  “And ten low words oft creep in one dull line.” Some of our best writers have very properly taken exception to the above line in Pope’s Essay on Criticism, and have shown, by reference to abundant examples, that many of the finest passages in our language are nearly, if not altogether, monosyllabic. Indeed, it could not well be otherwise, if it be true that, as Dean Swift has remarked, the English language is “overstocked with monosyllables.” It contains more than five hundred formed by the vowel a alone; four hundred and fifty by the vowel e; nearly four hundred by the vowel i; more than four hundred by the vowel o; and two hundred and sixty by the vowel u; besides a large number formed by diphthongs. Floy has written a lengthy and very ingenious article, entirely in monosyllables, in which he undertakes, as he says, to “prove that short words, in spite of the sneer in the text, need not creep, nor be dull, but that they give strength, and life, and fire to the verse of those who know how to use them.” Pope himself, however, has confuted his own words by his admirable writings more effectively than could be done by labored argument. Many of the best lines in the Essay above referred to, as well as in the Essay on Man,—and there are few “dull” or “creeping” verses to be found in either,—are made up entirely of monosyllables, or contain but one word of greater length, or a contracted word pronounced as one syllable. The Universal Prayer—one of the most beautiful and elaborate pieces, both in sentiment and versification, ever produced in any language—contains three hundred and four words, of which there are two hundred and forty-nine monosyllables to fifty-five polysyllables, thus averaging but one of the latter to every line. A single stanza is appended as a specimen:— If I am right, thy grace impart Still in the right to stay; If I am wrong, oh, teach my heart To find that better way! Pant on thy lip, and to thy heart be press’d; Give all thou canst—and let me dream the rest. Among the illustrations employed by Floy, are numerous selections from the hymnology in common congregational use, such as the following:— Sweet is the work, my God, my King, To praise thy name, give thanks, and sing; To show thy love by morning light, And talk of all thy truth at night.—Watts. Are there no foes for me to face? Must I not stem the flood? Is this vile world a friend to grace To help me on to God?—Watts. Save me from death; from hell set free; Death, hell, are but the want of thee: My life, my only heav’n thou art,— O might I feel thee in my heart!—C. Wesley. The same writer, to show Shakspeare’s fondness for small words, and their frequent subservience to some of his most masterly efforts, enters upon a monosyllabic analysis of King Lear, quoting from it freely throughout. Those who read the play with reference to this point will be struck with the remarkable number of forcible passages made up of words of one syllable:— Thou know’st the first time that we smell the air, We wawl and cry: I will preach to thee; mark me. When we are born, we cry that we are come To this great stage of fools.—This a good block?—Act IV. Sc. 6. The following occurs in the play of King John, where the King is pausing in his wish to incite Hubert to murder Arthur:— Good friend, thou hast no cause to say so yet; But thou shalt have; and creep time ne’er so slow, Yet it shall come, for me to do thee good. I had a thing to say.—But let it go.—Act III. Sc. 3. Knew not; to speak I tried, and forthwith spake ——Thou sun, said I, fair light, And thou enlightened earth, so fresh and gay, Ye hills, and dales, ye rivers, woods, and plains, And ye that live and move, fair creatures, tell, Tell, if ye saw how I came thus, how here?— Tell me, how may I know Him, how adore, From whom I have that thus I move and live?—Paradise Lost, B. VIII. Herrick says, in his address to the daffodils:— We have short time to stay as you, We have as short a spring; As quick a growth to meet decay As you or any thing. We die As your hours do, and dry Like to the rain, Or as the pearls of dew. Now I am here, what thou wilt do for me, None of my books will show; I read, and sigh, and wish I were a tree, For sure I then should grow To fruit or shade: at least some bird might trust Her household to me, and I should be just.—George Herbert. Thou who hast given me eyes to see And love this sight so fair, Give me a heart to find out Thee, And read Thee everywhere.—Keble. The bell strikes one. We take no note of time Save by its loss; to give it then a tongue Were wise in man.