Beauty of Language.

OF all the fine arts, painting only and sculpture are in their nature imitative. A field laid out with taste, is not, properly speaking, a copy or imitation of nature, but nature itself embellished. Architecture deals in originals, and copies not from nature. Sound and motion may in some measure be imitated by music; but for the most part music, like architecture, deals in originals. Language has no archetype in nature, more than music or architecture; unless where, like music, it is imitative of sound or motion. In the description of particular sounds, language sometimes happily furnisheth words, which, beside their customary power of exciting ideas, resemble by their softness or harshness the sound described: and there are words, which, by the celerity or slowness of pronunciation, have some resemblance to the motion they signify. This imitative power of words goes one step farther. The loftiness of some words, makes them proper symbols of lofty ideas: a rough subject is imitated by harsh-sounding words; and words of many syllables pronounced slow and smooth, are naturally expressive of grief and melancholy. Words have a separate effect on the mind, abstracting from their signification and from their imitative power. They are more or less agreeable to the ear, by the roundness, sweetness, faintness, or roughness, of their tones.

These are beauties, but not of the first rank: They are relished by those only, who have more delicacy of sensation than belongs to the bulk of mankind. Language possesseth a beauty superior greatly in degree, of which we are eminently conscious when a thought is communicated in a strong and lively manner. This beauty of language, arising from its power of expressing thought, is apt to be confounded with the beauty of the thought expressed; which beauty, by a natural transition of feeling among things intimately connected, is convey’d to the expression, and makes it appear more beautiful[74]. But these beauties, if we wish to think accurately, must be carefully distinguished from each other. They are indeed so distinct, that we sometimes are conscious of the highest pleasure language can afford, when the subject expressed is disagreeable. A thing that is loathsome, or a scene of horror to make one’s hair stand on end, may be described in the liveliest manner. In this case, the disagreeableness of the subject, doth not even obscure the agreeableness of the description. The causes of the original beauty of language considered as significant, which is a branch of the present subject, will be explained in their order. I shall only at present observe, that this beauty is the beauty of means fitted to an end, viz. the communication of thought. And hence it evidently appears, that of several expressions all conveying the same thought, the most beautiful, in the sense now mentioned, is that which in the most perfect manner answers its end.

The several beauties of language above mentioned, being of different kinds and distinguishable from each other, ought to be handled separately. I shall begin with those beauties of language which arise from sound; after which will follow the beauties of language considered as significant. This order appears natural; for the sound of a word is attended to, before we consider its signification. In a third section come those singular beauties of language that are derived from a resemblance betwixt sound and signification. The beauties of verse I propose to handle in the last section. For though the foregoing beauties are found in verse as well as in prose; yet verse has many peculiar beauties, which for the sake of perspicuity must be brought under one view. And versification, at any rate, is a subject of so great importance, as to deserve a place by itself.

SECT. I.

Beauty of language with respect to sound.

I Propose to handle this subject in the following order, which appears the most natural. The sounds of the different letters come first. Next, these sounds as united in syllables. Third, syllables united in words. Fourth, words united in a period. And in the last place, periods united in a discourse.

With respect to the first article, every vowel is sounded by a single expiration of air from the wind-pipe through the cavity of the mouth; and by varying this cavity, the different vowels are sounded. The air in passing through cavities differing in size, produceth various sounds, some high or sharp, some low or flat. A small cavity occasions a high sound, a large cavity a low sound. The five vowels accordingly, pronounced with the same extension of the wind-pipe, but with different openings of the mouth, form a regular series of sounds, descending from high to low, in the following order, i, e, a[75], o, u. Each of these sounds is agreeable to the ear. And if it be inquired which of them is the most agreeable, it is perhaps the safest side to hold, that there is no universal preference of any one before the rest. Probably those vowels which are farthest removed from the extremes, will generally be the most relished. This is all I have to remark upon the first article. For consonants being letters which of themselves have no sound, have no other power but to form articulate sounds in conjunction with vowels; and every such articulate sound being a syllable, consonants come naturally under the second article. To which therefore we proceed.

All consonants are pronounced with a less cavity than any of the vowels; and consequently they contribute to form a sound still more sharp than the sharpest vowel pronounced single. Hence it follows, that every articulate sound into which a consonant enters, must necessarily be double, though pronounced with one expiration of air, or with one breath as commonly expressed. The reason is, that though two sounds readily unite; yet where they differ in tone, both of them must be heard if neither of them be suppressed. For the same reason, every syllable must be composed of as many sounds as there are letters, supposing every letter to be distinctly pronounced.

We next inquire, how far articulate sounds into which consonants enter, are agreeable to the ear. With respect to this point, there is a noted observation, that all sounds of difficult pronunciation are to the ear harsh in proportion. Few tongues are so polished as entirely to have rejected sounds that are pronounced with difficulty; and such sounds must in some measure be disagreeable. But with respect to agreeable sounds, it appears, that a double sound is always more agreeable than a single sound. Every one who has an ear must be sensible, that the diphthongs oi or ai are more agreeable than any of these vowels pronounced singly. And the same holds where a consonant enters into the double sound. The syllable le has a more agreeable sound than the vowel e or than any vowel. And in support of experience, a satisfactory argument may be drawn from the wisdom of Providence. Speech is bestowed upon man, to qualify him for society. The provision he hath of articulate sounds, is proportioned to the use he hath for them. But if sounds that are agreeable singly were not also agreeable in conjunction, the necessity of a painful selection would render language intricate and difficult to be attained in any perfection. And this selection, at the same time, would tend to abridge the number of useful sounds, so as perhaps not to leave sufficient for answering the different ends of language.

In this view, the harmony of pronunciation differs widely from that of music properly so called. In the latter are discovered many sounds singly agreeable, that in conjunction are extremely disagreeable; none but what are called concordant sounds having a good effect in conjunction. In the former, all sounds singly agreeable are in conjunction concordant; and ought to be, in order to fulfil the purposes of language.

Having discussed syllables, we proceed to words; which make a third article. Monosyllables belong to the former head. Polysyllables open a different scene. In a cursory view, one will readily imagine, that the effect a word hath upon the ear, must depend entirely upon the agreeableness or disagreeableness of its component syllables. In part it doth; but not entirely; for we must also take under consideration the effect that a number of syllables composing a word have in succession. In the first place, syllables in immediate succession, pronounced, each of them, with the same or nearly the same aperture of the mouth, produce a weak and imperfect sound; witness the French words dÉtÊtÉ (detested), dit-il (says he), patetique (pathetic). On the other hand, a syllable of the greatest aperture succeeding one of the smallest, or the opposite, makes a succession, which, because of its remarkable disagreeableness, is distinguished by a proper name, viz. hiatus. The most agreeable succession, is, where the cavity is increased and diminished alternately by moderate intervals. Secondly, words consisting wholly of syllables pronounced slow or of syllables pronounced quick, commonly called long and short syllables, have little melody in them. Witness the words petitioner, fruiterer, dizziness. On the other hand, the intermixture of long and short syllables is remarkably agreeable; for example, degree, repent, wonderful, altitude, rapidity, independent, impetuosity. The cause will be explained afterward, in treating of versification.

Distinguishable from the beauties above mentioned, there is a beauty of some words which arises from their signification. When the emotion raised by the length or shortness, the roughness or smoothness, of the sound, resembles in any degree what is raised by the sense, we feel a very remarkable pleasure. But this subject belongs to the third section.

The foregoing observations afford a standard to every nation, for estimating, pretty accurately, the comparative merit of the words that enter into their own language. And though at first view they may be thought equally useful for estimating the comparative merit of different languages; yet this holds not in fact, because no person can readily be found who is sufficiently qualified to apply the standard. What I mean is, that different nations judge differently of the harshness or smoothness of articulate sounds: a sound, harsh and disagreeable to an Italian, may be abundantly smooth to a northern ear. Where are we to find a judge to determine this controversy? and supposing a judge, upon what principle is his decision to be founded? The case here is precisely the same as in behaviour and manners. Plain-dealing and sincerity, liberty in words and actions, form the character of one people. Politeness, reserve, and a total disguise of every sentiment that can give offence, form the character of another people. To each the manners of the other are disagreeable. An effeminate mind cannot bear the least of that roughness and severity, which is generally esteemed manly when exerted upon proper occasions. Neither can an effeminate ear bear the least harshness in words that are deemed nervous and sounding by those accustomed to a rougher tone of language. Must we then relinquish all thoughts of comparing languages in the point of roughness and smoothness, as a fruitless inquiry? Not altogether so; for we may proceed a certain length, though without hope of an ultimate decision. A language with difficulty pronounced even by natives, must yield the preference to a smoother language. Again, supposing two languages pronounced with equal facility by natives, the preference, in my judgement, ought to be in favour of the rougher language; provided it be also stored with a competent share of more mellow sounds. This will be evident from attending to the different effects that articulate sound hath upon the mind. A smooth gliding sound is agreeable, by smoothing the mind and lulling it to rest. A rough bold sound, on the contrary, animates the mind. The effort perceived in pronouncing, is communicated to the hearers: they feel in their own minds a similar effort, which rouses their attention and disposes them to action. I must add another consideration. The agreeableness of contrast in the rougher language, for which the great variety of sounds gives ample opportunity, must, even in an effeminate ear, prevail over the more uniform sounds of the smoother language[76]. This appears to me all that can be safely determined upon the present point. With respect to the other circumstances that constitute the beauty of words, the standard above mentioned is infallible when apply’d to foreign languages as well as to our own. For every man, whatever be his mother-tongue, is equally capable to judge of the length or shortness of words, of the alternate opening and closing of the mouth in speaking, and of the relation which the sound bears to the sense. In these particulars, the judgement is susceptible of no prejudice from custom, at least of no invincible prejudice.

That the English tongue, originally harsh, is at present much softened by dropping in the pronunciation many redundant consonants, is undoubtedly true. That it is not capable of being farther mellowed, without suffering in its force and energy, will scarce be thought by any one who possesses an ear. And yet such in Britain is the propensity for dispatch, that overlooking the majesty of words composed of many syllables aptly connected, the prevailing taste is, to shorten words, even at the expence of making them disagreeable to the ear and harsh in the pronunciation. But I have no occasion to insist upon this article, being prevented by an excellent writer, who possessed, if any man ever did, the true genius of the English tongue[77]. I cannot however forbear urging one observation borrowed from that author. Several tenses of our verbs are formed by adding the final syllable ed, which, being a weak sound, has remarkably the worse effect by possessing the most conspicuous place in the word. Upon that account, the vowel is in common speech generally suppressed, and the consonant is added to the foregoing syllable. Hence the following rugged sounds, drudg’d, disturb’d, rebuk’d, fledg’d. It is still less excuseable to follow this practice in writing; for the hurry of speaking may excuse what is altogether improper in a composition of any value. The syllable ed, it is true, makes but a poor figure at the end of a word: but we ought to submit to that defect, rather than multiply the number of harsh words, which, after all that has been done, bear an over-proportion in our tongue. The author above mentioned, by showing a good example, did all in his power to restore that syllable; and he well deserves to be imitated. Some exceptions however I would make. A word which signifies labour, or any thing harsh or rugged, ought not to be smooth. Therefore forc’d, with an apostrophe, is better than forced, without it. Another exception is, where the penult syllable ends with a vowel. In that case the final syllable ed may be apostrophized without making the word harsh. Examples, betray’d, carry’d, destroy’d, employ’d.

The article next in order, is to consider the music of words as united in a period. And as the arrangement of words in succession so as to afford the greatest pleasure to the ear, depends on principles pretty remote from common view, it will be necessary to premise some general observations upon the effect that a number of objects have upon the mind when they are placed in an increasing or decreasing series. The effect of such a series will be very different, according as resemblance or contrast prevails. Where the members of a series vary by small differences, resemblance prevails; which, in ascending, makes us conceive the second object of no greater size than the first, the third of no greater size than the second, and so of the rest. This diminisheth in appearance the size of the whole. Again, when beginning at the largest object, we proceed gradually to the least, resemblance makes us imagine the second as large as the first, and the third as large as the second; which in appearance magnifies every object of the series except the first. On the other hand, in a series varying by great differences, where contrast prevails, the effects are directly opposite. A large object succeeding a small one of the same kind, appears by the opposition larger than usual: and a small object, for the same reason, succeeding one that is large, appears less than usual[78]. Hence a remarkable pleasure in viewing a series ascending by large intervals; directly opposite to what we feel when the intervals are small. Beginning at the smallest object of a series where contrast prevails, this object has the same effect upon the mind as if it stood single without making a part of the series. But this is not the case of the second object, which by means of contrast makes a much greater figure than when viewed singly and apart; and the same effect is perceived in ascending progressively, till we arrive at the last object. The direct contrary effect is produced in descending; for in this direction, every object, except the first, makes a less figure than when viewed separately and independent of the series. We may then lay down as a maxim, which will hold in the composition of language as well as of other subjects, That a strong impulse succeeding a weak, makes a double impression on the mind; and that a weak impulse succeeding a strong, makes scarce any impression.

After establishing this maxim, we can be at no loss about its application to the subject in hand. The following rule is laid down by Diomedes[79]. “In verbis observandum est, ne a majoribus ad minora descendat oratio; melius enim dicitur, Vir est optimus, quam, Vir optimus est.” This rule is applicable not only to single words, but equally to entire members of a period, which, according to our author’s expression, ought not more than single words to proceed from the greater to the less, but from the less to the greater. In arranging the members of a period, no writer equals Cicero. The beauty of the following examples out of many, will not suffer me to slur them over by a reference.

Again:

Again:

This order of words or members gradually increasing in length, may, so far as concerns the pleasure of sound singly, be denominated a climax in sound.

The last article is the music of periods as united in a discourse; which shall be dispatched in a very few words. By no other human means is it possible to present to the mind, such a number of objects and in so swift a succession, as by speaking or writing. And for that reason, variety ought more to be studied in these, than in any other sort of composition. Hence a rule regarding the arrangement of the members of different periods with relation to each other, That to avoid a tedious uniformity of sound and cadence, the arrangement, the cadence, and the length of these members, ought to be diversified as much as possible. And if the members of different periods be sufficiently diversified, the periods themselves will be equally so.

SECT. II.

Beauty of language with respect to signification.

It is well said by a noted writer[80], “That by means of speech we can divert our sorrows, mingle our mirth, impart our secrets, communicate our counsels, and make mutual compacts and agreements to supply and assist each other.” Considering speech as contributing thus to so many good purposes, it follows, that the chusing words which have an accurate meaning, and tend to convey clear and distinct ideas, must be one of its capital beauties. This cause of beauty, is too extensive to be handled as a branch of any other subject. To ascertain with accuracy even the proper meaning of words, not to talk of their figurative power, would require a large volume; an useful work indeed; but not to be attempted without a large stock of time, study, and reflection. This branch therefore of the subject I must humbly decline. Nor do I propose to exhaust all the other beauties of language with respect to signification. The reader, in a work like the present, cannot fairly expect more than a slight sketch of those that make the greatest figure. This is a task which I attempt the more willingly, as it appears to be connected with some principles in human nature; and the rules I shall have occasion to lay down, will, if I judge aright, be agreeable illustrations of these principles. Every subject must be of importance that tends in any measure to unfold the human heart; for what other science is more worthy of human beings?

The present subject is so extensive, that, to prevent confusion, it must be divided into parts; and what follows suggests a division into two parts. In every period, two things are to be regarded, equally capital; first, the words of which the period is composed; next, the arrangement of these words. The former resemble the stones that compose a building; and the latter resembles the order in which these stones are placed. Hence the beauty of language with respect to its meaning, may not improperly be distinguished into two kinds. The first consists in a right choice of words or materials for constructing the period; and the other consists in a due arrangement of these words or materials. I shall begin with rules that direct us to a right choice of words, and then proceed to rules that concern their arrangement.

