the seventeenth century, and of the polishing and regulating of the couplet which prepared the way for the verse of Dryden and Pope. The dominant characteristic of this verse is its avoidance of enjambement, or run-on lines, still more of run-on couplets. The growing precision of French verse at the same time was perhaps influential in England. Malherbe, who was at the French court after 1605, set rules for more regular verse, and forbade, among other things, the use of run-on lines—a precept which held good in French poetry until the nineteenth century. The influence of Waller in England was, for a considerable period, hardly less than that of Malherbe in France. Dryden said that "the excellence and dignity" of rime "were never known till Mr. Waller taught it; he first made writing easily an art; first showed us to conclude the sense most commonly in distichs, which, in the verse of those before him, runs on for so many lines together that the reader is out of breath to overtake it. This sweetness of Mr. Waller's lyric poesy was afterward followed, in the epic, by Sir John Denham, in his Cooper's Hill." (Epistle Dedicatory of The Rival Ladies.) In another place Dryden observed that only Waller, in English, had surpassed Spenser in the harmony of his verse. Dryden's view was later echoed by Pope, who exhorted his readers to
"praise the easy vigor of a line Where Denham's strength and Waller's sweetness join."
(Essay on Criticism, l. 360.)
But the most remarkable praise of Waller is found in the Preface to his posthumous poems, 1690, generally attributed to Bishop Atterbury. "He was indeed the parent of English verse, and the first that shewed us our tongue had beauty and numbers in it.... The tongue came into his hands like a rough diamond; he polished it first, and to that degree that all artists since him have admired the workmanship, without pretending to mend it.... He undoubtedly stands first in the list of refiners, and for aught I know, last, too; for I question whether in Charles the Second's reign English did not come to its full perfection; and whether it has not had its Augustan Age, as well as the Latin.... We are no less beholding to him for the new turn of verse, which he brought in, and the improvement he made in our numbers. Before his time men rhymed, indeed, and that was all: as for the harmony of measure, and that dance of words which good ears are so much pleased with, they knew nothing of it. Their poetry then was made up almost entirely of monosyllables, which, when they come together in any cluster, are certainly the most harsh, untunable things in the world. If any man doubts of this, let him read ten lines in Donne, and he'll quickly be convinced. Besides, their verses ran all into one another, and hung together, throughout a whole copy, like the hook't atoms that compose a body in Des Cartes. There was no distinction of parts, no regular stops, nothing for the ear to rest upon. But as soon as the copy began, down it went like a larum, incessantly; and the reader was sure to be out of breath before he got to the end of it. So that really verse in those days was but downright prose, tagged with rhymes. Mr. Waller removed all these faults, brought in more polysyllables and smoother measures, bound up his thoughts better and in a cadence more agreeable to the nature of the verse he wrote in: so that wherever the natural stops of that were, he contrived the little breakings of his sense so as to fall in with 'em. And for that reason, since the stress of our verse lies commonly upon the last syllable, you'll hardly ever find him using a word of no force there."[21] Waller's editor thus clearly discerns the very characteristics of his verse which are avoided by the master-poets—the coincidence of phrase-pauses and verse-pauses, and regularity in the placing of stress.
