said before of the use of elision by Milton, and of occasional three-syllabled feet by all writers. It was mainly from the desire of obviating the dubious foot, from the striving to assure a capable syllable for each beat, that they took refuge in the other form of irregularity. In this piece, taken at random from Paradise Lost, Milton's endeavours to assure to each foot a true beat as often as possible will appear :—

Hell heard the insufferable noise; Hell saw
Heaven ruining from heaven, and would have fled
Affrighted; but strict Fate had cast too deep
Her dark foundations, and too fast had bound.
Nine days they fell, confounded Chaos roared,
And felt tenfold confusion in their fall
Through his wild anarchy; so huge a rout
Incumbered him with ruin. Hell at last

Yawning received them whole, and on them closed:
Hell their fit habitation, fraught with fire
Unquenchable, the house of woe and pain.
Disburdened Heaven rejoiced, and soon repaired
Her mural breach, returning whence it rolled.

Here, and throughout the whole poem, though the shortcoming be not entirely obviated, yet it is to the utmost extent the language will allow. A second accent is supposed on polysyllables, as insufferable,' 'unquenchable;' one also on such slight words as 'and,' 'on,' 'in,' on the rare occasions when they usurp the situation.

The gist of the matter is that in reading we feel bound to supply some accentual stress even on the unsupplied places. Let this be impressed, for it will be found in no other variety than the dignified and formal, peculiar in fact to the epic.

Compare this extract from Milton with those from the drama given previously, and note the difference in this respect; compare it also with the extract from Tennyson. The line from the latter now—

To his great heart none other than a god,

receives no accent on such a capable word as 'than,' which is surely a tendency the contrary way.

Mark, too, the rapidity of utterance which accompanies the dramatic as opposed to the epic use, particularly in the very lines with the fewer accents. From this it appears that with still less restraint there would be a gain in liveliness further. Not the actual number of accents makes the essential difference, however, but the pitch of the subject in a different key, which in the stricter makes the accents direct the verse; in the freer, differentiates them to the expression, more after the manner of ordinary speech.

The more thorough way is not to scout this foot of mere accentual place, but give it its due, like any other determinate form, and turn it to the best account. The name proposed for it is the hover, as expressive of the unsettlement of the beat.

The knowledge of the different rhythmic movement which characterises the epic and the dramatic may supply us with a reason beyond that of barren regularity why the odd syllable over should be excluded from the former class; its disturbing influence would be very likely to upset the solemn sedateness which constitutes the clain of blank verse to dignity. The metrical division of few verses is so complete that the foregoing does not reflect on what comes after; a syllable over measure at the end of one verse necessarily quickens the opening of the next. The hover and the odd-over in blank verse are natural allies: where either is freely admitted, the other is with difficulty excluded.

The differentiation of the accent thus occurring is in reality equivalent to compounding the dramatic verse of different feet. In fact, in the drama, where any passion is shown, the feet, if not altogether transformed, are, as it were, fused into a totality and recast in utterance. Let any one declare if the same pronunciation accompany these verses in Hamlet, a tragedy, to what there would were they found in Paradise Lost, an epic. The difference of rhythm is most marked, the foot ordering quite put out of sight:—

O heat, dry up my brains! tears, seven times salt,
Burn out the sense and virtue of mine eye!—

By heaven, thy madness shall be paid with weight
Till our scale turn the beam. O rose of May!
Dear maid, kind sister, sweet Ophelia !—
O heavens! is't possible a young maid's wits
Should be as mortal as an old man's life?

Singularly enough, the drama is precisely the point in which abettors of classic metres, as having their counterparts in English, deem themselves most firmly intrenched, the supposed affinity between modern and ancient being here deemed clearly established. The resemblance, however, is more apparent than real; for iambic, or march metre, or whatever the designation, can only be applied to the free form of blank verse on sufferance.

