The same author, Dionysius,* as well as Quintilian, has thought proper to note, that neither the long nor the short syllables have all the same proportions between themselves; but that some long, are longer, and some short, are shorter than others. This may seem to be an unnecessary piece of information; for having been taught what makes a long syllable, for instance, a dipthong, as in the word by, we know that the syllable bind is longer, because of the time taken to utter the two consonants that follow the dipthong. So in this passage of Virgil, exire locosque Explorare novos.-Æn. 1. The first syllable in explorare is longer than the first in exire, by as many consonants as would of themselves suffice to make a syllable long. Of so obvious a conclusion as this the ancients could not have been ignorant; yet, when their prosody made but one general distinction, it might be fit to remind them that there were subordinate differences of syllables, by which they might give considerable effect to the flow of a period, or the structure of a verse. There are some who will think these observations on quantity might have been spared, because they maintain that quantity has no concern whatever with English versification, but that it depends entirely upon accent. We trust that such an opinion will be sufficiently disproved in the following pages; where it will be shown that quantity cannot be altogether neglected without manifest and great injury to the verse. But if the question be put, whether verse cannot be composed without any regard to the quantity of syllables, so that the accents be set in their due places; it is to be acknowledged that it may. Still the verse would have juster measure, would sound better to the car, and be much nearer to perfect, if the accented syllables were long, and others short; so that the quantity and accent should coincide. Take an example: The busy world and what you see, Of this couplet the first line has its accents regular in place and number, together with three long syllables. The second line is accented regularly as to place, but it contains only two accented syllables, and not one long. It cannot be denied that these verses are in true and exact measure; and, if accent alone be requisite, they are in nothing defective. But now, let them be altered, so as to observe quantity as well as accent, in this manner. The gaudy world, whate'er you see, It does not require a nice ear to perceive the difference of these lines from the former, nor any great skill to form a right judgment between them, in respect of their structure, which is the only point, at this time, under consideration. Regard to quantity is not indeed essential to English verse; neither is symmetry or proportion essential to a dwelling-house: but to a good dwelling-house they are essential, and so is regard to quantity to good English verse. This, however, was a matter to which Pope, at least, in his early life, appears to have been insensible, or inattentive, if the following anecdote be true. The second line of his first pastoral stood originally thus: Nor blush to sport on Windsor's peaceful plains. He would have altered it to happy; but Walsh objected to that correction, saying the quantity would not then be the same; for the first syllable of happy was short: Pope therefore put blissful.† SECTION III. Of the Feet employed in English Verse. ed and unaccented, as well as into Syllables being classed into accentlong and short, a certain number of them, put together, make that combination which is denominated a foot. We have taken the names of which has not escaped the severe our poetical feet from the ancients; animadversion of some critics. And indeed, to call the number of sylla * Dion. Hal. p . . sect. 15. + Boswell on Shakspeare's Metre, p. 560. Note. bles, which compose English verse, by the names of feet, and to apply to them the denominations of Iambic, Spondee, Dactyle, and the like, would deserve much censure, if they were used to signify the same things precisely which they stand for in Greek and Latin poetry; because that would tend to confuse and mislead a reader. But as the sense in which these terms are used here will first be defined, they may as well be taken for the purpose as any other SECTION IV. Of Feet of two Syllables. These are four in number, distinguished by the names of Iambic, Trochee, Spondee, and Pyrrhic. In the learned languages, these and the other names of feet denote the quantity, in English the accent of their syllables. By the one accented syllable, viz the last, as, begin, alóft. one