The most important discussion of the influence of Waller on English poetry, and on the heroic couplet in particular, is found in Mr. Gosse's book, From Shakespeare to Pope. Mr. Gosse regards Waller as inventing for himself the couplet of the classical school; "master," in 1623, of such verse as "was not imitated by a single poet for nearly twenty years" (p. 50). This view is criticised in an interesting article by Dr. Henry Wood, in the American Journal of Philology, vol. xi. p. 55. While Mr. Gosse places Waller's earliest couplets in 1621 and 1623, Dr. Wood would date them as late as 1626, and shows that Waller wrote nothing else until 1635. Meantime had appeared (the first volume at least as early as 1623) the translation of Ovid's Metamorphoses, by George Sandys, in which, says Wood, all the characteristics of Waller's verse appear. "At all events," is his conclusion, "it was Sandys, and not Waller, who at the beginning of the third decade of the century, first of all Englishmen, made a uniform practice of writing in heroic couplets, which are, on the whole, in accord with the French rule, and which, for exactness of construction, and for harmonious sification, go far towards satisfying the demands of the later 'classical' school in England." Dr. Wood emphasizes the probable influence of the French poets on these early heroic couplets, calling attention to the fact that Sandys was in France in 1610. There is no evidence, however, that he was there for more than a few days, en route to more eastern countries. Waller was not in France till 1643. The whole question of the influence of French poetry in England before the Restoration still remains to be carefully investigated. Meantime, the cautious student will hesitate to put too much stress on any single point of departure for the new style of versification. Many influences must have combined to make it popular. We have seen Professor Schelling emphasizing the influence of Jonson; he also very justly points out "that it is a mistake to consider that the Elizabethans often practised the couplet with the freedom, not to say license, that characterizes its nineteenth century use in the hands of such poets as Keats." Compare the couplets of even so romantic a poet as Marlowe, in the specimen given above from Hero and Leander. And even Mr. Gosse, in partial divergence from the doctrines of From Shakespeare to Pope, says of the satiric verse of the Elizabethan Rowlands: "There are lines in this passage which Pope would not have disdained to use. It might, indeed, be employed as against that old heresy, not even yet entirely discarded, that smoothness of heroic verse was the invention of Waller. As a matter of fact, this, as well as all other branches of the universal art of poetry, was understood by the great Elizabethan masters; and if they did not frequently employ it, it was because they left to such humbler writers as Rowlands an instrument incapable of those noble and audacious harmonies on which they chiefly prided themselves." (Introduction to the Works of Rowlands, Hunterian Club ed., p. 16.)
A tribute to the incoming influence of the couplet is cited by Dr. Wood from the poems of Sir John Beaumont (1582-1627). In his verses To His Late Majesty, concerning the True Forme of English Poetry, Beaumont said:
"In every language now in Europe spoke By nations which the Roman empire broke, The rellish of the Muse consists in rime, One verse must meete another like a chime.... In many changes these may be exprest, But those that joyne most simply run the best: Their forme surpassing farre the fetter'd staves, Vaine care, and needlesse repetition saves."
(Chalmer's English Poets, vol. vi. p. 31.)[22]
Rough Boreas in Æolian prison laid, And those dry blasts which gathered clouds invade, Outflies the South with dropping wings; who shrouds His terrible aspect in pitchy clouds. His white hair streams, his swol'n beard big with showers; Mists bind his brows, rain from his bosom pours. As with his hands the hanging clouds he crushed, They roared, and down in showers together rushed. All-colored Iris, Juno's messenger, To weeping clouds doth nourishment confer. The corn is lodged, the husbandmen despair, Their long year's labor lost, with all their care. Jove, not content with his ethereal rages, His brother's auxiliaric floods engages.
(George Sandys: Ovid's Metamorphoses, bk. i. 1621.)
On the significance of Sandys's verse, see preceding notes on Waller, and the note on its possible relation to Pope, p. 201 below.
My eye, descending from the hill, surveys Where Thames amongst the wanton valleys strays; Thames, the most loved of all the Ocean's sons By his old sire, to his embraces runs, Hasting to pay his tribute to the sea, Like mortal life to meet eternity.... No unexpected inundations spoil The mower's hopes, nor mock the ploughman's toil, But godlike his unwearied bounty flows, First loves to do, then loves the good he does; Nor are his blessings to his banks confined, But free and common as the sea or wind.... O could I flow like thee, and make thy stream My great example, as it is my theme! Though deep, yet clear, though gentle, yet not dull, Strong without rage, without o'erflowing full.
(Sir John Denham: Cooper's Hill. 1642.)
"Denham," says Mr. Gosse, "was the first writer to adopt the precise manner of versification introduced by Waller." (Ward's English Poets, vol. ii. p. 279.) On his praise by Dryden and Pope, see notes on p. 188 above. The last four lines of the specimen here given have been universally admired.
But say, what is't that binds your hands? does fear From such a glorious action you deter? Or is't religion? But you sure disclaim That frivolous pretence, that empty name; Mere bugbear word, devis'd by us to scare The senseless rout to slavishness and fear, Ne'er known to awe the brave, and those that dare. Such weak and feeble things may serve for checks To rein and curb base-mettled heretics, ... Such whom fond in-bred honesty befools, Or that old musty piece, the Bible, gulls.
(John Oldham: Satires upon the Jesuits, Sat. i. 1679.)