And with respect to the former, communication of thought being the principal end of language, it is a rule, That perspicuity ought not to be sacrificed to any other beauty whatever. If it should be doubted whether perspicuity be a positive beauty, it cannot be doubted, that the want of it is the greatest defect. Nothing therefore in the structure of language ought more to be studied, than to prevent all obscurity in the expression; for to have no meaning, is but one degree worse than to express it so as not to be understood. Want of perspicuity from a wrong arrangement, belongs to the next branch. I shall give a few examples where the obscurity arises from a wrong choice of words; and as this defect is so common in ordinary writers as to make examples from them unnecessary, I confine myself to the most celebrated authors.

Livy, speaking of a rout after a battle,

There is want of neatness even in an ambiguity so slight as that is which arises from the construction merely; as where the period commences with a member which is conceived to be in the nominative case, and which afterward is found to be in the accusative. Example: “Some emotions more peculiarly connected with the fine arts, I propose to handle in separate chapters[81].” Better thus: “Some emotions more peculiarly connected with the fine arts, are proposed to be handled in separate chapters.”

The rule next in order, because next in importance, is, That the language ought to correspond to the subject. Grand or heroic actions or sentiments require elevated language: tender sentiments ought to be expressed in words soft and flowing; and plain language devoid of ornament, is adapted to subjects grave and didactic. Language may be considered as the dress of thought; and where the one is not suited to the other, we are sensible of incongruity, in the same manner as where a judge is dressed like a fop, or a peasant like a man of quality. The intimate connection that words have with their meaning, requires that both be in the same tone. Or, to express the thing more plainly, the impression made by the words ought as nearly as possible to resemble the impression made by the thought. The similar emotions mix sweetly in the mind, and augment the pleasure[82]. On the other hand, where the impressions made by the thought and the words are dissimilar, they are forc’d into a sort of unnatural union, which is disagreeable[83].

In the preceding chapter, concerning the language of passion, I had occasion to give many examples of deviations from this rule with regard to the manner of expressing passions and their sentiments. But as the rule concerns the manner of expressing thoughts and ideas of all kinds, it has an extensive influence in directing us to the choice of proper materials. In that view it must be branched out into several particulars. And I must observe, in the first place, that to write with elegance, it is not sufficient to express barely the conjunction or disjunction of the members of the thought. It is a beauty to find a similar conjunction or disjunction in the words. This may be illustrated by a familiar example. When we have occasion to mention the intimate connection that the soul has with the body, the expression ought to be the soul and body; because the particle the, relative to both, makes a connection in the expression, which resembles in some degree the connection in the thought. But when the soul is distinguished from the body, it is better to say the soul and the body, because the disjunction in the words resembles the disjunction in the thought. In the following examples the connection in the thought is happily imitated in the expression.

Again:

The following passage of Tacitus appears to me not so happy. It approaches to wit by connecting in the foregoing manner things but slightly related, which is not altogether suitable to the dignity or gravity of history.

I am more doubtful about this other instance:

I shall add some other examples where the opposition in the thought is imitated in the words; an imitation that is distinguished by the name of antithesis.

Speaking of Coriolanus soliciting the people to be made consul:

This rule may be extended to govern the construction of sentences or periods. A sentence or period in language ought to express one entire thought or mental proposition; and different thoughts ought to be separated in the expression by placing them in different sentences or periods. It is therefore offending against neatness, to crowd into one period entire thoughts which require more than one; for this is conjoining in language things that are separated in reality; and consequently rejecting that uniformity which ought to be preserved betwixt thought and expression. Of errors against this rule take the following examples.

CÆsar, describing the Suevi:

Burnet, in the history of his own times, giving Lord Sunderland’s character, says,

Lord Bolingbroke, speaking of Strada:

To crowd into a single member of a period, different subjects, is still worse than to crowd them into one period.

Where two things are so connected as to require but a copulative, it is pleasant to find a resemblance in the members of the period, were it even so slight as where both begin with the same letter:

There is obviously a sensible defect in neatness when uniformity is in this case totally neglected[84]; witness the following example, where the construction of two members connected by a copulative is unnecessarily varied.

It is even unpleasant to find a negative and affirmative proposition connected by a copulative.

An artificial connection among the words, is undoubtedly a beauty when it represents any peculiar connection among the constituent parts of the thought; but where there is no such connection, it is a positive deformity, because it makes a discordance betwixt the thought and expression. For the same reason, we ought also to avoid every artificial opposition of words where there is none in the thought. This last, termed verbal antithesis, is studied by writers of no taste; and is relished by readers of the same stamp, because of a certain degree of liveliness in it. They do not consider how incongruous it is, in a grave composition, to cheat the reader, and to make him expect a contrast in the thought, which upon examination is not found there.

Here is a studied opposition in the words, not only without any opposition in the sense, but even where there is a very intimate connection, that of cause and effect; for it is the levity of the wife that vexes the husband.

To conjoin by a copulative, members that signify things opposed in the thought, is an error too gross to be commonly practised. And yet writers are guilty of this fault in some degree, when they conjoin by a copulative things transacted at different periods of time. Hence a want of neatness in the following expression.

In periods of this kind, it appears more neat to express the past time by the participle passive, thus:

So much upon conjunction and disjunction in general. I proceed to apply the rule to comparisons in particular. Where a resemblance betwixt two objects is described, the writer ought to study a resemblance betwixt the two members that express these objects. For it makes the resemblance the more entire to find it extended even to the words. To illustrate this rule, I shall give various examples of deviations from it. I begin with the words that express the resemblance.

This, instead of studying the resemblance of words in a period that expresses a comparison, is going out of one’s road to avoid it. Instead of productions which resemble not ministers great or small, the proper word is writers or authors.

Here the subject plainly demands uniformity in expression instead of variety; and therefore it is submitted whether the period would not do better in the following manner:

Titus Livius, concerning the people of Enna demanding the keys from the Roman garrison, makes the governor say,

Quintus Curtius, speaking of Porus mounted on an elephant, and leading his army to battle:

It is a still greater deviation from congruity, to affect not only variety in the words, but also in the construction. Describing ThermopylÆ, Titus Livius says,

Speaking of Shakespear:

This is studying variety in a period where the beauty lies in uniformity. Better thus:

Next as to the length of the members that signify the resembling objects. To produce a resemblance betwixt such members, they ought not only to be constructed in the same manner, but as nearly as possible be equal in length. By neglecting this circumstance, the following example is defective in neatness.

In the following passage all the errors are accumulated that a period expressing a resemblance can well admit:

The same rule obtains in a comparison where things are opposed to each other. Objects contrasted, not less than what are similar, require a resemblance in the members of the period that express them. The reason is, that contrast has no effect upon the mind, except where the things compared have a resemblance in their capital parts[87]. Therefore, in opposing two circumstances to each other, it remarkably heightens the contrast, to make as entire as possible the resemblance betwixt the other parts, and in particular betwixt the members expressing the two circumstances contrasted. As things are often best illustrated by their contraries, I shall also give examples of deviations from the rule in this case.

Addison says,

Would it not be neater to study uniformity instead of variety? as thus:

For here the contrast is only betwixt a friend and an enemy; and betwixt all the other circumstances, including the members of the period, the resemblance ought to be preserved as entire as possible.

Speaking of a lady’s head-dress:

It should be,

Better:

Sallust, in his history of Catiline’s conspiracy:

We proceed to a rule of a different kind. During the course of a period, the same scene ought to be continued without variation. The changing from person to person, from subject to subject, or from person to subject, within the bounds of a single period, distracts the mind, and affords no time for a solid impression. I illustrate this rule by giving examples of deviations from it.

Speaking of the distemper contracted by Alexander bathing in the river Cydnus and of the cure offered by Philip the physician:

Hook, in his Roman history, speaking of Eumenes, who had been beat down to the ground with a stone, says,

I give another example of a period which is unpleasant, even by a very slight deviation from the rule.

This expression includes two persons, one acquiring, and one inculcating; and the scene is changed without necessity. To avoid this blemish, the thought may be expressed thus:

The bad effect of this change of person is remarkable in the following passage.

Letter to the Lord High Treasurer. Swift.

The following example is a change from subject to persons.

Guardian, Nº 4.

Even so slight a change as to vary the construction in the same period, is unpleasant:

Tit. Liv. l. 22. § 46.

Speaking of Hannibal’s elephants drove back by the enemy upon his own army:

This passage is also faulty in a different respect, that there is no resemblance betwixt the members of the expression, though they import a comparison.

The present head, which relates to the choice of materials, shall be closed with a rule concerning the use of copulatives. Longinus observes, that it animates a period to drop the copulatives; and he gives the following example from Xenophon.

The reason I take to be what follows. A continued sound, if not strong, tends to lay us asleep. An interrupted sound rouses and animates by its repeated impulses. Hence it is, that syllables collected into feet, being pronounced with a sensible interval betwixt each, make more lively impressions than can be made by a continued sound. A period, the members of which are connected by copulatives, produceth an effect upon the mind approaching to that of a continued sound: and therefore to suppress the copulatives must animate a description. To suppress the copulatives hath another good effect. The members of a period connected by the proper copulatives, glide smoothly and gently along; and are a proof of sedateness and leisure in the speaker. On the other hand, a man in the hurry of passion, neglecting copulatives and other particles, expresses the principal image only. Hence it is, that hurry or quick action is best expressed without copulatives:

In this view Longinus[88] justly compares copulatives in a period to strait tying, which in a race obstructs the freedom of motion.

It follows from the same premisses, that to multiply copulatives in the same period ought to be avoided. For if the laying aside copulatives give force and liveliness, a redundancy of them must render the period languid. I appeal to the following instance, though there are not more than two copulatives.

I except the case where the words are intended to express the coldness of the speaker; for there the redundancy of copulatives is a beauty.

And the author shows great taste in varying the expression in the mouth of Peter, who is represented more animated.

We proceed to the second kind of beauty, which consists in a due arrangement of the words or materials. This branch of the subject is not less nice than extensive; and I despair to put it in a clear light, until a sketch be given of the general principles that govern the structure or composition of language.

Every thought, generally speaking, contains one capital object considered as acting or as suffering. This object is expressed by a substantive noun. Its action is expressed by an active verb; and the thing affected by the action is expressed by another substantive noun. Its suffering or passive state is expressed by a passive verb, and the thing which acts upon it, by a substantive noun. Beside these, which are the capital parts of a sentence or period, there are generally under-parts. Each of the substantives as well as the verb, may be qualified. Time, place, purpose, motive, means, instrument, and a thousand other circumstances, may be necessary to complete the thought. And in what manner these several parts are connected together in the expression, will appear from what follows.

In a complete thought or mental proposition, all the members and parts are mutually related, some slightly, some more intimately. In communicating such a thought, it is not sufficient that the component ideas be clearly expressed: it is also necessary, that all the relations contained in the thought be expressed according to their different degrees of intimacy. To annex a certain meaning to a certain sound or word, requires no art. The great nicety in all languages is, to express the various relations that connect together the parts of the thought. Could we suppose this branch of language to be still a secret, it would puzzle, I am apt to think, the greatest grammarian ever existed, to invent an expeditious method. And yet, by the guidance merely of nature, the rude and illiterate have been led to a method so perfect, that it appears not susceptible of any improvement. Without a clear conception of the manner of expressing relations, one at every turn must be at a loss about the beauties of language; and upon that subject therefore I find it necessary to say a few words.

Words that import a relation, must be distinguished from those that do not. Substantives commonly imply no relation, such as animal, man, tree, river. Adjectives, verbs, and adverbs, imply a relation. The adjective good must be connected with some substantive, some being possessed of that quality. The verb write must be applied to some person who writes; and the adverbs moderately, diligently, have plainly a reference to some action which they modify. When in language a relative term is introduced, all that is necessary to complete the expression, is, to ascertain that thing to which the term relates. For answering this purpose, I observe in Greek and Latin two different methods. Adjectives are declined as well as substantives; and declension serves to ascertain the connection that is betwixt them. If the word that expresses the subject be, for example, in the nominative case, so also must the word be that expresses its quality. Example, vir bonus. Again, verbs are related, on the one hand, to the agent; and, on the other, to the subject upon which the action is exerted. A contrivance similar to that now mentioned, serves to express this double relation. The nominative case is appropriated to the agent, the accusative to the passive subject; and the verb is put in the first second or third person, to correspond the more intimately with both. Examples: Ego amo Tulliam; tu amas Semproniam; Brutus amat Portiam. The other method is by juxtaposition, which is necessary with respect to words only that are not declined, adverbs for example, articles, prepositions, and conjunctions. In the English language there are few declensions; and therefore juxtaposition is our chief resource. Adjectives accompany their substantives[89]; an adverb accompanies the word it qualifies; and the verb occupies the middle place betwixt the active and passive subjects to which it relates.

It must be obvious, that those terms which have nothing relative in their signification, cannot be connected in so easy a manner. When two substantives happen to be connected, as cause and effect, as principal and accessory, or in any other manner, such connection cannot be expressed by contiguity solely; for words must often in a period be placed together which are not thus related. The relation betwixt substantives, therefore, cannot otherwise be expressed than by particles denoting the relation. Latin indeed and Greek, by their declensions, go a certain length to express such relations, without the aid of particles. The relation of property, for example, betwixt CÆsar and his horse is, expressed by putting the latter in the nominative case, the former in the genitive; equus CÆsaris. The like in English, CÆsar’s horse. But in other instances, declensions not being used in the English language, relations of this kind are commonly expressed by prepositions.

This form of connecting by prepositions, is not confined to substantives. Qualities, attributes, manner of existing or acting, and all other circumstances, may in the same manner be connected with the substantives to which they relate. This is done artificially by converting the circumstance into a substantive, in which condition it is qualified to be connected with the principal subject by a preposition, in the manner above described. For example, the adjective wise being converted into the substantive wisdom, gives opportunity for the expression “a man of wisdom,” instead of the more simple expression, a wise man. This variety in the expression, enriches language. I observe beside, that the using a preposition in this case, is not always a matter of choice. It is indispensable with respect to every circumstance that cannot be expressed by a single adjective or adverb.

To pave the way for the rules of arrangement, one other preliminary must be discussed, which is, to explain the difference betwixt a natural style, and that where transposition or inversion prevails. There are, it is true, no precise boundaries betwixt these two; for they run into each other, like the shades of different colours. No person however is at a loss to distinguish them in their extremes: and it is necessary to make the distinction; because though some of the rules I shall have occasion to mention are common to both, yet each has rules peculiar to itself. In a natural style, relative words are by juxtaposition connected with those to which they relate, going before or after, according to the peculiar genius of the language. Again, a circumstance connected by a preposition, follows naturally the word with which it is connected. But this arrangement may be varied, when a different order is more beautiful. A circumstance may be placed before the word with which it is connected by a preposition; and may be interjected even betwixt a relative word and that to which it relates. When such liberties are frequently taken, the style becomes inverted or transposed.

But as the liberty of inversion is a capital point in handling the present subject, it will be necessary to examine it more narrowly, and in particular to trace the several degrees in which an inverted style recedes more and more from that which is natural. And first, as to the placing a circumstance before the word with which it is connected, I observe, that it is the easiest of all inversion, even so easy as to be consistent with a style that is properly termed natural. Witness the following examples.

