line, in the preceding quotation. One more passage (from Lycidas) may be given, to undeceive yet more completely those who have been wont to ascribe the rich Miltonic melody to mere chance.

"Alas! what boots it with incessant care

To tend the homely, slighted shepherd's trade,
And strictly meditate the thankless Muse?
Were it not better done, as others use,
To sport with Amaryllis in the shade,
Or with the tangles of Neæra's hair ?"

This most melodious passage has often been quoted, but the source of its melody has not been generally recognised by ordinary readers. The key which unlocks the secret has here been given. Let it be applied to our poetry at large, and it will be found to explain the effect of many of its grandest and sweetest passages.

The proper distribution of the vowels, then, so effective in the hands of Milton and Wordsworth, may be decisively viewed as a main help to harmony of versification generally. But when the poet desires to make his language express particular meanings by sounds, he studies more specially, in the first place, the right disposition of accent and pause, and so advances partly to his object. Thus Milton, in describing the fall of Mulciber or Vulcan from heaven, leaves him, as it were, tumbling and tumbling in the verse, by a beautiful pause:

A similar and not less exquisite pause is made in the famed passage, otherwise beautiful from variety of vowels, where, after swelling allusions to

"What resounds

In fable or romance of Uther's son
Begirt with British and Armoric knights,
And all who since, baptised or infidel,
Jousted in Aspramont or Montalban "-

a dying and most melodious close is attained

"When Charlemain with all his peerage fell
By Fontarabia."

Often are similar pauses made effectively at the opening of lines.

"The schoolboy, wandering through the wood,

To pull the primrose gay,

Starts, the new voice of spring to hear,
And imitates thy lay.'

"My song, its pinions disarrayed of night,
Drooped."

"The carved angels, ever eager-eyed,

Stared."

66

'Liberty,

From heart to heart, from tower to tower, o'er Spain,
Scattering contagious fire into the sky,

Gleamed."

Much more striking instances of the effect of laying marked and compulsory pauses on first syllables might be adduced, but these, taken by chance, may suffice as illustrations. Such aids to impressive versifying must not be overlooked by young poets. The pause and accent, however, may both be similarly employed and fixed without the help of positive periods. Thus Wordsworth, in lines likewise beautiful from vowel-variety:

"What time the hunter's earliest horn is heard,
Startling the golden hills."

The voice accents the word "startling" naturally; and mind and ear both own its peculiar aptitude where it is placed. Not less marked is the force of the same word in the middle of the Miltonic line:

"To hear the lark begin his flight,

And singing startle the dull night."

And again, in the case of the word start—

"The patriot nymph starts at imagined sounds."

The following are examples of sense brought clearly out, by placing the pause and accent at different points of the

verses:

"My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains

"Cut mercy with a sharp knife to the bone."

The strong effect of these lines arises from the accent being thrown on syllables usually short or unaccented in the

deca-syllabic verse. This is a common stroke of art with Milton, when he would lay force on particular words. Most of our great poets, indeed, knew and practised the same rule.

So much for the effects of the structure of the verse, and the location of the accent and pause. But the simple choice of apt diction is still more important to the art of effective versification, as far as the evolution of special meanings is concerned. Reference is not here made to diction that is apt through signification merely, but such, more particularly, as by its sound enhances the force of the thoughts or images which it conveys. In this shape is the congruity of sound and sense best developed. To the instances given from Pope and Milton others may now be added, with an explanation of the artistic rules employed in the case.

Observe how finely appropriate is the sound to the sense in the line

"The surgy murmurs of the lonely sea."

By the use of the rs here it is, that the very sound of the surge seems to be brought to the ear; and even the open vowels at the close give something like the sense of a great and cold waste of waters beyond the surge. Equally apt is the impression made by the lines—

"The murmurous haunt of flies on summer-eves."

"Couches of rugged stone, and slaty ridge
Stubborned with iron."

"A ghostly under-song,

Like hoarse night-gusts sepulchral briars among."