The accents in blank verse regular, being placed alternately, are much nearer than their occasional, perhaps even than their average position in prose. Now the force of an accent greatly depends upon its distance from its neighbour, so that a regular succession of alternate accents must be far less forceful than the highest flights of prose. Understand, the rhythmic mechanism inherent to verse of all kinds will impart a kind of elevation and dignity that the prose does not possess; but still the result will be accentually weaker. The dramatic Pegasus takes this curb between his teeth in spirited moments, which in a great degree makes up for the shortcoming.

It is here lies the true root of difference between the two extremes of blank verse; occasional quick feet are as nothing to it; for except in the degree they tend to bring about the free rhythm, they rank but as irregularities, good or bad, according to effect.

In spite of the great example of Milton and others, it cannot be admitted that blank verse has all the requirements necessary to a perfect epical metre.

It stands to reason that a measure that has everything ruled for it cannot be very expressional, while the movement is the slowest to which, under any circumstances whatever, verse or prose, the English language can be reduced. The strong beginning is too trite to be of account; the extreme cesuras have lost effect by being used in common; an occa

sional quick foot rather disturbs than enlivens. What is there left? Nothing but the capital to be made out of the varying weight of syllables, which if in any metre it is of no account at all, it is this.

As to the propriety of writing an epic in the free form, it is true that in passages where the greatest elevation is attained the verse seems naturally to refrigerate into the stiff, regularly accentual form; but to strain at such everywhere alike without deviation is to drop all elasticity. Lamented Keats, in his unfinished poem of Hyperion, is a standing witness to the success of a more differential handling; without his indulging in any additional syllables, yet with admissible hover and unstrained pauses, to read him is a pleasure. His practice, then, seems a good model for such as may not elect to go to the very verge with Milton in all totality. Whatever course be pursued in poems of the more ambitious cast, yet in the idyllic, &c., particularly if of the domestic kind, where epical dignity is neither reached nor even aimed at, there seems no good reason for abstaining from any of the licence assumed by the playwright; indeed, such in reason is recommended.

IV.

MARCH METRE, RHYMED.

RHYME, the well-known figure in verse, is the occurrence of two syllables similar in sound from the accented point onwards, as sings wings, found rebound, engage rage; or as nation temptation, gladder sadder, called for distinction double rhyme, or witticism criticism triple.

However, as a genuine rhyme is not always forthcoming, resources have been eked out by mere resemblance in spelling, where this by no means represents the sound, as bear near, dialogue rogue, come home, or even by certain approximations, such as beheld field, road god, join confine, bear car-all in Pope.

The use of rhyme in verse is not, as commonly supposed,

altogether for the mere clink thence resulting, but in the additional facility it affords of marking time. With rhyme for guide, the ear may follow inwoven lines with the utmost ease and certainty, while again the verses themselves marked off more decisively, having at the end instead of a mere cesural pause, which the attention in some measures (blank verse, for instance) is taxed to observe, a recurrent sound we hasten to arrive at, derive such a vigour and liveliness that the metre is no longer recognisable for the same. A closer consideration of rhyme, its nature and qualities, is deferred to a subsequent chapter apart.

The movement of rhymed measures being strictly regular, that is, having no tendency at all to differentiation, it is desirable that the accentual place should always be occupied by a syllable capable of receiving the beat; as this cannot exactly be, like in epic blank verse, a certain approximation is made suffice.

In treating the various forms of march metre rhymed, the first thing that most strikes the observation is the innumerable number of varieties met with, in place of the solitary if many-sided individualism just discussed.

In this chapter, not to make confusion, will be cited only such forms as are or might be used continuously in a poem of moderate length, without being divided into stanzas. It is true that many of the examples given might just as legitimately be written in lengths, and then called stave or stanza; distinction at this stage is but one to the eye at most, so it is deemed best to cite the most prominent forms here, where they can best be grouped.

Rhymed lines occur of all lengths, from even one and two feet, but only in stanzas with others of greater length; even lines of three feet hardly have a more independent existence, being preferably written in sixes, as, for instance, Wordsworth's 'Pet Lamb,' though, the piece being so simple, either way is equally suitable.

The dew was falling fast,
The stars began to blink;