The interjecting a circumstance betwixt a relative word and that to which it relates, is more properly termed inversion; because, by a violent disjunction of words intimately connected, it recedes farther from a natural style. But this liberty has also degrees; for the disjunction is more violent in some cases than in others. This I must also explain: and to give a just notion of the difference, I must crave liberty of my reader to enter a little more into an abstract subject, than would otherwise be my choice.

In nature, though a substance cannot exist without its qualities, nor a quality without a substance; yet in our conception of these, a material difference may be remarked. I cannot conceive a quality but as belonging to some subject: it makes indeed a part of the idea which is formed of the subject. But the opposite holds not. Though I cannot form a conception of a subject devoid of all qualities, a partial conception may however be formed of it, laying aside or abstracting from any particular quality. I can, for example, form the idea of a fine Arabian horse without regard to his colour, or of a white horse without regard to his size. Such partial conception of a subject, is still more easy with respect to action or motion; which is an occasional attribute only, and has not the same permanency with colour or figure. I cannot form an idea of motion independent of a body; but there is nothing more easy than to form an idea of a body at rest. Hence it appears, that the degree of inversion depends greatly on the order in which the related words are placed. When a substantive occupies the first place, we cannot foresee what is to be said of it. The idea therefore which this word suggests, must subsist in the mind at least for a moment, independent of the relative words afterward introduced; and if it can so subsist, that moment may without difficulty be prolonged by interjecting a circumstance betwixt the substantive and its connections. Examples therefore of this kind, will scarce alone be sufficient to denominate a style inverted. The case is very different, where the word that occupies the first place, denotes a quality or an action; for as these cannot be conceived without a subject, they cannot without greater violence be separated from the subject that follows. And for that reason, every such separation by means of an interjected circumstance belongs to an inverted style.

To illustrate this doctrine examples being necessary, I shall begin with those where the word first introduced does not imply a relation.

In the following examples, where the word first introduced imports a relation, the disjunction will be found more violent.

Language would have no great power, were it confined to the natural order of ideas. A thousand beauties may be compassed by inversion, that must be relinquished in a natural arrangement. I shall soon have an opportunity to make this evident. In the mean time, it ought not to escape observation, that the mind of man is happily so constituted as to relish inversion, though in one respect unnatural; and to relish it so much, as in many cases to admit a violent disjunction of words that by the sense are intimately connected. I scarce can say that inversion has any limits; though I may venture to pronounce, that the disjunction of articles, conjunctions, or prepositions, from the words to which they belong, never has a good effect. The following example with relation to a preposition, is perhaps as tolerable as any of the kind.

I give notice to the reader, that I am now ready to enter upon the rules of arrangement; beginning with a natural style, and proceeding gradually to what is the most inverted. And in the arrangement of a period, as well as in a right choice of words, the first and great object being perspicuity, it is above laid down as a rule, That perspicuity ought not to be sacrificed to any other beauty whatever. Ambiguities occasioned by a wrong arrangement are of two sorts; one where the arrangement leads to a wrong sense, and one where the sense is left doubtful. The first being the more culpable, shall take the lead, beginning with examples of words put in a wrong place.

This arrangement leads to a wrong sense: The adverb merely seems by its position to affect the preceding word; whereas it is intended to affect the following words an ordinary presence; and therefore the arrangement ought to be thus.

The term only is intended to qualify the noun degeneracy, and not the participle discontinued; and therefore the arrangement ought to be as follows.

The expression here leads evidently to a wrong sense. The adverb at least, ought not to be connected with the substantive books, but with collector, thus:

Speaking of Lewis XIV.

Better thus:

This arrangement removes the wrong sense occasioned by the juxtaposition of majesty and at least.

The following examples are of the wrong arrangement of members.

The structure of this period leads to a meaning which is not the author’s, viz. power limited by a strict execution of the laws. This wrong sense is removed by the following arrangement.

The wrong sense occasioned by this arrangement, may be easily prevented by varying it thus:

One would think that the search was confined to the sea-shore; but as the meaning is, that the great stone was found by the sea-shore, the period ought to be arranged thus:

Next of a wrong arrangement where the sense is left doubtful; beginning, as in the former sort, with examples of the wrong arrangement of words in a member.

Here it is left doubtful whether the modification by degrees relate to the preceding member or to what follows. It should be,

The ambiguity is removed by the following arrangement.

The ambiguity may be removed thus:

In the following examples the sense is left doubtful by a wrong arrangement of members.

Here, so far as can be gathered from the arrangement, it is doubtful, whether the object introduced by way of simile, relate to what goes before or to what follows. The ambiguity is removed by the following arrangement.

Better thus:

Speaking of the superstitious practice of locking up the room where a person of distinction dies:

Better thus:

Speaking of some indecencies in conversation:

The ambiguity vanishes in the following arrangement.

Speaking of a discovery in natural philosophy, that colour is not a quality of matter:

Better thus:

Better thus:

Better thus:

From these examples, the following observation will readily occur, that a circumstance ought never to be placed betwixt two capital members of a period; for by such situation it must always be doubtful, so far as we gather from the arrangement, to which of the two members it belongs. Where it is interjected, as it ought to be, betwixt parts of the member to which it belongs, the ambiguity is removed, and the capital members are kept distinct, which is a great beauty in composition. In general, to preserve members distinct which signify things distinguished in the thought, the sure method is, to place first in the consequent member some word that cannot connect with what precedes it.

If by any one it shall be thought, that the objections here are too scrupulous, and that the defect of perspicuity is easily supplied by accurate punctuation; the answer is, That punctuation may remove an ambiguity, but will never produce that peculiar beauty which is felt when the sense comes out clearly and distinctly by means of a happy arrangement. Such influence has this beauty, that by a natural transition of feeling, it is communicated to the very sound of the words, so as in appearance to improve the music of the period. But as this curious subject comes in more properly afterward, it is sufficient at present to appeal to experience, that a period so arranged as to bring out the sense clear, seems always more musical than where the sense is left in any degree doubtful.

A rule deservedly occupying the second place, is, That words expressing things connected in the thought, ought to be placed as near together as possible. This rule is derived immediately from human nature, in which there is discovered a remarkable propensity to place together things that are in any manner connected[90]. Where things are arranged according to their connections, we have a sense of order: otherwise we have a sense of disorder, as of things placed by chance. And we naturally place words in the same order in which we would place the things they signify. The bad effect of a violent separation of words or members thus intimately connected, will appear from the following examples.

Here the verb or assertion is, by a pretty long circumstance, violently separated from the subject to which it refers. This makes a harsh arrangement; the less excusable that the fault is easily prevented by placing the circumstance before the verb or assertion, after the following manner:

Better thus:

If any one have a curiosity for more specimens of this kind, they will be found without number in the works of the same author.

A pronoun, which saves the naming a person or thing a second time, ought to be placed as near as possible to the name of that person or thing. This is a branch of the foregoing rule; and with the reason there given, another concurs, viz. That if other ideas intervene, it is difficult to recal the person or thing by reference.

Better thus:

Better:

The arrangement here leads to a wrong sense, as if the ground were taken up, not the paper. Better thus:

The following rule depends on the communication of emotions or feelings to related objects, a principle in human nature we have had more than one occasion to mention. We find this operation, even where the objects are not otherwise related than by the juxtaposition of the words that express them. Hence to elevate or depress an object, one method is, to join it in the arrangement to another that is naturally high or low. Witness the following speech of Eumenes to the Roman senate.

To join the Romans with the gods in the same enunciation, is an artful stroke of flattery, because it tacitly puts them on a level. On the other hand, when the purpose is to degrade or vilify an object, this is done successfully by ranking it with one that is really low:

Circumstances in a period resemble small stones in a building employ’d to fill up vacancies among those of a larger size. In the arrangement of a period, such under-parts crowded together make a poor figure; and never are graceful but when interspersed among the capital parts. I shall illustrate this rule by the following example.

Here two circumstances, viz. by computation and in this kingdom, are crowded together unnecessarily. They make a better appearance separated in the following manner.

If there be room for a choice, the sooner a circumstance be introduced, the better. Circumstances are proper for that coolness of mind, with which a period as well as a work is commenced. In the progress, the mind warms, and has a greater relish for matters of importance. When a circumstance is placed at the beginning or near the beginning of the period, the transition from it to the principal subject is agreeable: it is like ascending or mounting upward. On the other hand, to place it late in the period has a bad effect; for after being engaged in the principal subject, one is with reluctance brought down to give attention to a circumstance. Hence evidently the preference of the following arrangement,

before this other,

For this reason the following period is exceptionable in point of arrangement:

which, with a slight alteration, may be improved thus:

The bad effect of placing a circumstance last or late in a period, will appear from the following examples.

Better thus:

Better thus:

Better thus:

In arranging a period, it is of importance to determine in what part of it a word makes the greatest figure, whether in the beginning, during the currency, or at the close. The breaking silence rouses the attention to what is said; and therefore deeper impression is made at the beginning than during the currency. The beginning, however, must yield to the close; which being succeeded by a pause, affords time for a word to make its deepest impression. Hence the following rule, That to give the utmost force to a period, it ought if possible to be closed with that word which makes the greatest figure. The opportunity of a pause should not be thrown away upon accessories, but reserved for the principal object, in order that it may make a full impression. This is an additional reason against closing a period with a circumstance. There are however periods that admit not this structure; and in that case, the capital word ought if possible to be placed in the front, which next to the close is the most advantageous for making an impression. Hence, in directing our discourse to any man, we ought to begin with his name; and one will be sensible of a degradation, when this rule is neglected, as it frequently is for the sake of verse. I give the following examples.

In these examples the name of the person addressed to makes a mean figure, being like a circumstance slipt into a corner. That this criticism is well founded, we need no other proof than Addison’s translation of the last example.

Every one must be sensible of a dignity in the invocation at the beginning, which that in the middle is far from reaching. I mean not however to censure this expression. On the contrary it appears beautiful, by distinguishing the respect due to a father and to a son.

The substance of what is said in this and the foregoing section, upon the method of arranging the words of a period so as to make the strongest impression with respect to sound as well as signification, is comprehended in the following observation. That order of the words in a period will always be the most agreeable, where, without obscuring the sense, the most important images, the most sonorous words, and the longest members, bring up the rear.

Hitherto of arranging single words, single members, and single circumstances. But the enumeration of many particulars in the same period is often necessary; and the question is, In what order they should be placed. It does not seem easy at first view to bring a subject apparently so loose under any general rules. But luckily reflecting upon what is said in the first chapter about order, we find rules laid down to our hand, so as to leave us no harder task than their application to the present question. And, first, with respect to the enumerating a number of particulars of equal rank, it is laid down in the place cited, that as there is no foundation for preferring any one before the rest, it is indifferent to the mind in what order they be viewed. And it is only necessary to be added here, that for the same reason, it is indifferent in what order they be named. 2dly, If a number of objects of the same kind, differing only in size, are to be ranged along a straight line, the most agreeable order to the eye is that of an increasing series. In surveying a number of such objects, beginning at the least and proceeding to greater and greater, the mind swells gradually with the successive objects, and in its progress has a very sensible pleasure. Precisely for the same reason, the words expressive of such objects ought to be placed in the same order. The beauty of this figure, which may be termed a climax in sense, has escaped Lord Bolingbroke in the first member of the following period.

The following arrangement has sensibly a better effect.

Whether the same rule ought to be followed in enumerating men of different ranks, seems doubtful. On the one hand, a procession of a number of persons, presenting the lowest class first, and rising upon the eye in succession till it terminate upon the highest, is undoubtedly the most agreeable order. On the other hand, in every list of names, it is customary to set the person of the greatest dignity at the top, and to descend gradually through his inferiors. Where the purpose is to honour the persons named according to their rank, the latter order ought to be followed; but every one who regards himself only, or his reader, will chuse the former order. 3dly, As the sense of order directs the eye to descend from the principal to its greatest accessory, and from the whole to its greatest part, and in the same order through all the parts and accessories till we arrive at the minutest; the same order ought to be followed in the enumeration of such particulars. I shall give one familiar example. Talking of the parts of a column, viz. the base, the shaft, the capital, these are capable of six different arrangements, and the question is, Which is the best? When one has in view the erection of a column, he will naturally be led to express the parts in the order above mentioned; which at the same time is agreeable by mounting upward. But considering the column as it stands without reference to its erection, the sense of order, as observed above, requires the chief part to be named first. For that reason we begin with the shaft; and the base comes next in order, that we may ascend from it to the capital. Lastly, In tracing the particulars of any natural operation, order requires that we follow the course of nature. Historical facts are related in the order of time. We begin at the founder of a family, and proceed from him to his descendents. But in describing a lofty oak, we begin with the trunk, and ascend to the branches.

When force and liveliness of expression are aimed at, the rule is, to suspend the thought as much as possible, and to bring it out full and entire at the close. This cannot be done but by inverting the natural arrangement, and by introducing a word or member before its time. By such inversion our curiosity is raised about what is to follow; and it is agreeable to have our curiosity gratified at the close of the period. Such arrangement produceth on the mind an effect similar to a stroke exerted upon the body by the whole collected force of the agent. On the other hand, where a period is so constructed as to admit more than one complete close in the sense, the curiosity of the reader is exhausted at the first close, and what follows appears languid or superfluous. His disappointment contributes also to this appearance, when he finds, that, contrary to his expectation, the period is not yet finished. Cicero, and after him Quintilian, recommend the verb to the last place. This method evidently tends to suspend the sense till the close of the period; for without the verb the sense cannot be complete. And when the verb happens to be the capital word, which is frequently the case, it ought at any rate to be put last, according to another rule, above laid down. I proceed as usual to illustrate this rule by examples. The following period is placed in its natural order.

The period thus arranged admits a full close upon the word composition; after which it goes on languidly, and closes without force. This blemish will be avoided by the following arrangement.

Better thus:

Better:

Better:

Better:

None of the rules for the composition of periods are more liable to be abused, than those last mentioned: witness many Latin writers, among the moderns especially, whose style, by inversions too violent, is rendered harsh and obscure. Suspension of the thought till the close of the period, ought never to be preferred before perspicuity. Neither ought such suspension to be attempted in a long period; because in that case the mind is bewildered among a profusion of words. A traveller, while he is puzzled about the road, relishes not the finest prospects.

The foregoing rules concern the arrangement of a single period. I shall add one rule more concerning the distribution of a discourse into different periods. A short period is lively and familiar. A long period, requiring more attention, makes an impression grave and solemn. In general, a writer ought to study a mixture of long and short periods, which prevents an irksome uniformity, and entertains the mind with variety of impressions. In particular, long periods ought to be avoided till the reader’s attention be thoroughly engaged; and therefore a discourse, especially of the familiar kind, ought never to be introduced with a long period. For that reason, the commencement of a letter to a very young lady on her marriage is faulty.

See a stronger example in the commencement of Cicero’s oration, Pro Archia poeta.

Before we proceed farther, it may be proper to take a review of the rules laid down in this and the preceding section, in order to make some general observations. The natural order of the words and members of a period, is undoubtedly the same with the natural order of the ideas that compose the thought. The tendency of many of the foregoing rules, is to substitute an artificial arrangement, in order to reach some beauty either of sound or meaning that cannot be reached in the natural order. But seldom it happens, that in the same period there is place for a plurality of these rules. If one beauty can be catched, another must be relinquished. The only question is, Which ought to be preferred? This is a question that cannot be resolved by any general rule. But practice, supported by a good taste, will in most instances make the choice easy. The component words and members of a period, are ascertained by the subject. If the natural order be not relished, a few trials will discover that artificial order which has the best effect. All that can be said in general is, that in making a choice, sound ought to yield to signification.