"Oldham was the first," says Mr. Gosse, "to liberate himself, in the use of the distich, from this under-current of a stanza, and to write heroic verse straight on, couplet by couplet, ascending by steady strides and not by irregular leaps. (Any one who will venture to read Oldham's disagreeable Satire upon the Jesuits, written in 1679, will see the truth of this remark, and note the effect that its versification had upon that series of Dryden's satires which immediately followed it.) In Pope's best satires we see this art carried to its final perfection; after his time the connecting link between couplet and couplet became lost, and at last in the decline poems became, as some one has said, mere cases of lancets lying side by side. But in Dryden's day the connection was still only too obvious, and it strikes me that it may have been from a consciousness of this defect, that Dryden adopted that triplet, with a final alexandrine, which he is so fond of introducing." (From Shakespeare to Pope, p. 201.)
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, unfixed in principles and place, In power unpleased, 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. A daring pilot in extremity, Pleased with the danger, when the waves went high, He sought the storms; but, for a calm unfit, Would steer too nigh the sands, to boast his wit. Great wits are sure to madness near allied, And thin partitions do their bounds divide; Else, why should he, with wealth and honor blest, Refuse his age the needful hours of rest? Punish a body which he could not please, Bankrupt of life, yet prodigal of ease?... In friendship false, implacable in hate, Resolved to ruin or to rule the state; To compass this the triple bond he broke, The pillars of the public safety shook, And fitted Israel for a foreign yoke; Then, seized with fear, yet still affecting fame, Usurped a patriot's all-atoning name.
(Dryden: Absalom and Achitophel, part I. ll. 150-179. 1681.)
Dryden was the first great English poet after Chaucer to make the heroic couplet his chief vehicle of expression, and he put far more variety and vigor into it than had been achieved by his nearer predecessors. As Pope said:
"Waller was smooth, but Dryden taught to join The varying verse, the full resounding line, The long majestic march, the energy divine."
(Epistle ii., 267.)
And Gray, some years later, symbolized Dryden's couplet in these fine lines of the Progress of Poesy:
"Behold, where Dryden's less presumptuous car, Wide o'er the fields of glory bear Two coursers of ethereal race, With necks in thunder clothed, and long-resounding pace."
On Dryden's development of the couplet, see especially Saintsbury's Life of Dryden (English Men of Letters Series), pp. 17, 171. "The whole structure of the decasyllabic line before the middle of the seventeenth century was ill calculated for the perfecting of the couplet. Accustomed either to the stately plainness of blank verse, or to the elaborate intricacies of the stanza, writers had got into the habit of communicating to their verse a slow and somewhat languid movement." (p. 17.) "In versification the great achievement of Dryden was the alteration of what may be called the balance of the line, causing it to run more quickly, and to strike its rhymes with a sharper and less prolonged sound. One obvious means of obtaining this was, as a matter of course, the isolation of the couplet, and the avoidance of overlapping the different lines one upon the other. The effect of this overlapping, by depriving the eye and voice of the expectation of rest at the end of each couplet, is always one of two things. Either the lines are converted into a sort of rhythmic prose, made musical by the rhymes rather than divided by them, or else a considerable pause is invited at the end of each, or of most lines, and the cadence of the whole becomes comparatively slow and languid. Both these forms, as may be seen in the works of Mr. Morris, as well as in the older writers, are excellently suited for narration of some considerable length. They are less well suited for satire, for argument, and for the moral reflections which the age of Dryden loved. He therefore set himself to elaborate the couplet with its sharp point, its quick delivery, and the pistol-like detonation of its rhyme. But there is an obvious objection, or rather there are several obvious objections which present themselves to the couplet. It was natural that to one accustomed to the more varied range of the older rhythm and metre, there might seem to be a danger of the snip-snap monotony into which, as we know, it did actually fall when it passed out of the hands of its first great practitioners. There might also be a fear that it would not always be possible to compress the sense of a complete clause within the narrow limits of twenty syllables. To meet these difficulties Dryden resorted to three mechanical devices—the hemistich, the alexandrine, and the triplet, all three of which could be used indifferently to eke out the space or to give variety of sound.... In poetry proper the hemistich is anything but pleasing, and Dryden, becoming convinced of the fact, almost discarded it. The alexandrine and the triplet he always continued to use." (pp. 171, 172.)