—Young. Ah, yes! the hour is come When thou must haste thee home, Pure soul! to Him who calls. The God who gave thee breath Walks by the side of death, And naught that step appalls.—Landor. New light new love, new love new life hath bred; A life that lives by love, and loves by light; A love to Him to whom all loves are wed; A light to whom the sun is darkest night: Life, soul, love, heart, light, eyes, and all are His; He eye, light, heart, love, soul; He all my joy and bliss.— Fletcher’s Purple Island. Bailey’s Festus, that extraordinary poem the perusal of which makes the reader feel as if he had “eaten of the insane root that takes the reason prisoner,” abounds with examples:— Night brings out stars as sorrow shows us truths: Though many, yet they help not; bright, they light not. They are too late to serve us; and sad things Are aye too true. We never see the stars Till we can see naught but them. So with truth. And yet if one would look down a deep well, Even at noon, we might see those same stars—— Life’s more than breath, and the quick round of blood— We live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not breaths— We should count time by heart-throbs. He most lives Who thinks most—feels the noblest—acts the best. Life’s but a means unto an end— Helen (sings.) Oh! love is like the rose, And a month it may not see, Ere it withers where it grows— Rosalie! I loved thee from afar; Oh! my heart was lift to thee Like a glass up to a star— Rosalie! Thine eye was glassed in mine As the moon is in the sea, And its shine is on the brine— Rosalie! The rose hath lost its red, And the star is in the sea, And the briny tear is shed— Rosalie! Festus. What the stars are to the night, my love, What its pearls are to the sea, What the dew is to the day, my love, Thy beauty is to me. We may say that the sun is dead, and gone Forever; and may swear he will rise no more; And earth heap ashes on her head; but who Shall keep the sun back when he thinks to rise? Where is the chain shall bind him? Where the cell Shall hold him? Hell he would burn down to embers, And would lift up the world with a lever of light Out of his way: yet, know ye, ’twere thrice less To do thrice this, than keep the soul from God. Many of the most expressive sentences in the Bible are monosyllabic. A few are subjoined, selected at random:— And God said, Let there be light: and there was light. And God saw the light, that it was good.—Gen. I. At her feet he bowed, he fell, he lay down: at her feet he bowed, he fell: where he bowed, there he fell down dead.—Judges V. O Lord my God, I cried unto thee, and thou hast healed me. O Lord, thou hast brought up my soul from the grave: thou hast kept me alive, that I should not go down to the pit. Sing unto the Lord, O ye saints of his, and give thanks.—Psalm XXX. And he said unto me, Son of man, can these bones live?—Ezek. XXXVII. Prove all things; hold fast that which is good.—1 Thess. V. For if we be dead with him, we shall also live with him.—2 Tim. II. For the great day of his wrath is come; and who shall be able to stand?—Rev. VI. And the gates of it shall not be shut at all by day; for there shall be no night there.—Rev. XXI. THE POWER OF SHORT WORDS.Think not that strength lies in the big round word, Or that the brief and plain must needs be weak. To whom can this be true who once has heard The cry for help, the tongue that all men speak, When want or woe or fear is in the throat, So that each word gasped out is like a shriek Pressed from the sore heart, or a strange wild note, Sung by some fay or fiend? There is a strength Which dies if stretched too far or spun too fine, Which has more height than breadth, more depth than length. Let but this force of thought and speech be mine, And he that will may take the sleek fat phrase Which glows and burns not, though it gleam and shine— Light, but no heat—a flash, but not a blaze! It serves of more than fight or storm to tell, The roar of waves that clash on rock-bound coasts, The crash of tall trees when the wild winds swell, The roar of guns, the groans of men that die On blood-stained fields. It has a voice as well For them that far off on their sick-beds lie; For them that weep, for them that mourn the dead; For them that laugh and dance and clap the hand; To joy’s quick step, as well as grief’s slow tread, The sweet, plain words we learnt at first keep time, And though the theme be sad, or gay, or grand, With each, with all, these may be made to chime, In thought, or speech, or song, in prose or rhyme. Dr. Alexander, Princeton Magazine. |
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