The transposing words and members out of their natural order, so remarkable in the learned languages, has been the subject of much speculation. It is agreed on all hands, that such transposition or inversion bestows upon a period a very sensible degree of force and elevation; and yet writers seem to be at a loss in what manner to account for this effect. CerÇeau[91] ascribes so much power to inversion, as to make it the characteristic of French verse, and the single circumstance which in that language distinguishes verse from prose. And yet he pretends not to say, that it hath any other power but to raise surprise; he must mean curiosity; which is done by suspending the thought during the period, and bringing it out entire at the close. This indeed is one power of inversion; but neither its sole power, nor even that which is the most remarkable, as is made plain above. But waving censure, which is not an agreeable task, I enter into the matter. And I begin with observing, that if a conformity betwixt words and their meaning be agreeable, it must of course be agreeable to find the same order or arrangement in both. Hence the beauty of a plain or natural style, where the order of the words corresponds precisely to the order of the ideas. Nor is this the single beauty of a natural style: it is also agreeable upon account of its simplicity and perspicuity. This observation throws light upon the subject. For if a natural style be in itself agreeable, a transposed style cannot be so. And therefore, it cannot otherwise be agreeable, but as contributing to some positive beauty which is excluded in a natural style. To be confirmed in this opinion, we need but reflect upon some of the foregoing rules, which make it evident, that language, by means of inversion, is susceptible of many beauties that are totally excluded in a natural arrangement of words. From these premisses it clearly follows, that inversion ought not to be indulged, unless in order to reach some beauty superior to that of a natural style. It may with great certainty be pronounced, that every inversion which is not governed by this rule, will appear harsh and strained, and be disrelished by every one of taste. Hence the beauty of inversion when happily conducted; the beauty, not of an end, but of means, as furnishing opportunity for numberless ornaments that find no place in a natural style. Hence the force, the elevation, the harmony, the cadence, of some compositions. Hence the manifold beauties of the Greek and Roman tongues, of which living languages afford but faint imitations.

SECT. III.

Beauty of language from a resemblance betwixt sound and signification.

THE resemblance betwixt the sound and signification of certain words, is a beauty, which has escaped no critical writer, and yet is not handled with accuracy by any of them. They have probably been erroneously of opinion, that a beauty so obvious in the feeling, requires no explanation in the understanding. In order to supply this defect, I shall give examples of the various resemblances betwixt sound and signification; and at the same time shall endeavour to explain why such resemblances are beautiful. I begin with examples where the resemblance betwixt the sound and signification is the most entire; proceeding to others, where the resemblance is less and less so.

There being frequently a strong resemblance betwixt different sounds, it will not be surprising to find a natural sound imitated by one that is articulate. Thus the sound of a bow-string is imitated by the words that express it.

The sound of felling trees in a wood:

No person can be at a loss about the cause of this beauty. It is obviously that of imitation.

That there is any other natural resemblance betwixt sound and signification, must not be taken for granted. There is evidently no resemblance betwixt sound and motion, nor betwixt sound and sentiment. In this matter, we are apt to be deceived by artful reading or pronouncing. The same passage may be pronounced in many different tones, elevated or humble, sweet or harsh, brisk or melancholy, so as to accord with the thought or sentiment. Such concord, depending on artful pronunciation, must be distinguished from that concord betwixt sound and sense, which is perceived in some expressions independent of artful pronunciation. The latter is the poet’s work: the former must be attributed to the reader. Another thing contributes still more to the deceit. In language, sound and sense are so intimately connected, as that the properties of the one are readily communicated to the other. An emotion of grandeur, of sweetness, of melancholy, or of compassion, though occasioned by the thought solely, is transferred upon the words, which by that means resemble in appearance the thought that is expressed by them[92]. I have great reason to recommend these observations to my reader, considering how inaccurately the present subject is handled by critics. Not one of them distinguishes the natural resemblance of sound and signification, from the artificial resemblance now described. Witness Vida in particular, who in a very long passage has given very few examples, but what are of the latter kind[93].

That there may be a resemblance betwixt natural and artificial sounds, is self-evident; and that in fact there exist such resemblances successfully employ’d by writers of genius, is clear from the foregoing examples, and many others that might be given. But we may safely pronounce, that this natural resemblance can be carried no farther. The objects of the several senses, differ so widely from each other as to exclude any resemblance. Sound in particular, whether articulate or inarticulate, resembles not in any degree taste, smell, or motion; and as little can it resemble any internal sentiment, feeling, or emotion. But must we then agree, that nothing but natural sound can be imitated by that which is articulate? Taking imitation in its proper sense, as involving a resemblance betwixt two objects, the proposition must be admitted. And yet in many passages that are not descriptive of natural sound, every one must be sensible of a peculiar concord betwixt the sound of the words and their meaning. As there can be no doubt of the fact, what remains is, to inquire into its cause.

Resembling causes may produce effects that have no resemblance; and causes that have no resemblance may produce resembling effects. A magnificent building, for example, resembles not in any degree an heroic action; and yet the emotions they produce, being concordant, bear a resemblance to each other. We are still more sensible of this resemblance, in a song where the music is properly adjusted to the sentiment. There is no resemblance betwixt thought and sound; but there is the strongest resemblance betwixt the emotion raised by music tender and pathetic, and that raised by the complaint of an unsuccessful lover. To apply these examples to the present subject, I observe, that the sound even of a single word makes, in some instances, an impression resembling that which is made by the thing it signifies; witness the word running, composed of two short syllables; and more remarkably the words rapidity, impetuosity, precipitation. Brutal manners produce in the spectator, an emotion not unlike what is produced by a harsh and rough sound. Hence the figurative expression, rugged manners; an expression peculiarly agreeable by the relation of the sound to the sense. Again, the word little, being pronounced with a very small aperture of the mouth, has a weak and faint sound, which makes an impression resembling that made by any diminutive object. This resemblance of effects, is still more remarkable where a number of words are connected together in a period. Words pronounced in succession make often a strong impression; and when this impression happens to accord with that made by the sense, a peculiar pleasure arises. The thought or sentiment produces one pleasant emotion: the melody or tone of the words produces another. But the chief pleasure proceeds from having these two concordant emotions combined in perfect harmony, and carried on in the mind to a full close[94]. Except in the single case where sound is described, all the examples given by critics of sense being imitated in sound, resolve into a resemblance of effects. Emotions raised by sound and signification may have a resemblance; but sound itself cannot have a resemblance to any thing but sound.

Proceeding now to particulars, and beginning with those cases where the emotions have the strongest resemblance, I observe, first, That in pronouncing a number of syllables in succession, an emotion is sometimes raised extremely similar to that raised by successive motion. This may be made evident even to those who are defective in taste, by the following fact, that the term movement in all languages is equally apply’d to both. In this manner, successive motion, such as walking, running, galloping, can be imitated by a succession of long or short syllables, or by a due mixture of both. For example, slow motion may be aptly imitated in a verse where long syllables prevail; especially when aided by a slow pronunciation:

On the other hand, swift motion is imitated by a succession of short syllables:

Again:

Thirdly, a line composed of monosyllables, makes an impression, by the frequency of its pauses, similar to what is made by laborious interrupted motion:

Fourthly, the impression made by rough sounds in succession, resembles that made by rough or tumultuous motion. On the other hand, the impression of smooth sounds resembles that of gentle motion. The following is an example of both.

Another example of the latter:

Fifthly, prolonged motion is expressed in an Alexandrine line. The first example shall be of slow motion prolonged:

The next example is of forcible motion prolonged:

The last shall be of rapid motion prolonged:

Again, speaking of a rock torn from the brow of a mountain,

Sixthly, a period consisting mostly of long syllables, that is, of syllables pronounced slow, produceth an emotion resembling faintly that which is produced by gravity and solemnity. Hence the beauty of the following verse.

Seventhly, a slow succession of ideas is a circumstance that belongs equally to settled melancholy, and to a period composed of polysyllables pronounced slow. Hence, by similarity of emotions, the latter is imitative of the former:

Eighthly, a long syllable made short, or a short syllable made long, raises, by the difficulty of pronouncing contrary to custom, a feeling similar to that of hard labour:

Ninthly, harsh or rough words pronounced with difficulty, excite a feeling resembling that which proceeds from the labour of thought to a dull writer:

I shall close with one other example, which of all makes the finest figure. In the first section mention is made of a climax in sound, and in the second of a climax in sense. It belongs to the present subject to observe, that when these coincide in the same passage, the concordance of sound and sense is delightful. The reader is conscious not only of pleasure from the two climaxes separately, but of an additional pleasure from their concordance, and from finding the sense so justly imitated by the sound. In this respect, no periods are more perfect than those borrowed from Cicero in the first section.

The concord betwixt sense and sound is not less agreeable in what may be termed an anticlimax, where the progress is from great to little; for this has the effect to make diminutive objects appear still more diminutive. Horace affords a striking example:

The arrangement here is singularly artful. The first place is occupied by the verb, which is the capital word by its sense as well as sound. The close is reserved for the word that is the meanest in sense as well as in sound. And it must not be overlooked, that the resembling sounds of the two last syllables give a ludicrous air to the whole.

Reviewing the foregoing examples, it appears to me, contrary to expectation, that in passing from the strongest resemblances to those that are fainter, the pleasure rises gradually in proportion. Can this be accounted for? or shall I renounce my taste as capricious? When I renew the experiment again and again, I feel no wavering, but the greatest pleasure constantly from the faintest resemblances. And yet how can this be? for if the pleasure lie in imitation, must not the strongest resemblance afford the greatest pleasure? From this vexing dilemma, I am happily relieved, by reflecting on a doctrine established in the chapter of resemblance and contrast, that the pleasure of resemblance is the greatest, where it is least expected, and where the objects compared are in their capital circumstances widely different. Nor will this appear surprising, when we descend to familiar examples. It raiseth not wonder in the smallest degree, to find the most perfect resemblance betwixt two eggs of the same animal. It is more rare to find such resemblance betwixt two human faces; and upon that account such an appearance raises some degree of wonder. But this emotion rises to a still greater height, when we find in a pebble, an aggat, or any natural production, a perfect resemblance to a tree or other organised body. We cannot hesitate a moment, in applying these observations to the present subject. What occasion of wonder can it be to find one sound resembling another, where both are of the same kind? It is not so common to find a resemblance betwixt an articulate sound and one not articulate; and accordingly the imitation here affords some slight pleasure. But the pleasure swells greatly, when we employ sound to imitate things it resembles not otherwise than by the effects produced in the mind.

I have had occasion to observe, that to complete the resemblance betwixt sound and sense, artful pronunciation contributes not a little. Pronunciation therefore may be considered as a branch of the present subject; and with some observations upon it I shall conclude the section.

In order to give a just idea of pronunciation, it must be distinguished from singing. The latter is carried on by notes, requiring each of them a different aperture of the windpipe. The notes properly belonging to the former, are expressed by different apertures of the mouth, without varying the aperture of the windpipe. This however doth not hinder pronunciation to borrow from singing, as a man sometimes is naturally led to do, in expressing a vehement passion.

In reading, as in singing, there is a key-note. Above this note the voice is frequently elevated, to make the sound correspond to the elevation of the subject. But the mind in an elevated state, is disposed to action. Therefore in order to a rest, it must be brought down to the key-note. Hence the term cadence.

The only general rule that can be given for directing the pronunciation, is, To sound the words in such a manner as to imitate the things they represent, or of which they are the symbols. The ideas which make the greatest figure, ought to be expressed with a peculiar emphasis. In expressing an elevated subject, the voice ought to be raised above its ordinary pitch; and words signifying dejection of mind, ought to be pronounced in a low note. A succession of sounds gradually ascending from low to high notes, represents an ascending series of objects. An opposite succession of sounds, is fitted for objects or sentiments that descend gradually. In Dryden’s ode of Alexander’s feast, the line, Faln, faln, faln, faln, ought to be pronounced with a falling voice; and is pronounced in that manner, by every one of taste, without instruction. Another circumstance contributes to the resemblance betwixt sense and sound, which is slow or quick pronunciation. For though the length or shortness of the syllables with relation to each other, be in prose ascertained in some measure, and in verse always; yet taking a whole line or period together, it is arbitrary to pronounce it slow or fast. Hence it is, that a period expressing what is solemn or deliberate, ought to be pronounced slow; and ought to be pronounced quick, when it expresses any thing brisk, lively, or impetuous.

The art of pronouncing with propriety and grace, being calculated to make the sound an echo to the sense, scarce admits of any other general rule than that above mentioned. This rule may indeed be branched out into many particular rules and observations: but these belong not properly to the present undertaking, because they cannot be explained in words. We have not words to signify the different degrees of high and low, loud and soft, fast and slow; and before these differences can be made the subject of regular instruction, notes must be invented resembling those employ’d in music. We have reason to believe, that in Greece every tragedy was accompanied with such notes, in order to ascertain the pronunciation. But the moderns hitherto have not thought of this refinement. Cicero indeed[95], without the help of notes, pretends to give rules for ascertaining the several tones of voice that are proper in expressing the several passions; and it must be acknowledged, that in this attempt he has exhausted the whole power of language. At the same time, every person of judgement must see, that these rules avail little in point of instruction. The very words he employs, are scarce intelligible, except to those who beforehand are acquainted with the subject.

To vary the scene a little, I propose to close with a slight comparison betwixt singing and pronouncing. In this comparison the five following circumstances relative to articulate sound, must be kept in view. 1st, It is harsh or smooth. 2d, A sound or syllable, is long or short. 3d, It is pronounced high or low. 4th, It is pronounced loud or soft. And, lastly, a number of words in succession constituting a period or member of a period, are pronounced slow or quick. Of these five, the first depending on the component letters, and the second being ascertained by custom, admit not any variety in pronouncing. The three last are arbitrary, depending on the will of the person who pronounces; and it is chiefly in the artful management of these, that just pronunciation consists. With respect to the first circumstance, music has evidently the advantage; for all its notes are agreeable to the ear, which is not always the case of articulate sound. With respect to the second, long and short syllables variously combined, produce a great variety of feet; yet far inferior to the variety which is found in the multiplied combinations of musical notes. With respect to high and low notes, pronunciation is still more inferior to singing. For it is observed by Dionysius of Halicarnassus[96], that in pronouncing, i.e. without altering the aperture of the windpipe, the voice is confined within three notes and a half. Singing has a much greater compass. With respect to the two last circumstances, pronunciation equals singing.

In this discourse, I have mentioned none of the beauties of language, but what arise from words taken in their proper sense. Those beauties that depend on the metaphorical and figurative power of words, are reserved to be treated in chap. 20.

SECT. IV.

VERSIFICATION.

THE music of verse, though handled by every grammarian, merits more attention than has been given it. The subject is intimately connected with human nature; and to explain it thoroughly, several nice and delicate feelings must be employ’d. Entering upon this subject, it occurs as a preliminary point, By what mark is verse distinguished from prose? The discussion of this point is necessary, were it for no other purpose but to ascertain the nature and limits of our subject. To produce this distinguishing mark, is a task not perhaps so easy as may at first be apprehended. Verse of every sort, has, it is true, rules for its construction. It is composed of feet, the number and variety of which are ascertained. Prose, though also composed of feet, is more loose and scarce subjected to any rules. But many are ignorant of these rules: Are such left without means to make the distinction? And even with respect to the learned, must they apply the rule before they can with certainty pronounce whether the composition be prose or verse? This will hardly be maintained; and therefore, instead of rules, the ear must be appealed to as the proper judge. But what gain we by being thus referred to another standard? It still recurs, by what mark does the ear distinguish verse from prose? The proper and satisfactory answer is, That these make different impressions, which are readily distinguishable by every one who hath an ear. This advances us one step in our inquiry.