Do you remember, when their tasks were done, How all the youth did to our cottage run? While winter winds were whistling loud without, Our cheerful hearth was circled round about: With strokes in ashes, maids their lovers drew; And still you fell to me, and I to you.... I know too well when first my love began, When at our wake you for the chaplet ran: Then I was made the lady of the May, And, with the garland, at the goal did stay: Still, as you ran, I kept you full in view; I hoped, and wished, and ran, methought, for you. As you came near, I hastily did rise, And stretched my arm outright, that held the prize. The custom was to kiss whom I should crown; You kneeled, and in my lap your head laid down: I blushed, and blushed, and did the kiss delay; At last my subjects forced me to obey: But, when I gave the crown, and then the kiss, I scarce had breath to say, Take that,—and this.
(Dryden: Marriage à la Mode, II, i. 1672.)
The use of the heroic couplet in the drama marks its effort to conquer the last citadel of English poetry; an attempt which, under the leadership of Dryden, seemed to succeed, but soon gave way to better judgment. Dryden favored the experiment in the Preface to The Rival Ladies (1663), and inserted a few couplets in that play. Etheredge accepted the suggestion, and put the serious parts of The Comical Revenge (largely prose) into couplets, in 1664. In the same year The Indian Queen (by Dryden and Sir Robert Howard) appeared in heroic verse, and the fashion soon became so general that in the Essay on Heroic Plays, prefixed to The Conquest of Granada (1672), Dryden could say: "Whether Heroic Verse ought to be admitted into serious plays, is not now to be disputed: 'tis already in possession of the stage; and I dare confidently affirm, that very few tragedies, in this age, shall be received without it." Only six years later, however, in 1678, he returned to blank verse in All for Love, saying: "I have disencumbered myself from rhyme. Not that I condemn my former way, but that this is more proper to my present purpose." In all about five plays of Dryden's are in couplets; after 1678 he rarely returned to rime for the drama. As Atterbury said in his Preface to Waller's poems: "'Twas the strength of his genius that first brought it into credit in plays; and 'tis the force of his example that has thrown it out again." "The fashion of rhyme in the drama, then, to be exact," says Mr. Gosse, "flourished from 1664 until ... 1678." Some justification for its use is to be found in the wretched condition into which blank verse had fallen. "The blank iambics of the romantic dramatists had become so execrably weak and distended, the whole movement of dramatic verse had grown so flaccid, that a little restraint in the severe limits of rhyme was absolutely necessary." (Gosse, in Seventeenth Century Studies, p. 264.)
The present specimen is from a play in which the couplet was used but slightly; but it shows Dryden's use of it at its best. In the drama, as already remarked, the couplet is naturally less epigrammatic and pointed than in didactic and satiric verse.
For the arguments with which Dryden defended the use of rime in the drama, see the Preface to The Rival Ladies, the Essay of Heroic Plays, the Essay of Dramatic Poesy, and the Defence of an Essay of Dramatic Poesy. "In the quickness of reparties (which in discoursive scenes fall very often), it has so particular a grace, and is so aptly suited to them, that the sudden smartness of the answer, and the sweetness of the rhyme, set off the beauty of each other. But that benefit which I consider most in it, because I have not seldom found it, is, that it bounds and circumscribes the fancy." (Essays of Dryden, ed. W. P. Ker, vol. i. p. 8.) In the Essay of Dramatic Poesy, Crites, representing Sir Robert Howard, opposes the use of rime on the ground of Aristotle's dictum that tragedy is best written in the kind of verse which is nearest prose. A play being an imitation of Nature, "the nearer anything comes to the imitation of it, the more it pleases." Neander, representing Dryden, answers that this line of argument will equally forbid blank verse. Blank verse is "properly but measured prose"; and rime may be "made as natural as blank verse, by the well placing of the words, etc." "But I need not go so far to prove that rhyme, as it succeeds to all other offices of Greek and Latin verse, so especially to this of plays, since the custom of all nations at this day confirms it, all the French, Italian, and Spanish tragedies are generally writ in it; and sure the universal consent of the most civilized parts of the world ought in this, as it doth in other customs, to include the rest." (Ibid. p. 98.) Again, while a play is a representation of Nature, it is "Nature wrought up to an higher pitch"; and for this purpose "heroic rhyme is nearest Nature, as being the noblest kind of modern verse." (pp. 100, 101.) In the Essay of Heroic Plays Dryden again summarizes the case for the other side by saying that "all the arguments which are formed against it can amount to no more than this, that it is not so near conversation as prose, and therefore not so natural. But it is very clear to all who understand Poetry, that serious plays ought not to imitate conversation too nearly." If, therefore, we begin to leave the mere "imitation of ordinary converse," we should go on consistently to "the last perfection of Art. It was only custom which cozened us so long; we thought, because Shakespeare and Fletcher went no farther, that there the pillars of poetry were to be erected; that, because they excellently described passion without rhyme, therefore rhyme was not capable of describing it. But time has now convinced most men of that error." (Ibid. pp. 148, 149.)