"The snorting of the war-horse of the storm."

These are instances in which the roughening effect of the r is felt to aid the meaning powerfully. The actual and direct meaning of the words chosen, beyond a doubt, is by far the most important point in all kinds of composition; but the art of the poet may be more or less evinced in his selection of such as have a fit and correspondent sound. All great poets have recognised this law. The art, however, must not be too palpable. Pope, in exemplifying the harsh effect of the letter r, allowed the art to be too easily

seen.

"The hoarse rough verse should like the torrent roar.'

Keats, before quoted, manages the matter more delicately.

We refer to the use of the letter r simply in illustration of a principle of great consequence in poetical composition. It is also of the widest application. Not a letter, or combination of letters, in the English language, is without some peculiar force of sound of its own, enhancing sense; and above all does this assertion hold good in respect to the Anglo-Saxon elements or portions of our vernacular tongue. This circumstance arises from the fact of the Anglo-Saxon being a very pure dialect of a Primitive Language, the earliest words of which languages are ever mere descriptions, as far as sound goes, of the acts or objects implied or spoken of. Hiss and howl, for instance, are clearly imitative of the noises of hissing and howling; and thousands of similarly derived vocables are not less expressive in a kindred way. Our most eminent national poets, whether taught by the ear or by experience, have shown themselves well aware of these things, and have turned to fine account the Anglo-Saxon constituents of the mother-tongue. In those languages, again, which have passed through various shapes since their first invention by man-as the French, Spanish, and Italian-nearly all traces of congruous sound and sense have been lost, and general modulation has taken place of specific expressiveness. The gain here, which practically rests on the use of a multiplicity of vowels, cannot be held to counterbalance the loss. Exquisitely melodious as are the verses of Tasso and Ariosto, for example, no one wholly ignorant of Italian could ever even guess at the meaning of a single line or word from the mere hearing. The English language stands placed, in the main, very differently; and happily does it do so, as far as force, impressiveness, and picturesque beauty are concerned. No doubt, we have many words founded on the Latin and its modern derivations; and these are far from unserviceable, inasmuch as they lend general harmony to our tongue, spoken and written. But our special strength of diction comes from the Anglo-Saxon; and fortunate is it, that that primitive form of speech still forms the chief constituent of the national language of Britain.

The reader now understands by what means our best

national poets have striven to render sound and sense congruous in their verses. It has mainly been, as said, by the use of Anglo-Saxon words, which could scarcely fail to suit the end well, since they were actually formed, primarily, upon that very principle. Much of the power, of course, lies in the consonants which occur so freely in the language; and yet the vowels, while essential to the use and force of the consonants, are not without their individual and respective kinds and shades of expressiveness. The o, for instance, has a breadth and weight not pertaining to the other vowels, as in the last of these two lines"Some words she spake

In solemn tenour and deep organ tone."

The other vowels have also their respective degrees of depth, lightness, and other qualities. But mere general harmony only, or chiefly, can be attained by the use of vowel-sounds unaided by consonants of particular powers; and it has already been pointed out, that, to develop that harmony fully, an extensive variation of the said sounds is the principal thing required, and has ever been employed by the greatest poets.

With regard to Consonants, there is scarcely one in the alphabet without some well-marked and special force of its own. By conjunction with others, or with vowels, this special force may likewise be modified vastly, giving rise to numberless varieties of expression, or rather expressiveness. The roughening power of the letter r has been adverted to, and other consonants may now be noticed, with exemplifications of their efficient use in poetry. The consonants are noticeable for their peculiar powers, at once at the beginning, in the middle, and at the close of words; but the present purpose will be best served by taking them up successively, as initial letters.

The consonant b, at the opening of words, has no very marked force; but it originates many expressive terms, often finely employed in poetry.

"He babbled of green fields."

Here the word paints the act to perfection. "Beslubbered "A blubbering boy." "Fire burn, and

all with tears." cauldron bubble."

All of these words exemplify sound