accented syllable, viz. the first, as, píous, lófty, two accented syllables, as Iambic, is meant a foot having máintáin; hárk, hárk. no accented syllable, as.................................................. [va]nity, (ea)gerly." An example of the Pyrrhic foot cannot be given in a word of two syllables; because every such word has one syllable accented. It does not often happen that a dissyllable is pronounced as a Spondee; i. e. with two accents, as it may properly be in this instance, máintáin. SECTION V. Of Feet of three Syllables. There are eight varieties of these feet; but they need not all be enumerated; since only two of them (or at most three) are considered as belonging to our prosody, or forming any part of an English verse. by our poets are, on the The anapest is a foot not often made by a single word, except those derived from the French, as, debonáir, dishabille. Those used 1. The Dactyle, which has an accent ( first syllable only, as, hándily, réverence, 2. The Anapest, last syllable only, as, magazine, to demand. divided into such feet. It is nevertheless certain, that the line belongs to verses of another class, and is measurable by anapests, only taking such a licence as is always allowed to anapestic verses, viz. that the first foot may be curtailed of its first syllable. The next line in the poem, to describe it accurately, is an anapestic verse of four feet, with a redundant syllable. To these feet may be added, another of three syllables, called the Amphibrachys, which is accented on the middle syllable only, as, delighted. We might have omitted all mention of this foot, but for the mistake of certain critics, who, finding such a foot at the end of a verse, asserted that the same kind of foot properly constituted the whole verse, and was the legitimate measure by which it was to be scanned. The following line from Swift's Poems is an example of the measure in question. Because he has never a hand that is idle. Here, it is true, the three last syllables make the foot termed Amphibrachys, and the whole line may be For the right holds the sword and the left holds the bridle. So likewise is the former, notwithstanding the difference in the first foot. If the Amphibrachys had been a foot by which any English verse ought to be measured, there would have been entire poems in that measure, or, at least, poems wherein verses of that measure predominated; but there are none such, nor does a line, measureable by that foot, ever I. WHEN we were idlers with the loitering rills, That, man is more than half of Nature's treasure,— Of that still music which no ear can measure; II. In the great city we are met again, Where many souls there are that breathe and die, For busy man is Lord of Ear and Eye. And what hath Nature but the vast void sky, Where Love persuades, and sterner duty calls. III. We parted on the mountains, as two streams From one clear spring pursue their sever'd ways; In foreign lands, where silvery Padus gleams To that delicious sky, whose glowing beams Brighten'd the tresses that old poets praise; Where Petrarch's patient love and artful lays, And Ariosto's song of many themes Moved the soft air. But I, a lazy brook, Have crept along from nook to shady nook, Where flow'rets blow, and whispering Naiads dwell. Yet now we meet, that parted were so wide, O'er rough and smooth to travel side by side. IV. How long I sail'd, and never took a thought And perilous sea ;—and though my ship was fraught From faery land-no course I cared to keep: HARTLEY COLERIDGE, THE RUELLE, A DRAMATICLE. SCENE.-A Saloon. LADY ANGELINE, SYLVIA, CHLOE, CAMILLA, BELINDA, PENELOPE, and MARIAN. Lady Angeline. Most sage and meditative ladies! honour me with your thoughts. I beseech you, fair gentlewomen, be not so chary of your conversation.-How?-not a word?-What perverse miracle is here, the abstraction of tongues? Why girls, I say! have you forsworn the vocabulary? -Dumb, dumb, all dumb as garden-goddesses. Juno Lucina! six predetermined mothers of orators, lawyers, parsons, and pretty fellows, without as much eloquence among them as would still a wawling baby! O! babes of the next generation, who will teach you your alphabets? Chloe. Dear Lady Angeline! Sylvia. Sweet Lady Angeline! Lady A. Dear, and, sweet Lady Angeline! quaint and deftly-worded invocations; go on. Hey? no more ?