Dryden was of course quite right in objecting to the claim that imaginative poetry ought to seek the form closest to the language of real life. The real question is whether rimed verse is a more imaginative and highly poetic form than blank verse; modern opinion would unanimously answer in the negative.
It strikes a modern reader as curious that Dryden and his contemporaries should have advocated the use of rime in tragedy rather than in comedy; but we have the clew to their feeling in the saying that "serious plays ought not to imitate conversation too nearly." In the Restoration period the comedy was thought of as a realistic representation of life; hence its characters should speak in natural prose, as they have continued to do, for the most part, ever since. The tragedy or heroic play, on the other hand, was in the region of artistic convention, much farther removed from reality; hence its language was to be "raised above the life." This distinction between the range of comedy and that of tragedy, which would have seemed strange to the Elizabethans, explains the widely diverging lines which we find the two forms of the drama following from the time of the Restoration.
On the verse of Dryden's rimed plays, see Schipper, vol. ii. p. 214, and O. Speerschneider's Metrische Untersuchungen über den heroischen Vers in John Drydens Dramen (Halle, 1897).
But O, my muse, what numbers wilt thou find To sing the furious troops in battle join'd! Methinks I hear the drum's tumultuous sound, The victor's shouts and dying groans confound, The dreadful burst of cannon rend the skies, And all the thunder of the battle rise. 'Twas then great Marlbro's mighty soul was prov'd, That, in the shock of charging hosts unmov'd, Amidst confusion, horror, and despair, Examin'd all the dreadful scenes of war.... So, when an angel by divine command With rising tempests shakes a guilty land, Such as of late o'er pale Britannia past, Calm and serene he drives the furious blast; And pleas'd th' Almighty's orders to perform, Rides in the whirlwind, and directs the storm.
(Addison: The Campaign. 1704.)
But most by numbers judge a poet's song, And smooth or rough, with them, is right or wrong: In the bright Muse, tho' thousand charms conspire, Her voice is all these tuneful fools admire; Who haunt Parnassus but to please their ear, Not mend their minds; as some to church repair, Not for the doctrine, but the music there. These equal syllables alone require, Tho' oft the ear the open vowels tire; While expletives their feeble aid do join; And ten low words oft creep in one dull line; While they ring round the same unvaried chimes, With sure return of still expected rhymes; Where'er you find 'the cooling western breeze,' In the next line, it 'whispers through the trees'; If crystal streams 'with pleasing murmurs creep,' The reader's threaten'd (not in vain) with 'sleep': Then, at the last and only couplet fraught With some unmeaning thing they call a thought, A needless alexandrine ends the song, That, like a wounded snake, drags its slow length along. Leave such to tune their own dull rhymes, and know What's roundly smooth, or languishingly slow; And praise the easy vigor of a line Where Denham's strength and Waller's sweetness join.
(Pope: Essay on Criticism, ll. 337-361. 1711.)
Why boast we, Glaucus, our extended reign Where Xanthus' streams enrich the Lycian plain, Our numerous herds that range the fruitful field, And hills where vines their purple harvest yield, Our foaming bowls with purer nectar crowned, Our feasts enhanced with music's sprightly sound? Why on those shores are we with joy surveyed, Admired as heroes, and as gods obeyed; Unless great acts superior merit prove, And vindicate the bounteous powers above? 'Tis ours, the dignity they give to grace; The first in valor, as the first in place: That when with wondering eyes our martial bands Behold our deeds transcending our commands, Such, they may cry, deserve the sovereign state, Whom those that envy dare not imitate! Could all our care elude the gloomy grave, Which claims no less the fearful than the brave, For lust of fame I should not vainly dare In fighting fields, nor urge the soul to war. But since, alas! ignoble age must come, Disease, and death's inexorable doom; The life which others pay let us bestow, And give to fame what we to nature owe; Brave though we fall, and honored if we live, Or let us glory gain, or glory give!