Taking it then for granted, that verse makes upon the ear a different impression from that of prose; nothing remains but to explain this difference, and to assign its cause. To these ends, I must call to my aid an observation made above in treating of the sound of words, that they are more agreeable to the ear when composed of long and short syllables than when all the syllables are of the same sort. A continued sound in the same tone, makes an impression that comes not up to any idea we have of music. The same note successively renewed by intervals, is more agreeable; but still makes not a musical impression. To produce this impression, variety is necessary as well as number. The successive sounds or syllables, must be some of them long, some of them short; and if also high and low, the music is the more perfect. Now if this impression can be made by single words, much more by a plurality in an orderly succession. The musical impression made by a period consisting of long and short syllables arranged in a certain order, is what the Greeks call rhythmus, the Latins, numerus, and we modulation or measure. Cicero justly observes, that in one continued sound there is no modulation: “Numerus in continuatione nullus est.” But in what follows he is wide of the truth, if by numerus he means modulation or musical measure. “Distinctio, et Æqualium et sÆpe variorum intervallorum percussio, numerum conficit; quem in cadentibus guttis, quod intervallis distinguuntur, notare possumus.” Falling drops, whether with equal or unequal intervals, are certainly not musical. We begin then only to be sensible of a musical expression, when the notes are varied. And this also was probably the opinion of the author cited, though his expression be a little unguarded[97].

It will probably occur, that modulation, so far as connected with long and short syllables combined in a sentence, may be found in prose as well as in verse; considering especially, that in both, particular words are accented or pronounced in a higher tone than ordinary; and therefore that the difference betwixt them cannot consist in modulation merely. The observation is just; and it follows, that the distinction betwixt prose and verse, since it depends not on modulation merely, must arise from the difference of the modulation. This is precisely the case, though the difference cannot with any accuracy be explained in words. Verse is more musical than prose; and of the former, the modulation is more perfect than of the latter. The difference betwixt verse and prose, resembles the difference in music properly so called betwixt the song and the recitative. And the resemblance is not the less complete, that these differences, like the shades of colours, approximate sometimes so nearly as scarce to be discernible. A recitative in its movement approaches sometimes to the liveliness of a song; which on the other hand degenerates sometimes toward a plain recitative. Nothing is more distinguishable from prose, than the bulk of Virgil’s hexameters. Many of those composed by Horace, are very little removed from prose. Sapphic verse has a very sensible modulation. That on the other hand of an Iambic, is extremely faint[98].

This more perfect modulation of articulate sounds, is what distinguisheth verse from prose. Verse is subjected to certain inflexible laws. The number and variety of the component syllables are ascertained, and in some measure the order of succession. Such restraint makes it a matter of difficulty to compose in verse; a difficulty that is not to be surmounted but by a singular genius. Useful lessons of every sort convey’d to us in verse, are agreeable by the union of music with instruction. But are we for that reason to reject knowledge offered in a plainer dress? This would be ridiculous; for knowledge may be acquired without music, and music is entertaining independent of knowledge. Many there are, not less willing than capable to instruct us, who have no genius for verse. Hence the use of prose, which, for the reason now given, is not confined to precise rules. There belongs to it, a certain modulation of an inferior kind, which, being extremely ornamental, ought to be the aim of every writer. But to succeed in it, practice is necessary more than genius. Nor are we rigid on this article. Provided the work answer its chief end of instruction, we are the less solicitous about its dress.

Having ascertained the nature and limits of our subject, I proceed to the laws by which it is regulated. These would be endless, were verse of all different kinds to be taken under consideration. I propose therefore to confine the inquiry, to Latin or Greek hexameter, and to French and English heroic verse; which perhaps will carry me farther than the reader may chuse to follow. The observations I shall have occasion to make, will at any rate be sufficient for a specimen; and these with proper variations may easily be transferred to the composition of other sorts of verse.

Before I enter upon particulars, it must be premised in general, that to verse of every kind, five things are of importance. 1st, The number of syllables that compose a verse. 2d, The different lengths of syllables, i.e. the difference of time taken in pronouncing. 3d, The arrangement of these syllables combined in words. 4th, The pauses or stops in pronouncing. 5th, Pronouncing syllables in a high or low tone. The three first mentioned are obviously essential to verse. If any of them be wanting, there cannot be that higher degree of modulation which distinguisheth verse from prose. To give a just notion of the fourth, it must be observed, that pauses are necessary for three different purposes. One is, to separate periods and members of the same period according to the sense: another is, to improve the modulation of verse: and the last is, to afford opportunity for drawing breath in reading. A pause of the first kind is variable, being long or short, frequent or less frequent, as the sense requires. A pause of the second kind, is in no degree arbitrary; its place being determined by the modulation. The last sort again is in a measure arbitrary, depending on the reader’s command of breath. This sort ought always to coincide with the first or second; for one cannot read with grace, unless, for drawing breath, opportunity be taken of a pause in the sense or in the melody; and for that reason this pause may be neglected. With respect then to the pauses of sense and of melody, it may be affirmed without hesitation, that their coincidence in verse is a capital beauty. But as it cannot be expected, in a long work especially, that every line should be so perfect; we shall afterward have occasion to see, that the pause necessary for sense must often, in some degree, be sacrificed to the verse-pause; and the latter sometimes to the former.

The pronouncing syllables in a high or low tone, contributes also to melody. In reading, whether verse or prose, a certain tone is assumed, which may be called the key-note; and in this tone the bulk of the words are sounded. Sometimes to humour the sense and sometimes the melody, a particular syllable is sounded in a higher tone; and this is termed accenting a syllable, or gracing it with an accent. Opposed to the accent, is the cadence, which I have not mentioned as one of the requisites of verse, because it is entirely regulated by the sense, and hath no peculiar relation to verse. The cadence is a falling of the voice below the key-note at the close of every period; and so little is it essential to verse, that in correct reading the final syllable of every line is accented, that syllable only excepted which closes the period, where the sense requires a cadence. The reader may be satisfied of this by experiments; and for that purpose I recommend to him the Rape of the Lock, which, in point of versification, is the most complete performance in the English language. Let him consult in particular a period canto 2. beginning at line 47. and closed line 52. with the word gay, which only of the whole final syllables is pronounced with a cadence. He may also examine another period in the 5th canto, which runs from line 45. to line 52.

Though the five requisites above mentioned, enter the composition of every species of verse, they are however governed by different rules, peculiar to each species. Upon quantity only, one general observation may be premised, because it is applicable to every species of verse. Syllables, with respect to the time taken in pronouncing, are distinguished into long and short; two short syllables, with respect to time, being precisely equal to one long. These two lengths are essential to verse of all kinds; and to no verse, so far as I know, is a greater variety of time necessary in pronouncing syllables. The voice indeed is frequently made to rest longer than commonly, upon a word that bears an important signification. But this is done to humour the sense, and is not necessary for the modulation. A thing not more necessary occurs with respect to accenting, similar to that now mentioned. A word signifying any thing humble, low, or dejected, is naturally, in prose as well as in verse, pronounced in a tone below the key-note.

We are now sufficiently prepared for entering upon particulars; and Latin or Greek Hexameter, which are the same, coming first in order, I shall exhaust what I have to say upon this species of verse, under the four following heads; of number, arrangement, pause, and accent; for as to quantity, so far as concerns the present point, what is observed above may suffice.

Hexameter lines are, with respect to time, all of the same length. A line may consist of seventeen syllables; and when regular and not Spondaic, it never has fewer than thirteen. Hence it is plain, that where the syllables are many, the plurality must be short; where few, the plurality must be long. And upon the whole, the number of syllables in every line with respect to the time taken in pronouncing, are equivalent to twelve long syllables, or twenty-four short.

With regard to arrangement, this line is susceptible of much variety. The succession of long and short syllables, may be greatly varied without injuring the melody. It is subjected however to laws, that confine its variety within certain limits. For trying the arrangement, and for determining whether it be perfect or faulty, grammarians have invented a rule by Dactyles and Spondees, which they denominate feet. One at first view is led to think, that these feet are also intended to regulate the pronunciation. But this is far from being the case. It will appear by and by, that the rules of pronunciation are very different. And indeed were one to pronounce according to these feet, the melody of a Hexameter line would be destroy’d, or at best be much inferior to what it is when properly pronounced[99]. These feet then must be confined to their sole province of regulating the arrangement, for they serve no other purpose. They are withal so artificial and complex, that, neglecting them altogether, I am tempted to substitute in their room, other rules, more simple and of more easy application; for example, the following. 1st, The line must always commence with a long syllable, and close with two long preceded by two short. 2d, More than two short can never be found in any part of the line, nor fewer than two if any. And, 3d, Two long syllables which have been preceded by two short, cannot also be followed by two short. These few rules fulfil all the conditions of a Hexameter line, with relation to order or arrangement. To these again a single rule may be substituted, for which I have a still greater relish, as it regulates more affirmatively the construction of every part. That I may put this rule into words with the greater facility, I take a hint from the twelve long syllables that compose an Hexameter line, to divide it into twelve equal parts or portions, being each of them one long syllable or two short. This preliminary being established, the rule is shortly what follows. The 1st, 3d, 5th, 7th, 9th, 11th, and 12th portions, must each of them be one long syllable; the 10th must always be two short syllables; the 2d, 4th, 6th, and 8th, may indifferently be one long or two short. Or to express the thing still more curtly, The 2d, 4th, 6th, and 8th portions may be one long syllable or two short; the 10th must be two short syllables; all the rest must consist of one long syllable. This fulfils all the conditions of an Hexameter line, and comprehends all the combinations of Dactyles and Spondees that this line admits.

Next in order comes the pause. At the end of every Hexameter line, no ear but must be sensible of a complete close or full pause. This effect is produced by the following means. Every line invariably is finished with two long syllables preceded by two short; a fine preparation for a full close. Syllables pronounced slow, resemble a slow and languid motion tending to rest. The mind put in the same tone by the pronunciation, is naturally disposed to a pause. And to this disposition the two preceding short syllables contribute; for these, by contrast, make the slow pronunciation of the final syllables the more conspicuous. Beside this complete close or full pause at the end, others are also requisite for the sake of melody. I discover two clearly, and perhaps there may be more. The longest and most remarkable, succeeds the 5th portion, according to the foregoing measure. The other, which being more faint, may be called the semipause, succeeds the 8th portion. So striking is the pause first mentioned, as to be distinguished even by the rudest ear. The monkish rhymes are evidently built upon it. In these, it is an invariable rule, to make the final word chime with that which immediately precedes the pause:

The difference of time in the pause and semipause, occasions another difference not less remarkable. The pause ought regularly to be at the end of a word; but it is lawful to divide a word by a semipause. The bad effect of dividing a word by the pause, is sensibly felt in the following examples.

Again,

Again,

The dividing a word by a semipause has not the same bad effect:

Again,

Again,

Lines, however, where words are left entire to be pronounced as they ought to be, without being divided even by a semipause, run by that means much the more sweetly.

Again,

Again,

The reason of these observations, will be evident upon the slightest reflection. Betwixt things so intimately connected as sense and sound in pronunciation, to find discordance is unpleasant to the ear; and for that reason, it is a matter of importance, to make the musical pauses coincide as much as possible with those of the sense. This is requisite, more especially, with respect to the pause. A deviation from the rule is less remarkable in a semipause, which makes but a slight impression. Considering the matter as to modulation solely, it is indifferent whether the pauses be at the end of words or in the middle. But when we carry the sense along, nothing is more disagreeable than to find a word split into two parts, neither of which separately have any meaning. This bad effect, though it regard the sense only, is by an easy transition of ideas transferred to the sound, with which the sense is intimately connected; and by this means, we conceive a line to be harsh and grating to the ear, which in reality is only so to the understanding[100].

To the rule which places the pause after the 5th portion, there is one exception, and no more. If the syllable succeeding the 5th portion be short, the pause is sometimes postponed to it:

Again,

Again,

This contributes to diversify the melody; and where the words are smooth and liquid, is not ungraceful; as in the following examples.

Again,

If this pause, postponed as aforesaid to the short syllable, happen also to divide a word, the melody by these circumstances is totally annihilated: witness the following line of Ennius, which is plain prose.

Hitherto the arrangement of the long and short syllables of an Hexameter line and its different pauses, have been considered with respect to melody. But to have a just notion of Hexameter verse, these particulars must also be considered with respect to sense. There is not perhaps in any other sort of verse, such a latitude in the long and short syllables. This circumstance contributes greatly to that richness of modulation which is remarkable in Hexameter verse; and which makes Aristotle pronounce, that an epic poem in any other sort would not succeed[101]. One defect however must not be dissembled. The same means that contribute to the richness of the melody, render it less fit than several other sorts for a narrative poem. With regard to the melody, as above observed, there cannot be a more artful contrivance than to close an Hexameter line with two long syllables preceded by two short. But unhappily this construction proves a great imbarrassment to the sense; as will be evident from what follows. As in general there ought to be a strict concordance betwixt every thought and the words in which it is dressed, so in particular, every close in the sense, complete and incomplete, ought to be accompanied with a similar close in the sound. In the composition of prose, there is sufficient latitude for applying this rule in the strictest manner. But the same strictness in verse, would occasion insuperable difficulties. Some share of the concordance betwixt thought and expression, may be justly sacrificed to the melody of verse; and therefore during the course of a line, we freely excuse the want of coincidence of the musical pause with that of the sense. But the close of an Hexameter line is too conspicuous to admit a total neglect of this coincidence. And hence it follows, that there ought to be always some pause in the sense at the end of every Hexameter line, were it but such a pause as is marked with a comma. It follows also, for the same reason, that there ought never to be a full close in the sense but at the end of a line, because there the modulation is closed. An Hexameter line, to preserve its melody, cannot well permit any greater relaxation; and yet in a narrative poem, it is extremely difficult to keep up to the rule even with these indulgences. Virgil, the greatest poet for versification that ever existed, is forc’d often to end a line without any close in the sense, and as often to close the sense during the running of a line: though a close in the melody during the movement of the thought, or a close in the thought during the movement of the melody, cannot fail to be disagreeable.

The accent, to which we proceed, is not less essential than the other circumstances above handled. By a good ear it will be discerned, that in every line there is one syllable distinguishable from the rest by a strong accent. This syllable making the 7th portion, is invariably long; and in point of time occupies a place nearly at an equal distance from the pause which succeeds the 5th portion, and the semipause, which succeeds the 8th:

Again,

Again,

In these examples, the accent is laid upon the last syllable of a word. And that this is a favourable circumstance for the melody, will appear from the following consideration. In reading, there must be some pause after every word, to separate it from what follows; and this pause, however short, supports the accent. Hence it is, that a line thus accented, has a more spirited air, than where the accent is placed on any other syllable. Compare the foregoing lines with the following.

Again,

Again,

In lines where the pause comes after the short syllable succeeding the 5th portion, the accent is displaced and rendered less sensible. It seems to be split into two, and to be laid partly on the 5th portion, and partly on the 7th, its usual place; as in

Again,

Beside this capital accent, slighter accents are laid upon other portions; particularly upon the 4th, unless where it consists of two short syllables; upon the 9th, which is always a long syllable; and upon the 11th, where the line concludes with a monosyllable. Such conclusion, by the by, lessens the melody, and for that reason is not to be indulged unless where it is expressive of the sense. The following lines are marked with all the accents.

