The art of scansion

Of English cut on Greek and Latin. I know you will add, and justly; Like fustian heretofore on satin.

“Page 36. In the second book of the Æneid, there is an instance of a mixture of the two rhythms, but where the expression is chiefly in the anapæstic.” I dare to contend upon your own principle founded on Marmontel’s distinction that in your simile quoted from Virgil, the expression neither lies chiefly in the anapæstic cadence, or chiefly in the dactylic but equally in both. I appeal to Philip against Philip,—and beg you to consider whether the dactylic impetus at the beginning of the line Fertur in arva furens cumulo does not bring to the mind the first out-bursting of the spumeus amnis, where it leaps forward from the stronghold of its banks,—as much as the anapæstic fall does its rushing descent upon the plains. You, who are so just and rigid in your ‘division of property’ should really adjudge this case equitably.

Page 37. “We have not many choriambi in English and of them none I believe are of Greek or Latin or perhaps of Saxon origin.” I like so much all you say about the choriambi, that I am the more sorry you should shut the door of English poetry in their face.

If they were lame Ugly and slanderous to our mother tongue I would not care, I then might be content

but it really seems to me a little hard that we should be denied their acquaintance the minute after you have proved it to be most desirable. I shall try to maintain that, neither we or the choriambi having a disinclination to each other’s company, you are very uncharitable to make such mischief between us; and I shall therefore put down one or two respectably sounding words derived from the Greek and Latin,—tho’ not from Greek and Latin choriambi,—as candidates for that rank in English. You will, I think, admit chārăctĕrīze—tēmpĕrămēnt—tēmpĕrăture,—if you can by any means get over their disallegiance to ancient quantity. You may, perhaps admit pātrĭŏtīsm: but I bring this example forward with no kind of triumph: for, in common discourse, we pronounce it much as five syllables; and find it rough and unmanageable on reducing it to four; which however, I believe, is undeviatingly done in poetry. The most inharmonious line Campbell ever wrote has no reason to be obliged to it—

If the pātrĭŏtīsm ŏf yŏur fathers.

You may not, a fortiori, refuse to admit rīghtĕousnēss—of Saxon extraction,—

“Just confidence and native rīghtĕoŭsnēss”

and its connections par la suite; hīdĕoŭsnēss—glōrĭoŭsnēss—hōrrĭblĕnēss, &c.

I think līnĕămēnt tho’ pleading guilty to the imperfections you find out in chārĭŏtēer, has no weak claim—

“Six wings he wore to shade His līnĕămēnts divine.”

And vīrtŭŏsēst,—rather a rusty word,—receives testimonials from Milton for itself and kindred—

Seems wisest, vīrtŭŏsēst, discreetest, best.

It seems to me that you can only make one objection to my next candidate—

Oh ālĭĕnāte from God! oh spirit accursed—

And that another is almost unexceptionable

Plēnĭpŏtēnt on earth of matchless might,

I feel so sure about this last word plēnĭpŏtēnt that I should not scruple to treat him as Atlas and make him bear the whole burden of my defence—without going on,—which I might do,—to such compound tetrasyllables as ōvĕrfătīgue—ōvĕr-dĕlīght—cōnquerŏr-like sex. Nēvĕrthĕlēss before dismissing the subject, it is quite proper for me to be candid, and confess that I am aware of the imperfection of most of our choriambi, and that, generally speaking, the foot is considerably mutatus ab illo in the process of its naturalization into our language. But you do recognise our dactyls; for which they owe you no obligation; for you must do so on your principle, and the recognition is unattended with any complimentary or obliging expression on your part,—rather with Boileau’s pathetic remonstrance.

Que vous ont fait nos oreilles Pour les traites si durement?

Therefore I submit to you whether our choriambi do not deserve a similar recognition, tho’ possibly a similar remonstrance.

Page 46. “If my mode of accenting Pope’s verse be thought the right one, it seems clear that a trochee at the beginning of an English verse, if followed by another trochee, tho’ it may give vigour, does not also produce grace.” I have so little intention of decrying the choriambus, in marking down the above passage, that I have merely been induced to do so by sympathizing very strongly with your delighted feelings respecting it,—and by a consequent regret that you should depreciate its propriety in the second place,—which you seem to do, with some reservation. There can I should think be no doubt as to the propriety of your reading, in Pope’s line,—

Jumping hīgh ŏ’er thĕ shrūbs ŏf thĕ rōugh grōund

and there can be no doubt that, according to your reading, the line has much more vigour than grace. The ungracefulness, however, seems to me produced, not so much by the choriambus, as by that very rough termination of the whole—a spondee preceded by a pyrrhic; so that, according to my idea, ce n’est que le dernier pas qui coute,—unless indeed we take into consideration the cacophonous assembage of harsh consonants and vowels which are “rather seen than heard.” As the line stands, however, it is extremely expressive, but perhaps hardly a fair specimen of the introduction of a choriambus into the second place. There is a considerable degree less roughness and more impetuous energy in the following example

Shoots ĭnvīsĭble vīrtue ē’en tŏ thĕ dēep

where the dernier pas is composed of another choriambus. I hope you do not disapprove of choriambi introduced into the internal part of the line, but as you only mention, approvingly, the incipient and final choriambus I am half afraid that you do.

I shall not be satisfied if you profess to tolerate them sometimes “for the sake of expression,” a principle on which we admire many deformities, and among them those multiplied elisions that make Virgil’s line a “monstrum nonendum informe” in itself: The plea of expression in versification is something like the plea of expediency in morals; and the internal choriambi do not seem to me reduced to such a last resource. When a dactyl, or amphibrach, begins the verse, the choriambus appears to follow it in a singularly pleasing manner, giving to the cadence of the line a swelling graceful movement which is quite delightful to my ear: as in Lord Byron’s

Thou wert a bēautĭfŭl thōught, and softly bodied forth