(Pope: Iliad, bk. xii.)
Pope's couplet, while less vigorous and varied than Dryden's, has been generally considered the most perfect development of the typical measure of the classical school. Mr. Courthope thinks that in this speech from the Iliad, Pope "perhaps attains the highest level of which the heroic couplet is capable." (Works of Pope, vol. v. p. 167.)
"What he learned from Dryden," Mr. Courthope says in another place, "was the art of expressing the social and conversational idiom of the language in a metrical form. His conception of metrical harmony was, however, altogether different from his professed master's, and rather resembled that of Sandys, whose translation of Ovid's Metamorphoses he told Spence he had read when very young, and with the greatest delight. He explains the system in a letter to Cromwell, dated November 25, 1710.
"'(1) As to the hiatus, it is certainly to be avoided as often as possible; but on the other hand, since the reason of it is only for the sake of the numbers, so if, to avoid it, we incur another fault against their smoothness, methinks the very end of that nicety is destroyed....
"'(2) I would except against the use of all expletives in verse, as do before verbs plural, or even the frequent use of did or does to change the termination of the rhyme....
"'(3) Monosyllable lines, unless very artfully managed, are stiff, languishing, and hard.
"'(4) The repeating the same rhymes within four or six lines of each other, which tire the ear with too much of the like sound.
"'(5) The too frequent use of alexandrines, which are never graceful, but where there is some majesty added to the verse by them, or when there cannot be found a word in them but what is absolutely needful.
"'(6) Every nice ear must, I believe, have observed that in any smooth English verse of ten syllables, there is naturally a pause either at the fourth, fifth, or sixth syllables.... Now I fancy that, to preserve an exact harmony and variety, none of these pauses should be continued above three lines together, without the interposition of another; else it will be apt to weary the ear with one continued tone.'"
(Ibid. pp. 20, 21.)
Here are implied all the characteristics of the Popean couplet. The cesura is to vary, but not from a fundamentally medial position. The avoidance of enjambement is not mentioned, doubtless because it is assumed as an essential of couplets professing any degree of correctness.
Mr. Andrew Lang protests against the monotony of the verse of Pope's Iliad in some lines which cleverly adopt the same sort of measure:
My childhood fled your couplet's clarion tone, And sought for Homer in the prose of Bohn. Still through the dust of that dim prose appears The flight of arrows and the sheen of spears; Still we may trace what hearts heroic feel, And hear the bronze that hurtles on the steel! But ah, your Iliad seems a half-pretence, Where wits, not heroes, prove their skill in fence, And great Achilles' eloquence doth show As if no centaur trained him, but Boileau! Again, your verse is orderly,—and more,— "The waves behind impel the waves before"; Monotonously musical they glide, Till couplet unto couplet hath replied. But turn to Homer! How his verses sweep! Surge answers surge and deep doth call on deep; This line in foam and thunder issues forth, Spurred by the West or smitten by the North, Sombre in all its sullen deeps, and all Clear at the crest, and foaming to the fall; The next with silver murmur dies away, Like tides that falter to Calypso's Bay!
(Andrew Lang: Letters to Dead Authors; Pope.)
Compare with this the equally clever defence of Pope's verse by Mr. Dobson:
Suppose you say your Worst of Pope, declare His Jewels Paste, his Nature a Parterre, His Art but Artifice—I ask once more Where have you seen such Artifice before? Where have you seen a Parterre better grac'd, Or gems that glitter like his Gems of Paste? Where can you show, among your Names of Note, So much to copy and so much to quote? And where, in Fine, in all our English Verse, A Style more trenchant and a Sense more terse? So I, that love the old Augustan Days Of formal Courtesies and formal Phrase; That like along the finish'd line to feel The Ruffle's Flutter and the Flash of Steel; That like my Couplet as compact as clear; That like my Satire sparkling tho' severe, Unmix'd with Bathos and unmarr'd by Trope, I fling my Cap for Polish—and for Pope![23]
(Austin Dobson: Dialogue to the Memory of Mr. Alexander Pope.)