Again,

Again,

Inquiring into the melody of Hexameter verse, we soon discover, that order or arrangement doth not constitute the whole of it. Comparing different lines, equally regular as to the succession of long and short syllables, the melody is found in very different degrees of perfection. Nor does the difference arise from any particular combination of Dactyles and Spondees, or of long and short syllables. On the contrary, we find lines where Dactyles prevail and lines where Spondees prevail, equally melodious. Of the former take the following instance:

Of the latter:

What can be more different as to melody than the two following lines, which, however, as to the succession of long and short syllables, are constructed precisely in the same manner?

In the former, the pause falls in the middle of a word, which is a great blemish, and the accent is disturbed by a harsh elision of the vowel a upon the particle et. In the latter the pauses and the accent are all of them distinct and full: there is no elision: and the words are more liquid and sounding. In these particulars consists the beauty of an Hexameter line with respect to melody; and by neglecting these, many lines in the Satires and Epistles of Horace are less agreeable than plain prose; for they are neither the one nor the other in perfection. To make these lines sound, they must be pronounced without relation to the sense. It must not be regarded, that words are divided by pauses, nor that harsh elisions are multiplied. To add to the account, prosaic low sounding words are introduced; and which is still worse, accents are laid on them. Of such faulty lines take the following instances.

Next in order comes English heroic verse, which shall be examined under the whole five heads, of number, quantity, arrangement, pause, and accent. This verse sometimes employs rhymes and sometimes not, which distinguishes it into two kinds; one named metre, and one blank verse. In the former, the lines are connected two and two by similarity of sound in the final syllables; and such connected lines are termed couplets. Similarity of sound being avoided in the latter, banishes couplets. These two sorts must be handled separately, because there are many peculiarities in each. The first article with respect to rhyme or metre, shall be discussed in a few words. Every line consists of ten syllables, five short and five long. There are but two exceptions, both of them rare. A couplet can bear to be drawn out, by adding a short syllable at the end of each of the two lines:

This licence is sufferable in a single couplet; but if frequent would soon become disgustful.

The other exception concerns the second line of a couplet, which is sometimes stretched out to twelve syllables, termed an Alexandrine line.

It doth extremely well when employ’d to close a period with a certain pomp and solemnity suitable to the subject.

With regard to the second article, it is unnecessary to mention a second time, that the quantities employ’d in verse are but two, the one double of the other; that every syllable is reducible to one or other of these standards; and that a syllable of the larger quantity is termed long, and of the lesser quantity short. It belongs more to the present article, to examine what peculiarities there may be in the English language as to long and short syllables. In every language, there are syllables that may be pronounced long or short at pleasure; but the English above all abounds in syllables of that kind. In words of three or more syllables, the quantity for the most part is invariable. The exceptions are more frequent in dissyllables; but as to monosyllables, they may without many exceptions be pronounced either long or short. Nor is the ear hurt by this liberty; being accustomed to the variation of quantity in the same word. This shows that the melody of English verse must depend less upon quantity, than upon other circumstances. In that particular it differs widely from Latin verse. There, every syllable having but one sound, strikes the ear constantly with its accustomed impression; and a reader must be delighted to find a number of such syllables, disposed so artfully as to raise a lively sense of melody. Syllables variable in quantity cannot possess this power. Custom may render familiar, both a long and short pronunciation of the same word; but the mind constantly wavering betwixt the two sounds, cannot be so much affected with a syllable of this kind as with one which bears always the same sound. What I have further to say upon quantity, will come in more properly under the following head, of arrangement.

And with respect to arrangement, which may be brought within a narrow compass, the English heroic line is commonly Iambic, the first syllable short, the second long, and so on alternately through the whole line. One exception there is, pretty frequent. Many lines commence with a TrochÆus, viz. a long and a short syllable. But this affects not the order of the following syllables. These go on alternately as usual, one short and one long. The following couplet affords an example of each kind:

It is unhappy in the construction of English verse, that it excludes the bulk of polysyllables, though the most sounding words in our language; for upon examination it will be found, that very few of them are composed of such alternation of long and short syllables as to correspond to either of the arrangements mentioned. English verse accordingly is almost totally reduced to dissyllables and monosyllables. Magnanimity is a sounding word totally excluded. Impetuosity is still a finer word by the resemblance of the sound and sense; and yet a negative is put upon it, as well as upon numberless words of the same kind. Polysyllables composed of syllables long and short alternately, make a good figure in verse; for example, observance, opponent, ostensive, pindaric, productive, prolific, and such others of three syllables. Imitation, imperfection, misdemeanour, mitigation, moderation, observator, ornamental, regulator, and others similar of four syllables, beginning with two short syllables, the third long, and the fourth short, may find a place in a line commencing with a TrochÆus. I know not if there be any of five syllables. One I know of six, viz. misinterpretation. But words so composed are not frequent in our language.

One would not imagine without trial, how uncouth false quantity appears in verse; not less than a provincial tone or idiom. The article the is one of the few monosyllables that is invariably short. See how harsh it makes a line where it must be pronounced long:

Again:

Let the article be pronounced short, and it reduces the melody almost to nothing. Better so however than a false quantity. In the following examples we perceive the same defect.

The great variety of modulation conspicuous in English verse, will be found upon trial to arise chiefly from the pauses and accents; and therefore these circumstances are of greater importance than is commonly thought. There is a degree of intricacy in this branch of our subject, and it will require some pains to give a distinct view of it. But we must not be discouraged by difficulties. The pause, which paves the way to the accent, offers itself first to our examination. From a very short trial, the following facts will be verified. 1st, A line admits but one capital pause. 2d, In different lines, we find this pause after the fourth syllable, after the fifth, after the sixth, and after the seventh. These particulars lay a solid foundation for dividing English heroic lines into four sorts, distinguished by the different places of the pause. Nor is this an idle distinction. On the contrary, unless it be kept in view, we cannot have any just notion of the richness and variety of English versification. Each sort or order hath a melody peculiar to itself, readily distinguishable by a good ear; and, in the sequel, I am not without hopes to make the cause of this peculiarity sufficiently evident. It must be observed, at the same time, that the pause cannot be made indifferently at any of the places mentioned. It is the sense that regulates the pause, as will be seen more fully afterward; and consequently, it is the sense that determines of what order every line must be. There can be but one capital musical pause in a line; and this pause ought to coincide, if possible, with a pause in the sense; in order that the sound may accord with the sense.

What is said must be illustrated by examples of each sort or order. And first of the pause after the fourth syllable:

Again,

After the 5th:

After the 6th:

Again,

After the 7th:

Again,

Beside the capital pause now mentioned, other inferior or semipauses will be discovered by a nice ear. Of these there are commonly two in each line; one before the capital pause, and one after it. The former is invariably placed after the first long syllable, whether the line begin with a long syllable or a short. The other in its variety imitates the capital pause. In some lines it follows the 6th syllable, in some the 7th, and in some the 8th. Of these semipauses take the following examples.

Even from these few examples, it appears, that the place of the last semipause, like that of the full pause, is directed in a good measure by the sense. Its proper place with respect to the melody is after the eighth syllable, so as to finish the line with an Iambus distinctly pronounced, which, by a long syllable after a short, is a preparation for rest. If this hold, the placing this semipause after the 6th or after the 7th syllable, must be directed by the sense, in order to avoid a pause in the middle of a word, or betwixt two words intimately connected; and so far melody is justly sacrificed to sense.

In discoursing of the full pause in a Hexameter line, it is laid down as a rule, That it ought never to divide a word. Such licence deviates too far from the connection that ought to be betwixt the pauses of sense and of melody. And in an English line, it is for the same reason equally wrong to divide a word by a full pause. Let us justify this reason by experiments.

Are these lines distinguishable from prose? Scarcely, I think.

The same rule is not applicable to a semipause, which being short and faint, is not sensibly disagreeable when it divides a word.

It must however be acknowledged, that the melody here suffers in some degree. A word ought to be pronounced without any rest betwixt its component syllables. The semipause must bend to this rule, and thereby vanisheth almost altogether.

With regard to the capital pause, it is so essential to the melody, that a poet cannot be too nice in the choice of its place, in order to have it full, clear, and distinct. It cannot be placed more happily than with a pause in the sense; and if the sense require but a comma after the fourth, fifth, sixth, or seventh syllable, there can be no difficulty about this musical pause. But to make such coincidence essential, would cramp versification too much; and we have experience for our authority, that there may be a pause in the melody where the sense requires none. We must not however imagine, that a musical pause may be placed at the end of any word indifferently. Some words, like syllables of the same word, are so intimately connected as not to bear a separation even by a pause. No good poet ever attempted to separate a substantive from its article: the dividing such intimate companions, would be harsh and unpleasant. The following line, for example, cannot be pronounced with a pause as marked.

But ought to be pronounced in the following manner.

If then it be not a matter of indifferency where to make the pause, there ought to be rules for determining what words may be separated by a pause and what are incapable of such separation. I shall endeavour to unfold these rules; not chiefly for their utility, but in order to exemplify some latent principles that tend to regulate our taste even where we are scarce sensible of them. And to that end, it seems the eligible method to run over the verbal relations, beginning with the most intimate. The first that presents itself, is that of adjective and substantive, being the relation of substance and quality, the most intimate of all. A quality cannot exist independent of a substance, nor is it separable from it even in imagination, because they make parts of the same idea; and for that reason, it must, with regard to melody, be disagreeable, to bestow upon the adjective a sort of independent existence, by interjecting a pause betwixt it and its substantive. I cannot therefore approve the following lines, nor any of the sort; for to my taste they are harsh and unpleasant.

I have upon this article multiplied examples, that in a case where I have the misfortune to dislike what passes current in practice, every man upon the spot may judge by his own taste. The foregoing reasoning, it is true, appears to me just: it is however too subtile, to afford conviction in opposition to taste.

Considering this matter in a superficial view, one might be apt to imagine, that it must be the same, whether the adjective go first, which is the natural order, or the substantive, which is indulged by the laws of inversion. But we soon discover this to be a mistake. Colour cannot be conceived independent of the surface coloured; but a tree may be conceived, as growing in a certain spot, as of a certain kind, and as spreading its extended branches all around, without ever thinking of the colour. In a word, qualities, though related all to one subject, may be considered separately, and the subject may be considered with some of its qualities independent of others; though we cannot form an image of any single quality independent of the subject. Thus then, though an adjective named first be inseparable from the substantive, the proposition does not reciprocate. An image can be formed of the substantive independent of the adjective; and for this reason, they may be separated by a pause, when the former is introduced before the latter:

The verb and adverb are precisely in the same condition with the substantive and adjective. An adverb, which expresses a certain modification of the action expressed by the verb, is not separable from it even in imagination. And therefore I must also give up the following lines.

But an action may be conceived leaving out a particular modification, precisely as a subject may be conceived leaving out a particular quality; and therefore when by inversion the verb is first introduced, it has no bad effect to interject a pause betwixt it and the adverb which follows. This may be done at the close of a line, where the pause is at least as full as that is which divides the line:

The agent and its action come next, expressed in grammar by the active substantive and its verb. Betwixt these, placed in their natural order, there is no difficulty of interjecting a pause. An active being is not always in motion, and therefore it is easily separable in idea from its action. When in a sentence the substantive takes the lead, we know not that action is to follow; and as rest must precede the commencement of motion, this interval is a proper opportunity for a pause.

On the other hand, when by inversion the verb is placed first, is it lawful to separate it by a pause from the active substantive? I answer not, because an action is not in idea separable from the agent, more than a quality from the substance to which it belongs. Two lines of the first rate for beauty have always appeared to me exceptionable, upon account of the pause thus interjected betwixt the verb and the consequent substantive; and I have now discovered a reason to support my taste:

The point of the greatest delicacy regards the active verb and the passive substantive placed in their natural order. On the one side it will be observed, that these words signify things which are not separable in idea. Killing cannot be conceived without some being that is put to death, nor painting without a surface upon which the colours are spread. On the other side, an action and the thing on which it is exerted, are not, like substance and quality, united in one individual subject. The active subject is perfectly distinct from that which is passive; and they are connected by one circumstance only, that the action exerted by the former, is exerted upon the latter. This makes it possible to take the action to pieces, and to consider it first with relation to the agent, and next with relation to the patient. But after all, so intimately connected are the parts of the thought, that it requires an effort to make a separation even for a moment. The subtilising to such a degree is not agreeable, especially in works of imagination. The best poets however, taking advantage of this subtilty, scruple not to separate by a pause an active verb from its passive subject. Such pauses in a long work may be indulged; but taken singly, they certainly are not agreeable. I appeal to the following examples.

On the other hand, when the passive subject by inversion is first named, there is no difficulty of interjecting a pause betwixt it and the verb, more than when the active subject is first named. The same reason holds in both, that though a verb cannot be separated in idea from the substantive which governs it, and scarcely from the substantive it governs; yet a substantive may always be conceived independent of the verb. When the passive subject is introduced before the verb, we know not that an action is to be exerted upon it; therefore we may rest till the action commences. For the sake of illustration take the following examples.

What is said about placing the pause, leads to a general observation, which I shall have occasion for afterwards. The natural order of placing the active substantive and its verb, is more friendly to a pause than the inverted order. But in all the other connections, inversion affords by far a better opportunity for a pause. Upon this depends one of the great advantages that blank verse hath over rhyme. The privilege of inversion, in which it far excels rhyme, gives it a much greater choice of pauses, than can be had in the natural order of arrangement.

We now proceed to the slighter connections, which shall be discussed in one general article. Words connected by conjunctions and prepositions freely admit a pause betwixt them, which will be clear from the following instances.

Connecting particles were invented to unite in a period two substantives signifying things occasionally united in the thought, but which have no natural union. And betwixt two things not only separable in idea, but really distinct, the mind, for the sake of melody, chearfully admits by a pause a momentary disjunction of their occasional union.

One capital branch of the subject is still upon hand, to which I am directed by what is just now said. It concerns those parts of speech which singly represent no idea, and which become not significant till they be joined to other words. I mean conjunctions, prepositions, articles, and such like accessories, passing under the name of particles. Upon these the question occurs, Whether they can be separated by a pause from the words that make them significant? Whether, for example, in the following lines, the separation of the accessory preposition from the principal substantive, be according to rule?

Or separating the conjunction from the word it connects with what goes before:

It will be obvious at the first glance, that the foregoing reasoning upon objects naturally connected, are not applicable to words which of themselves are mere ciphers. We must therefore have recourse to some other principle for solving the present question. These particles out of their place are totally insignificant. To give them a meaning, they must be joined to certain words. The necessity of this junction, together with custom, forms an artificial connection, which has a strong influence upon the mind. It cannot bear even a momentary separation, which destroys the sense, and is at the same time contradictory to practice. Another circumstance tends still more to make this separation disagreeable. The long syllable immediately preceding the full pause, must be accented; for this is required by the melody, as will afterward appear. But it is ridiculous to accent or put an emphasis upon a low word that raises no idea, and is confined to the humble province of connecting words that raise ideas. And for that reason, a line must be disagreeable where a particle immediately precedes the full pause; for such construction of a line makes the melody discord with the sense.

Hitherto we have discoursed upon that pause only which divides the line. Are the same rules applicable to the concluding pause? This must be answered by making a distinction. In the first line of a couplet, the concluding pause differs little, if at all, from the pause which divides the line; and for that reason, the rules are applicable to both equally. The concluding pause of the couplet, is in a different condition: it resembles greatly the concluding pause in a Hexameter line. Both of them indeed are so remarkable, that they never can be graceful, unless when they accompany a pause in the sense. Hence it follows, that a couplet ought always to be finished with some close in the sense; if not a point, at least a comma. The truth is, that this rule is seldom transgressed. In Pope’s works, upon a cursory search indeed, I found but the following deviations from the rule.