-Wit is brief, they say. Belinda. Mine is concealed in this apothegm,-mum's a safe motto. Penelope. I expect the company will believe I have more wit than words. Camilla. For my part, the world has already heard more of my good sayings than it cares to remember, so I've determined to spend no more breath in a thankless office. Lady A. Well Marian, have you neither song nor sore-throat? All. Hamlet! Hamlet! Marian. I have nothing better. Lady A. Passing probable: but something newer, I hope; something less mouthed and mumbled than Will Worn-out's tragedies. What! are there no secrets abroad? no whispers that might deafen the high winds, nor hints as broad as marriage-banns or proclamations? Are there no husbands in search of strayed bed-fellows, no anticipations of matrimony that ye've heard of? Penelope. Heigh! ho! not one. O' my conscience! I fear the world is going to be converted. Lady A. Strange!-Neither duels, nor divorces, drownings, danglings, nor despairings? Marian. Ha! ha! ha! I was told a good joke about George Lovelace and the Widow Wye; better than the last new song, I promise you: but it's a dead secret, you know. All. Ay, ay, let's hear it. Marian. Why, George, you must know,-no, the Widow, you must know (who, by the bye, though she's called the pretty Widow Wye, has nothing pretty about her but her weeds and her jointure),-well, as I was saying, the Widow, you must know, but I forgot to tell you, that young Lovelace, you must know, is shrewdly suspected Lady A. Come, come; there is grave matter to follow, I perceive, from the solemnity of the overture. Let us draw our chairs into conclave, and investigate the affair of the Widow and the Beau with suitable formality. Hem! I take the chair of infallibility as Pope Angeline the first; no laughing, fair Cardinals, I am not the first Pope that wore petticoats, mine antecessor Joan gave crying proof of it. Here, three of your Eminences on one hand, and three on the other; very well. Now, Signior Red-cap, caro mio Cardinale Marian Mad-cap, thou graceless Son of the Purple, disburse thine intelligence. If thou hast heard with thine eyes, or seen with thine ears, if thou hast memory to conceive, or wit to remember, aught or naught, touching, concerning, or in anywise pertaining to, the affair of the Widow (as thou truly say'st, falsely) call'd the pretty Widow Wye, and that notorious murderer of reputations, to wit, George Lovelace, Esquire, kindle the rush of thy instruction and enlighten the night of our ignorance. Marian. Hum! Most sapient Beardlessnesses, and right-reverend Juvenilities! Is it your worshipful pleasures that I should begin with a-Hey this? what's this? Enter QUIP. Lady A. One of the Widemouths. Well, sirrah? Quip. Bipes animal implume, as Plato says (but no cock), to wait upon your ladyship. Lady A. Simple English will suit our rusticity. Quip. A two-legged animal, as God made it, without feathers or tail, if your ladyship would know precisely. Lady A. Gentleman or lady, good foster-brother? Quip. Truly, madam, he might be a gentleman if fig-leaves were in fashion; but in the present taste for broadcloth, he is not cut out for a gentleman. Lady A. A poor gentleman, I suppose? Quip. A jury of tailors would never allow it; if gentlemen were such gentlemen, 'twouldn't keep the trade half the year in thimbles and brocoli. Lady A. Was ever such an impertinent knave! What man do you speak of, sirrah? Quip. A mountain of a man; if I have any skill in geography. Quip. Why, madam, here lies the case: this bare gentleman (to use a phrase), gaudet nomine (rejoices in the name) of-let me see, as blind Peter saith,-ay-a very good name, I assure your ladyship, as one would wish to christen their horse by-id est, (to inform your ladyship in three words and a breath)-Helicon, as he betrays himself. Now, every goose that can spell and put together gabbles about Helicon Hill. Sylvia. Ha! ha! ha! learning in a suit of livery. Quip. Nay, old Jubal Quip, her ladyship's parish-clerk while his tongue was in tune, didn't leave the world without a legacy. The best singer of a plain psalm, madam Sylvia; simple common, or triple compound, 'twas all the same; it came to him as natural as snoring to a grey owl; ah! go to, go to, old Jubal, when shall we hear psalmody i' the right drone again; thy nose is cold. He died, poor man, one day, by mistake when he only meant to doze out the sermon; leaving me, his son and heir (the son of my mother, God forgive her! and heir to his learning), as a last gift to the parish. There were chattels too, such as a pair of silver shoe-buckles cunningly inlaid with brass, a bob-wig, and a bible, with some other matters of property, but I left them all to the widow to comfort her in her old age. Lady A. I am certainly bewitched to let this fellow stay in my service. |