Sweet was the sound, when oft at evening's close Up yonder hill the village murmur rose; There, as I passed with careless steps and slow, The mingling notes came softened from below; The swain responsive as the milkmaid sung, The sober herd that lowed to meet their young; The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool, The playful children just let loose from school; The watchdog's voice that bayed the whispering wind, And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind; These all in sweet confusion sought the shade, And filled each pause the nightingale had made. But now the sounds of population fail, No cheerful murmurs fluctuate in the gale, No busy steps the grass-grown footway tread, For all the bloomy flush of life is fled.
(Goldsmith: The Deserted Village. 1770.)
"The heroic couplet," says Mr. Gosse, "was never employed, even by Pope himself, with more melody than by Goldsmith in this poem." (Eighteenth Century Literature, p. 320.) Its use at this time, when the revival of blank verse by Thomson and others had seriously affected the prestige of the couplet, was a sign of Goldsmith's reactionary tendency toward the school of Pope. His dislike of blank verse he expressed in his early work on the Present State of Polite Learning, saying that it might be reckoned among "several disagreeable instances of pedantry" lately proceeding "from a desire in the critic of grafting the spirit of ancient languages upon the English." (Works, Globe ed., p. 439.) This opinion was of course shared by Goldsmith's friend, Dr. Johnson, whose two important poems (London and The Vanity of Human Wishes) stand with the two of Goldsmith as the last notable pieces of English poetry of the classical school. While Johnson admitted that he could not "wish that Milton had been a rhymer," yet he never lost an opportunity to speak contemptuously of blank verse as a poetic form, and quoted approvingly the saying of a critic that it "seems to be verse only to the eye." (Life of Milton.)
In front of these came Addison. In him Humor, in holiday and sightly trim, Sublimity and Attic taste combined To polish, furnish, and delight the mind. Then Pope, as harmony itself exact, In verse well-disciplined, complete, compact, Gave virtue and morality a grace That, quite eclipsing pleasure's painted face, Levied a tax of wonder and applause, Even on the fools that trampled on their laws. But he (his musical finesse was such, So nice his ear, so delicate his touch) Made poetry a mere mechanic art, And every warbler has his tune by heart. Nature imparting her satiric gift, Her serious mirth, to Arbuthnot and Swift, With droll sobriety they raised a smile At folly's cost, themselves unmoved the while. That constellation set, the world in vain Must hope to look upon their like again.
(Cowper: Table Talk. 1782.)
Behold! in various throngs the scribbling crew, For notice eager, pass in long review: Each spurs his jaded Pegasus apace, And rhyme and blank maintain an equal race; Sonnets on sonnets crowd, and ode on ode; And tales of terror jostle on the road; Immeasurable measures move along; For simpering folly loves a varied song, To strange mysterious dulness still the friend, Admires the strain she cannot comprehend. Thus Lays of Minstrels—may they be the last!— On half-strung harps whine mournful to the blast; While mountain spirits prate to river sprites, That dames may listen to the sound at nights; And goblin brats, of Gilpin Horner's brood, Decoy young border-nobles through the wood, And skip at every step, Lord knows how high, And frighten foolish babes, the Lord knows why.
(Byron: English Bards and Scotch Reviewers. 1809.)
View now the winter storm! above, one cloud, Black and unbroken, all the skies o'ershroud: The unwieldy porpoise through the day before Had rolled in view of boding men on shore; And sometimes hid and sometimes showed his form, Dark as the cloud and furious as the storm. All where the eye delights yet dreads to roam, The breaking billows cast the flying foam Upon the billows rising—all the deep Is restless change; the waves so swelled and steep, Breaking and sinking, and the sunken swells, Nor one, one moment, in its station dwells.... Darkness begins to reign; the louder wind Appals the weak and awes the firmer mind; But frights not him whom evening and the spray In part conceal—yon prowler on his way. Lo, he has something seen; he runs apace, As if he feared companion in the chase; He sees his prize, and now he turns again, Slowly and sorrowing—"Was your search in vain?" Gruffly he answers, "'Tis a sorry sight! A seaman's body: there'll be more to-night!"
(Crabbe: The Borough, letter i. 1810.)