Another:

But now, supposing the connection to be so slender as to admit a pause, it follows not that a pause may always be put. There is one rule to which every other ought to bend, That the sense must never be wounded or obscured by the music; and upon that account, I condemn the following lines:

And,

With respect to inversion, it appears both from reason and experiments, that many words which cannot bear a separation in their natural order, admit a pause when inverted. And it may be added, that when two words, or two members of a sentence, in their natural order, can be separated by a pause, such separation can never be amiss in an inverted order. An inverted period, which runs cross to the natural train of ideas, requires to be marked in some measure even by pauses in the sense, that the parts may be distinctly known. Take the following examples.

The same where the separation is made at the close of the first line of the couplet:

The pause is tolerable even at the close of the couplet, for the reason just now suggested, that inverted members require some slight pause in the sense:

Thus a train of reasoning hath insensibly led us to conclusions with regard to the musical pause, very different from those in the first section, concerning the separating by an interjected circumstance words intimately connected. One would conjecture, that where-ever words are separable by interjecting a circumstance, they should be equally separable by interjecting a pause. But, upon a more narrow inspection, the appearance of analogy vanisheth. To make this evident, I need only premise, that a pause in the sense distinguishes the different members of a period from each other; that two words of the same member may be separated by a circumstance, all the three making still but one member; and therefore that a pause in the sense has no connection with the separation of words by interjected circumstances. This sets the matter in a clear light. It is observed above, that the musical pause is intimately connected with the pause in the sense; so intimately indeed, that regularly they ought to coincide. As this would be too great a restraint, a licence is indulged, to place pauses for the sake of the music where they are not necessary for the sense. But this licence must be kept within bounds. And a musical pause ought never to be placed where a pause is excluded by the sense; as, for example, betwixt the adjective and following substantive which make parts of the same idea, and still less betwixt a particle and the word which makes it significant.

Abstracting at present from the peculiarity of modulation arising from the different pauses, it cannot fail to be observed in general, that they introduce into our verse no slight degree of variety. Nothing more fatigues the ear, than a number of uniform lines having all the same pause, which is extremely remarkable in the French versification. This imperfection will be discerned by a fine ear even in the shortest succession, and becomes intolerable in a long poem. Pope excels all the world in the variety of his modulation, which indeed is not less perfect of its kind than that of Virgil.

From what is now said, there ought to be one exception. Uniformity in the members of a thought, demands equal uniformity in the members of the period which expresses that thought. When therefore resembling objects or things are expressed in a plurality of verse-lines, these lines in their structure ought to be as uniform as possible, and the pauses in particular ought all of them to have the same place. Take the following examples.

Again,

Speaking of Nature, or the God of Nature:

Pauses are like to dwell longer upon hand than I imagined; for the subject is not yet exhausted. It is laid down above, that English heroic verse, considering melody only, admits no more than four capital pauses; and that the capital pause of every line is determined by the sense to be after the fourth, the fifth, the sixth, or seventh syllable. And that this doctrine holds true so far as melody alone is concerned, every good ear will bear testimony. At the same time, examples are not unfrequent, in Milton especially, of the capital pause being after the first, the second, or the third syllable. And that this licence may be taken, even gracefully, when it adds vigour to the expression, I readily admit. So far the sound may be justly sacrificed to the sense or expression. That this licence may be successfully taken, will be clear from the following example. Pope, in his translation of Homer, describes a rock broke off from a mountain, and hurling to the plain, in the following words.

In the penult line the proper place of the musical pause is at the end of the fifth syllable; but it enlivens the expression by its coincidence with that of the sense at the end of the second syllable. The stopping short before the usual pause in the melody, aids the impression that is made by the description of the stone’s stopping short. And what is lost to the melody by this artifice, is more than compensated by the force that is added to the description. Milton makes a happy use of this licence; witness the following examples from his Paradise Lost.

If we consider the foregoing passages with respect to melody singly, the pauses are undoubtedly out of their proper place. But being united with those of the sense, they inforce the expression and enliven it greatly. And the beauty of expression is communicated to the sound, which, by a natural deception, makes even the melody appear more perfect than if the musical pauses were regular.

To explain the rules of accenting, two general observations must be premised. The first is, That accents have a double effect. They contribute to the melody, by giving it air and spirit: they contribute not less to the sense, by distinguishing important words from others. These two effects ought never to be separated. If a musical accent be put where the sense rejects it, we feel a discordance betwixt the thought and the melody. An accent, for example, placed on a word that makes no figure, has the effect to burlesk it, by giving it an unnatural elevation. The injury thus done to the sense, is communicated to the melody by the intimacy of connection, and both seem to be wounded. This rule is applicable in a peculiar manner to particles. It is indeed ridiculous to put an emphasis on a word which of itself has no meaning, and like cement serves only to unite words significant. The other general observation is, That a word of whatever number of syllables, is not accented upon more than one of them. Nor is this an arbitrary practice. The object represented by the word, is set in its best light by a single accent: reiterated accents on different syllables in succession, make not the emphasis stronger; but have an air, as if the sound only of the accented syllables were regarded, and not the sense of the word.

Keeping in view the foregoing observations, the doctrine of accenting English heroic verse, is extremely simple. In the first place, accenting is confined to the long syllables; for the melody admits not an accent upon any short syllable. In the next place, as the melody is inriched in proportion to the number of accents, every word that has a long syllable ought to be accented, unless where the accent is rejected by the sense: a word, as observed, that makes no figure by its signification, cannot bear an accent. According to this rule, a line may admit five accents; a case by no means rare.

But supposing every long syllable to be accented, there is constantly, in every line, one accent which makes a greater figure than the rest. This capital accent is that which precedes the capital pause. Hence it is distinguishable into two kinds; one that is immediately succeeded by the pause, and one that is divided from the pause by a short syllable. The former belongs to lines of the first and third order: the latter to those of the second and fourth. Examples of the first kind.

Examples of the second.

These accents make different impressions on the mind, which will be the subject of a following speculation. In the mean time, it may be safely pronounced a capital defect in the composition of verse, to put a low word, incapable of an accent, in the place where this accent should be. This bars the accent altogether; and I know no other fault more subversive of the melody, if it be not that of barring a pause altogether. I may add affirmatively, that it is a capital beauty in the composition of verse, to have the most important word of the sentence, so placed as that this capital accent may be laid upon it. No single circumstance contributes more to the energy of verse, than to have this accent on a word, that, by the importance of its meaning, is intitled to a peculiar emphasis. To show the bad effect of excluding the capital accent, I refer the reader to some instances given above, p. ooo, where particles are separated by a pause from the capital words that make them significant, and which particles ought, for the sake of the melody, to be accented, were they capable of an accent. Add to these the following instances from the Essay on Criticism.

When this fault is at the end of the line that closes a couplet, it leaves not the least trace of melody:

In a line expressive of what is humble or dejected, it improves the resemblance betwixt the sound and sense, to exclude the capital accent. This, to my taste, is a beauty in the following lines.

To conclude this article, the accents are not, like the syllables, confined to a certain number. Some lines have no fewer than five, and there are lines that admit not above one. This variety, as we have seen, depends entirely on the different powers of the component words. Particles, even where they are long by position, cannot be accented; and polysyllables, whatever space they occupy, admit but one accent. Polysyllables have another defect, that they generally exclude the full pause. I have shown above, that few polysyllables can find place in the construction of English verse. Here are reasons for excluding them, could they find place.

I am now prepared to fulfil a promise concerning the four sorts of lines that enter into English heroic verse. That these have, each of them, a peculiar melody distinguishable by a good ear, I ventured to suggest, and promised to account for: and though this subject is extremely delicate, I am not without hopes of making good my engagement. First, however, like a wary general, I take all advantages the ground will permit. I do not aver, that this peculiarity of modulation is in every instance perceptible. Far from it. The impression made by a period, whether it be verse or prose, is occasioned chiefly by the thought, and in an inferior degree by the words; and these articles are so intimately united with the melody, that they have each of them a strong influence upon the others. With respect to the melody in particular, instances are without number, of melody, in itself poor and weak, passing for rich and spirited where it is supported by the thought and expression. I am therefore intitled to insist, that this experiment be tried upon lines of equal rank. And to avoid the perplexity of various cases, I must also insist, that the lines chosen for a trial be regularly accented before the pause: for upon a matter abundantly refined in itself, I would not willingly be imbarrassed with faulty and irregular lines. These preliminaries being adjusted, I begin with some general observations, that will save repeating the same thing over and over upon each particular case. And, first, an accent succeeded by a pause, makes sensibly a deeper impression than where the voice goes on without a stop: to make an impression requires time; and there is no time where there is no pause. The fact is so certain, that in running over a few lines, there is scarce an ear so dull as not readily to distinguish from others, that particular accent which immediately precedes the full pause. In the next place, the elevation of an accenting tone, produceth in the mind a similar elevation, which is continued during the pause. Every circumstance is different where the pause is separated from the accent by a short syllable. The impression made by the accent is more slight when there is no stop; and the elevation of the accent is gone in a moment by the falling of the voice in pronouncing the short syllable that follows. The pause also is sensibly affected by the position of the accent. In lines of the first and third order, the close conjunction of the accent and pause, occasions a sudden stop without preparation, which rouses the mind, and bestows on the melody a spirited air. When, on the other hand, the pause is separated from the accent by a short syllable, which always happens in lines of the second and fourth order, the pause is soft and gentle. This short unaccented syllable succeeding one that is accented, must of course be pronounced with a falling voice, which naturally prepares for a pause. The mind falls gently from the accented syllable, and slides into rest as it were insensibly. Further, the lines themselves, derive different powers from the position of the pause. A pause after the fourth syllable divides the line into two unequal portions, of which the largest comes last. This circumstance resolving the line into an ascending series, makes an impression in pronouncing like that of mounting upward. And to this impression contributes the redoubled effort in pronouncing the largest portion, which is last in order. The mind has a different feeling when the pause succeeds the fifth syllable. The line being divided into two equal parts by this pause, these parts, pronounced with equal effort, are agreeable by their uniformity. A line divided by a pause after the sixth syllable, makes an impression opposite to that first mentioned. Being divided into two unequal portions, of which the shortest is last in order, it appears like a slow descending series; and the second portion being pronounced with less effort than the first, the diminished effort prepares the mind for rest. And this preparation for rest is still more sensibly felt where the pause is after the seventh syllable, as in lines of the fourth order.

No person can be at a loss in applying these observations. A line of the first order is of all the most spirited and lively. To produce this effect, several of the circumstances above mentioned concur. The accent, being followed instantly by a pause, makes an illustrious figure: the elevated tone of the accent elevates the mind: the mind is supported in its elevation by the sudden unprepared pause which rouses and animates: and the line itself, representing by its unequal division an ascending series, carries the mind still higher, making an impression similar to that of mounting upward. The second order has a modulation sensibly sweet, soft, and flowing. The accent is not so sprightly as in the former, because a short syllable intervenes betwixt it and the pause: its elevation, by the same means, vanisheth instantaneously: the mind, by a falling voice, is gently prepared for a stop: and the pleasure of uniformity from the division of the line into two equal parts, is calm and sweet. The third order has a modulation not so easily expressed in words. It in part resembles the first order, by the liveliness of an accent succeeded instantly by a full pause. But then the elevation occasioned by this circumstance, is balanced in some degree by the remitted effort in pronouncing the second portion, which remitted effort has a tendency to rest. Another circumstance distinguisheth it remarkably. Its capital accent comes late, being placed on the sixth syllable; and this circumstance bestows on it an air of gravity and solemnity. The last order resembles the second in the mildness of its accent and softness of its pause. It is still more solemn than the third, by the lateness of its capital accent. It also possesses in a higher degree than the third, the tendency to rest; and by that circumstance is of all the best qualified for closing a period in the completest manner.

But these are not all the distinguishing characters of the different orders. Each order also, by means of its final accent and pause, makes a peculiar impression; so peculiar as to produce a melody clearly distinguishable from that of the others. This peculiarity is occasioned by the division which the capital pause makes in a line. By an unequal division in the first order, the mind has an impression of ascending; and is left at the close in the highest elevation, which is display’d on the concluding syllable. By this means, a strong emphasis is naturally laid upon the concluding syllable, whether by raising the voice to a sharper tone, or by expressing the word in a fuller tone. This order accordingly is of all the least proper for concluding a period, where a cadence is proper, and not an accent. In the second order, the final accent makes not so capital a figure. There is nothing singular in its being marked by a pause, for this is common to all the orders; and this order, being destitute of the impression of ascent, cannot rival the first order in the elevation of its accent, nor consequently in the dignity of its pause; for these always have a mutual influence. This order, however, with respect to its close, maintains a superiority over the third and fourth orders. In these the close is more humble, being brought down by the impression of descent, and by the remitted effort in pronouncing; considerably in the third order, and still more considerably in the last. According to this description, the concluding accents and pauses of the four orders being reduced to a scale, will form a descending series probably in an arithmetical progression.

After what is said, will it be thought refining too much to suggest, that the different orders are qualified for different purposes, and that a poet of genius will be naturally led to make a choice accordingly? I cannot think this altogether chimerical. It appears to me, that the first order is proper for a sentiment that is bold, lively, or impetuous; that the third order is proper for subjects grave, solemn, or lofty; the second for what is tender, delicate, or melancholy, and in general for all the sympathetic emotions; and the last for subjects of the same kind, when tempered with any degree of solemnity. I do not contend, that any one order is fitted for no other talk, than that assigned it. At that rate, no sort of modulation would be left for accompanying ordinary thoughts, that have nothing peculiar in them. I only venture to suggest, and I do it with diffidence, that one order is peculiarly adapted to certain subjects, and better qualified than the others for expressing such subjects. The best way to judge is by experiment; and to avoid the imputation of a partial search, I shall confine my instances to a single poem, beginning with the first order.

In accounting for the remarkable liveliness of this passage, it will be acknowledged by every one who has an ear, that the modulation must come in for a share. The lines, all of them, are of the first order; a very unusual circumstance in the author of this poem, so eminent for variety in his versification. Who can doubt, that, in this passage, he has been led by delicacy of taste to employ the first order preferably to the others?

Second order.

Again,

Third order.

Again,

A plurality of lines of the fourth order, would not have a good effect in succession; because, by a remarkable tendency to rest, its proper office is to close a period. The reader, therefore, must be satisfied with instances where this order is mixed with others.

Again,

Again,

Again,

And this suggests another experiment, which is, to set the different orders more directly in opposition, by giving examples where they are mixed in the same passage.

First and second orders.

Again,

First and third.

Again,

Again,

Again,

Second and third.

Again,

Musing on the foregoing subject, I begin to doubt whether I have not been all this while in a reverie. Here unexpectedly a sort of fairy-scene opens, where every object is new and singular. Is there any truth in the appearance, or is it merely a work of imagination? The scene seems to be a reality; and if it can bear examination, it must exalt greatly the melody of English heroic verse. If uniformity prevail, in the arrangement, in the equality of the lines, and in the resemblance of the final sounds; variety is still more conspicuous in the pauses and accents, which are diversified in a surprising manner. The beauty that results from combined objects, is justly observed to consist in a due mixture of uniformity and variety[102]. Of this beauty many instances have already occurred, but none more illustrious than English versification. However rude it may be by the simplicity of arrangement, it is highly melodious by its pauses and accents, so as already to rival the most perfect species known in Greece or Rome. And it is no disagreeable prospect to find it susceptible of still greater refinement.