Crabbe's poems are the latest to use the strict Popean couplet for narrative and descriptive purposes, and his couplets have a certain characteristic reticence and vigor. Professor Woodberry praises them in an interesting passage on "the old heroic rhymed couplet, that simplest form of English verse music, which could rise, nevertheless, to the almost lyric loftiness of the last lines of the Dunciad; so supple and flexible; made for easy simile and compact metaphor; lending itself so perfectly to the sudden flash of wit or turn of humor; the natural shell of an epigram; compelling the poet to practice all the virtues of brevity; checking the wandering fancy, and repressing the secondary thought; requiring in a masterly use of it the employment of more mental powers than any other metrical form; despised and neglected now because the literature which is embodied in it is despised and neglected, yet the best metrical form which intelligence, as distinct from poetical feeling, can employ." (Makers of Literature, p. 104.)
The flower-beds all were liberal of delight: Roses in heaps were there, both red and white, Lilies angelical, and gorgeous glooms Of wall-flowers, and blue hyacinths, and blooms Hanging thick clusters from light boughs; in short, All the sweet cups to which the bees resort; With plots of grass, and leafier walks between Of red geraniums, and of jessamine, And orange, whose warm leaves so finely suit, And look as if they shade a golden fruit; And midst the flowers, turfed round beneath a shade Of darksome pines, a babbling fountain played, And 'twixt their shafts you saw the water bright, Which through the tops glimmered with showering light.
(Leigh Hunt: The Story of Rimini. 1816.)
Of this poem Mr. C. H. Herford says: "The Story of Rimini is the starting-point of that free or Chaucerian treatment of the heroic couplet, and of the colloquial style, eschewing epigram and full of familiar turns, which Shelley in Julian and Maddalo and Keats in Lamia made classical." (Age of Wordsworth, p. 83.) The treatment of the couplet is still characterized by but slight use of run-on lines, and a preference for the medial cesura; but on the other hand there is a large degree of freedom in the inversion of accents and other alterations of the regular stress. Compare the last line of the present specimen, and such other lines as
"Of crimson cloths hanging a hand of snow." "Some, with a drag, dangling from the cap's crest." "'Who's there?' said that sweet voice, kindly and clear." "The other with the tears streaming down both his cheeks."
The last of these lines, an alexandrine, is also characteristic. Hunt imitated Dryden in the use of both alexandrine and triplet. Of the latter he said: "I confess I like the very bracket that marks out the triplet to the reader's eye, and prepares him for the music of it. It has a look like the bridge of a lute." (Preface to Works, 1832.) Mr. A. J. Kent, in an article in the Fortnightly Review, says of Leigh Hunt that "he became the greatest master since the days of Dryden" of the heroic couplet. (1881, p. 224.)
A thing of beauty is a joy forever: Its loveliness increases; it will never Pass into nothingness; but still will keep A bower quiet for us, and a sleep Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing. Therefore, on every morrow are we wreathing A flowery band to bind us to the earth, Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth Of noble natures, of the gloomy days, Of all the unhealthy and o'er-darkened ways Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all, Some shape of beauty moves away the pall From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon, Trees old and young, sprouting a shady boon For simple sheep; and such are daffodils With the green world they live in; and clear rills That for themselves a cooling covert make 'Gainst the hot season; the mid-forest brake, Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms: And such too is the grandeur of the dooms We have imagined for the mighty dead; All lovely tales that we have heard or read: An endless fountain of immortal drink, Pouring unto us from the heaven's brink.
(Keats: Endymion, ll. 1-24. 1818.)
In the couplet of Keats, and of a number of his successors, we have a really different measure from the "heroic couplet" proper. The individual line and the couplet alike cease to be prominent units of the verse. The effect is therefore closely allied to that of blank verse; the rimes, not being emphasized by marked pauses, serving rather as means of tone color than as organizers of the verse. See Mr. Saintsbury's remarks (quoted in the notes on Dryden, p. 195, above), on "lines made musical by the rhymes rather than divided by them." In like manner Mr. Symonds says that "the couplets of Marlowe, Fletcher, Shelley, and Keats follow the laws of blank verse, and add rhyme—that is to say, their periods and pauses are entirely determined by the sense." (Blank Verse, p. 66.) This is true of the couplets of Shelley and Keats, and to a less degree of those of Fletcher's Faithful Shepherdess, but will hardly apply to Marlowe, nor, as we have seen, to the Elizabethans in general.[24]