We proceed to blank verse, which hath so many circumstances in common with rhyme, that what is necessary to be said upon it may be brought within a narrow compass. With respect to form, it differs not from rhyme farther than in rejecting the jingle of similar sounds. But let us not think this difference a trifle, or that we gain nothing by it but the purifying our verse from a pleasure so childish. In truth, our verse is extremely cramped by rhyme; and the great advantage of blank verse is, that, being free from the fetters of rhyme, it is at liberty to attend the imagination in its boldest flights. Rhyme necessarily divides verse into couplets: each couplet makes a complete musical period; the parts of which are divided by pauses, and the whole summed up by a full close at the end: the modulation begins anew with the next couplet: and in this manner a composition in rhyme proceeds couplet after couplet. I have more than once had occasion to observe the influence that sound and sense have upon each other by their intimate union. If a couplet be a complete period with regard to the melody, it ought regularly to be so also with regard to the sense. This, it is true, proves too great a cramp upon composition; and licences are indulged, as explained above. These however must be used with discretion, so as to preserve some degree of uniformity betwixt the sense and the music. There ought never to be a full close in the sense but at the end of a couplet; and there ought always to be some pause in the sense at the end of every couplet. The same period as to sense may be extended through several couplets; but in this case each couplet ought to contain a distinct member, distinguished by a pause in the sense as well as in the sound; and the whole ought to be closed with a complete cadence. Rules such as these, must confine rhyme within very narrow bounds. A thought of any extent, cannot be reduced within its compass. The sense must be curtailed and broken into pieces, to make it square with the curtness of melody: and it is obvious, that short periods afford no latitude for inversion. I have examined this point with the greater accuracy, in order to give a just notion of blank verse; and to show that a slight difference in form may produce a very great difference in substance. Blank verse has the same pauses and accents with rhyme; and a pause at the end of every line, like what concludes the first line of a couplet. In a word, the rules of melody in blank verse, are the same that obtain with respect to the first line of a couplet. But luckily, being disengaged from rhyme, or, in other words, from couplets, there is access to make every line run into another, precisely as the first line of a couplet may run into the second. There must be a musical pause at the end of every line; but it is not necessary that it be accompanied with a pause in the sense. The sense may be carried on through different lines; till a period of the utmost extent be completed, by a full close both in the sense and the sound. There is no restraint, other than that this full close be at the end of a line. This restraint is necessary in order to preserve a coincidence betwixt sense and sound; which ought to be aimed at in general, and is indispensable in the case of a full close, because it has a striking effect. Hence the aptitude of blank verse for inversion; and consequently the lustre of its pauses and accents; for which, as observed above, there is greater scope in inversion, than when words run in their natural order.

In the second section of this chapter it is shown, that nothing contributes more than inversion to the force and elevation of language. The couplets of rhyme confine inversion within narrow limits. Nor would the elevation of inversion, were there access for it in rhyme, be extremely concordant with the humbler tone of that sort of verse. It is universally agreed, that the loftiness of Milton’s style supports admirably the sublimity of his subject; and it is not less certain, that the loftiness of his style arises chiefly from inversion. Shakespear deals little in inversion. But his blank verse, being a sort of measured prose, is perfectly well adapted to the stage. Laboured inversion is there extremely improper, because in dialogue it never can appear natural.

Hitherto I have considered the advantage of laying aside rhyme, with respect to that superior power of expression which verse acquires thereby. But this is not the only advantage of blank verse. It has another not less signal of its kind; and that is, of a more extensive and more complete melody. Its music is not, like that of rhyme, confined to a single couplet; but takes in a great compass, so as in some measure to rival music properly so called. The intervals betwixt its cadences may be long or short at pleasure; and, by this means, its modulation, with respect both to richness and variety, is superior far to that of rhyme; and superior even to that of the Greek and Latin Hexameter. Of this observation no person can doubt who is acquainted with the Paradise Lost. In that work there are indeed many careless lines; but at every turn it shines out in the richest melody as well as in the sublimest sentiments. Take the following specimen.

Comparing the Latin Hexameter and English heroic rhyme, the former has obviously the advantage in the following particulars. It is greatly preferable as to arrangement, by the latitude it admits in placing the long and short syllables. Secondly, the length of an Hexameter line hath a majestic air: ours, by its shortness, is indeed more brisk and lively, but much less fitted for the sublime. And, thirdly, the long high-sounding words that Hexameter admits, add greatly to its majesty. To compensate these advantages, English rhyme possesses a greater number and greater variety both of pauses and of accents. These two sorts of verse stand indeed pretty much in opposition: in the Hexameter, great variety of arrangement, none in the pauses or accents: in the English rhyme, great variety in the pauses and accents, very little in the arrangement.

In blank verse are united, in a good measure, the several properties of Latin Hexameter and English rhyme; and it possesses beside many signal properties of its own. If is not confined, like a Hexameter, by a full close at the end of every line; nor, like rhyme, by a full close at the end of every couplet. This form of construction, which admits the lines to run into each other, gives it a still greater majesty than arises from the length of a Hexameter line. By the same means, it admits inversion even beyond the Latin or Greek Hexameter, which suffer some confinement by the regular closes at the end of every line. In its music it is illustrious above all. The melody of Hexameter verse, is circumscribed to a line; and of English rhyme, to a couplet. The melody of blank verse is under no confinement, but enjoys the utmost privilege of which the melody of verse is susceptible, and that is to run hand in hand with the sense. In a word, blank verse is superior to the Hexameter in many articles; and inferior to it in none, save in the latitude of arrangement, and in the use of long words.

In the French heroic verse, there are found, on the contrary, all the defects of the Latin Hexameter and English rhyme, without the beauties of either. Subjected to the bondage of rhyme, and to the full close at the end of each couplet, it is further peculiarly disgustful by the uniformity of its pauses and accents. The line invariably is divided by the pause into two equal parts, and the accent is invariably placed before the pause.

Here every circumstance contributes to a most tedious uniformity. A constant return of the same pause and of the same accent, as well as an equal division of every line; by which the latter part always answers to the former, and fatigues the ear without intermission or change. I cannot set this matter in a better light, than by presenting to the reader a French translation of the following passage of Milton.

Were the pauses of the sense and sound in this passage, but a little better assorted, nothing in verse could be more melodious. In general, the great defect of Milton’s versification, in other respects admirable, is the want of coincidence betwixt the pauses of the sense and sound.

The translation is in the following words.

Here the sense is fairly translated, the words are of equal power, and yet how inferior the melody!

I take the liberty to add here a speculation, which, though collateral only, arises naturally from the subject, and shall be discussed in a few words. Many attempts have been made to introduce Hexameter verse into the living languages, but without success. The English language, I am inclined to believe, is not susceptible of this melody; and my reasons are these. First, the polysyllables in Latin and Greek are finely diversified by long and short syllables, a circumstance that qualifies them for the melody of Hexameter verse. Ours are extremely ill qualified for this service, because they superabound in short syllables. Secondly, the bulk of our monosyllables are arbitrary with regard to length, which is an unlucky circumstance in Hexameter. Custom, as observed above, may render familiar a long or short pronunciation of the same word: but the mind wavering betwixt the two sounds, cannot be so much arrested with either, as with a word that hath always the same sound; and for that reason, arbitrary sounds are ill fitted for a melody which is chiefly supported by quantity. In Latin and Greek Hexameter, invariable sounds direct and ascertain the melody: English Hexameter would be destitute of melody, unless by artful pronunciation; because of necessity the bulk of its sounds must be arbitrary. The pronunciation is easy in a simple movement of alternate short and long syllables; but would be perplexing and unpleasant in the diversified movement of Hexameter verse.

Rhyme makes so great a figure in modern poetry, as to deserve a solemn trial. I have for that reason reserved it to be examined with some deliberation; in order to discover, if possible, its peculiar beauties, and the degree of merit it is intitled to. The first view of this subject leads naturally to the following reflection, “That rhyme having no relation to sentiment, nor any effect upon the ear other than a mere jingle, ought to be banished all compositions of any dignity, as affording but a trifling and childish pleasure.” It will also be observed, “That a jingle of words hath in some measure a ludicrous effect; witness the celebrated poem of Hudibras, the double rhymes of which contribute no small share to its drollery; that this effect would be equally remarkable in a serious work, were it not obscured by the nature of the subject; that having however a constant tendency to give a ludicrous air to the composition, it requires more than ordinary fire to support the dignity of the sentiments against such an undermining antagonist[103].”

These arguments are specious, and have undoubtedly some weight. Yet, on the other hand, it ought to be considered, that rhyme, in later times, has become universal among men as well as children; and that to give it a currency, it must have some foundation in human nature. In fact, it has been successfully employ’d by poets of genius, in their serious and grave compositions, as well as in those which are more light and airy. Here, in weighing authority against argument, the balance seems to hang pretty even; and therefore, to come at any thing decisive, we must pierce a little deeper.

Music has great power over the soul; and may be successfully employ’d to inflame or sooth our passions, if not actually to raise them. A single sound, however sweet, is not music; but a single sound repeated after proper intervals, may have an effect upon the mind, by rousing the attention and keeping the hearer awake. A variety of similar sounds, succeeding each other after regular intervals, must have a still stronger effect. This is applicable to rhyme, which consists in the connection that two verse-lines have by closing with two words similar in sound. And considering deliberately the effect that this may have; we find, that it rouses the attention, and produceth an emotion moderately gay without dignity or elevation. Like the murmurings of a brook gliding through pebbles, it calms the mind when perturbed, and gently raises it when sunk. These effects are scarce perceived when the whole poem is in rhyme; but are extremely remarkable by contrast, in the couplets which close the several acts of our later tragedies. The tone of the mind is sensibly varied by them, from anguish, distress, or melancholy, to some degree of ease and alacrity. For the truth of this observation, I appeal to the speech of Jane Shore in the fourth act, when her doom was pronounced by Glo’ster; to the speech of Lady Jane Gray at the end of the first act; and to that of Calista, in the Fair Penitent, when she leaves the stage, about the middle of the third act. The speech of Alicia, at the close of the fourth act of Jane Shore, puts the matter beyond doubt. In a scene of deep distress, the rhymes which finish the act, produce a certain gaiety and chearfulness, far from according with the tone of the passion.

Having described, the best way I can, the impression that rhyme makes on the mind; I proceed to examine whether rhyme be proper for any subject, and to what subjects in particular it is best suited. Great and elevated subjects, which have a powerful influence, claim justly the precedence in this inquiry. In the chapter of grandeur and sublimity, it is established, that a grand or sublime object, inspires a warm enthusiastic emotion disdaining strict regularity and order. This observation is applicable to the present point. The moderately-enlivening music of rhyme, gives a tone to the mind very different from that of grandeur and sublimity. Supposing then an elevated subject to be expressed in rhyme, what must be the effect? The intimate union of the music with the subject, produces an intimate union of their emotions; one inspired by the subject, which tends to elevate and expand the mind; and one inspired by the music, which, confining the mind within the narrow limits of regular cadency and similar sound, tends to prevent all elevation above its own pitch. Emotions so little concordant, cannot in union have a happy effect.

But it is scarce necessary to reason upon a case, that never did, and probably never will happen, viz. an important subject clothed in rhyme, and yet supported in its utmost elevation. A happy thought or warm expression, may at times give a sudden bound upward; but it requires a genius greater than has hitherto existed, to support a poem of any length in a tone much more elevated than that of the melody. Tasso and Ariosto ought not to be made exceptions, and still less Voltaire. And after all, where the poet has the dead weight of rhyme constantly to struggle with, how can we expect an uniform elevation in a high pitch; when such elevation, with all the support it can receive from language, requires the utmost effort of the human genius?

But now, admitting rhyme to be an unfit dress for grand and lofty images; it has one advantage however, which is, to raise a low subject to its own degree of elevation. Addison[104] observes, “That rhyme, without any other assistance, throws the language off from prose, and very often makes an indifferent phrase pass unregarded; but where the verse is not built upon rhymes, there, pomp of sound and energy of expression are indispensably necessary, to support the style and keep it from falling into the flatness of prose.” This effect of rhyme is remarkable in the French verse, which, being simple and natural and in a good measure unqualified for inversion, readily sinks down to prose where it is not artificially supported. Rhyme, by rousing the mind, raises it somewhat above the tone of ordinary language: rhyme therefore is indispensable in the French tragedy; and may be proper even for their comedy. Voltaire[105] assigns this very reason for adhering to rhyme in these compositions. He indeed candidly owns, that even with the support of rhyme, the tragedies of his country are little better than conversation-pieces. This shows, that the French language is weak, and an improper dress for any grand subject. Voltaire was sensible of this imperfection; and yet Voltaire attempted an epic poem in that language.

The chearing and enlivening power of rhyme, is still more remarkable in poems of short lines, where the rhymes return upon the ear in a quick succession. And for that reason, rhyme is perfectly well adapted to gay, light, and airy subjects. Witness the following.

For this reason, such frequent rhymes are very improper for any severe or serious passion: the dissonance betwixt the subject and the modulation, is very sensibly felt. Witness the following.

Rhyme is not less unfit for deep distress, than for subjects elevated and lofty; and for that reason has been long disused in the English and Italian tragedy. In a work, where the subject is serious though not elevated, it has not a good effect; because the airiness of the modulation agrees not with the gravity of the subject. The Essay on Man, which treats a subject great and important, would show much better in blank verse. Sportive love, mirth, gaiety, humour, and ridicule, are the province of rhyme. The boundaries assigned it by nature, were extended in barbarous and illiterate ages, and in its usurpations it has long been protected by custom. But taste in the fine arts, as well as in morals, improves daily; and makes a progress, slowly indeed, but uniformly, towards perfection: and there is no reason to doubt, that rhyme in Britain will in time be forc’d to abandon its unjust conquests, and to confine itself within its natural limits.

Having thrown out what occurred upon rhyme, I close the section with a general observation. The melody of articulate sound so powerfully inchants the mind, as to draw a vail over very gross faults and imperfections. Of this power a stronger example cannot be given, than the episode of AristÆus, which closes the fourth book of the Georgics. To renew a stock of bees when the former is lost, Virgil asserts, that they will be produced in the intrails of a bullock, slain and managed in a certain manner. This leads him to say, how this strange receipt was invented; which is as follows. AristÆus having lost his bees by disease and famine, never dreams of employing the ordinary means for obtaining a new stock; but, like a froward child, complains heavily of his misfortune to his mother Cyrene, a water-nymph. She advises him to consult Proteus, a sea-god, not how he was to obtain a new stock, but only by what fatality he had lost his former stock; adding, that violence was necessary, because Proteus would say nothing voluntarily. AristÆus, satisfied with this advice, though it gave him no prospect of repairing his loss, proceeds to execution. Proteus is catched sleeping, bound with cords, and compelled to speak. He declares, that AristÆus was punished with the loss of his bees, for attempting the chastity of Euridice, the wife of Orpheus; she having got her death by the sting of a serpent in flying his embraces. Proteus, whose sullenness ought to have been converted into wrath by the rough treatment he met with, becomes on a sudden courteous and communicative. He gives the whole history of Orpheus’s expedition to hell in order to recover his spouse; a very entertaining story indeed, but without the least relation to the affair on hand. AristÆus returning to his mother, is advised to deprecate by sacrifices the wrath of Orpheus, who was now dead. A bullock is sacrificed, and out of the intrails spring miraculously a swarm of bees. How should this have led any mortal to think, that, without a miracle, the same might be obtained naturally, as is supposed in the receipt?

A list of the different FEET, and of their NAMES.

N. B. Every word may be considered as a prose foot, because every word is distinguished by a pause; and every foot in verse may be considered as a verse word, composed of syllables pronounced at once without a pause.

End of the Second Volume.