The _terza rima_ is the metre of Dante's Divine Comedy. The rimes are _aba_, _bcb_, _cdc_, etc.... _yzy_, _zz_. It has not been very successfully used in English, except in the stanzaic arrangement of Sh.e.l.ley's Ode to the West Wind,--_aba_, _bcb_, _cdc_, _ded_, _ee_. Other examples besides translations of Dante are short poems by Wyatt and Sidney, Browning's The Statue and the Bust, and Sh.e.l.ley's unfinished The Triumph of Life.

CHAPTER V

MELODY, HARMONY, AND MODULATION

The terms melody, harmony, and modulation, being borrowed from music, are not to be applied too literally to the art of versification. They represent metaphorically, however, certain important qualities of verse which, with the exception of rime, cannot from their very impalpability be formally explained, but can only be suggested and partially described. They are not the determining and fundamental characteristics of verse--those have already been discussed--but rather its sources of incremental beauty, of richness and, subtle power. To draw an ill.u.s.tration from another art, they add light and shadow, fullness, roundness, depth of perspective, vividness, to what would else be simple line-drawing.

The language of ordinary prose has its own melody and harmony, its own sonorous rhythms, and its own delicate adjustments between sound and meaning. All these natural beauties verse inherits from prose and then adds the further beauties that result from the union of prose rhythms and the formal patterns of verse. Some of these qualities which are the peculiar enhancements of verse will now be examined.

The simplest and most tangible of these is rime in its various forms.

Rime is, in its most general signification, the repet.i.tion, usually at regulated intervals, of identical or closely similar sounds. According to the circ.u.mstances of the identical or similar sounds, four varieties are distinguishable: (1) _alliteration_, or initial rime, when the sounds at the beginning of accented syllables agree, as _t_ale, a_tt_une; (2) _consonance_, when the vowel sounds differ and the final consonantal sounds agree, as ta_l_e, pu_ll_; (3) _a.s.sonance_, when the vowel sounds agree and the consonants differ, as t_a_le, p_ai_n; and (4) _rime proper_, when both the vowels and the final consonants agree, as t_ale_, p_ale_.

Alliteration is a natural and obvious method of emphasis in English--and often difficult to avoid rather than to obtain. Popular sayings--wind and weather, time and tide, kith and kin, ever and aye, to have and to hold--are fond of it for its own sake. The early English, German, and Scandinavian prosodies made it a determining principle; and in the north of England it survived well into the fifteenth century; but since then it has been considered a too 'easy' kind of metrical ornament, one to be used sparingly and only for very special effects. "Apt alliteration's artful aid" is very well when it is apt and artful; but when some poets in their simplicity have gone so far as to "hunt the letter to the death," one cannot but condemn it, in John Burroughs' ironic phrase, as a "leprosy of alliteration." Most of the poets, however, have made skilful use of it, notably Tennyson and Swinburne, though the latter frequently overdid it, as in--

... rusted sheaves Rain-rotten in rank lands.

A Ballad of Death.

Very remarkable is the combination of rime and frequent alliteration in Browning's Abt Vogler.

a.n.a.logous to alliteration and perhaps to be cla.s.sed as a by-form of it is the subtle use of the same sound in unstressed parts of neighboring words, as in--

Over the dark abyss, whose boi_l_ing gu_l_f Tame_l_y endured a bridge of wondrous _l_ength.

Paradise Lost, II, 1027-28.

Consonance is very similar to this latter form of alliteration. Its use is irregular and usually hidden. Note the alliteration and consonance in Milton's line, both the _s_'s and the _n_'s--

Through the soft silence of the list'ning night.

a.s.sonance, like alliteration and consonance, occurs in modern verse sporadically, almost accidentally, but with great frequency in all languages. As a regular principle of verse (in place of rime) it is characteristic of Spanish and of Old French; in English its deliberate use is very rare--the best example is perhaps the song "Bright, O bright Fedalma" in George Eliot's The Spanish Gypsy.

Minute a.n.a.lysis is tedious and unsatisfactory, often indeed misleading, but a single example will perhaps suggest some of the ways in which alliteration, consonance, and a.s.sonance are interwoven for harmonic effects that, not being altogether obvious, are felt rather than directly perceived. Similar experiments may be made by the reader with other pa.s.sages. The opening stanza of Gray's Elegy, quoted on page 55, above, is remarkable for its smooth and quiet flow, symbolic of the atmosphere described by the words. How is this 'atmosphere' produced? or rather, what is there that produces in us this sense of appropriate atmosphere? In the first place, the lines are 5-stress and have the "long iambic roll," and the rimes are simple _abab_. Furthermore, the coincidence of prose and verse rhythms is noticeable; there are only three variations: _wind_ in the second line, which is too important to occupy the metrically unstressed position, and _o'er_ in the second line and the second _and_ in the fourth, which are not quite strong enough to stand in the stressed position. By a sort of subst.i.tution or 'occult balance' the weakness of _o'er_ is compensated by the slight overweight of _wind_. And the weakness of _and_ is strengthened by the rhetorical pause after _darkness_. A rough approximation in semi-musical notation would give for the second line

There is a syncopation by which -- -- and ?? combine (the natural syllabic length of _o'er_ helping considerably) without destroying the fundamental rhythm. In the fourth line, instead of

we have

? -- ? ? ? ? -- ... to dark-ness and to me,--

the pause being supported by the meaning as well as by the structure of the verse. Alliteration is appropriately inconspicuous; it is limited to _pl_owman ... _pl_ods and the conventional _w_eary _w_ay. The consonance is significant. The most frequently repeated consonantal sounds are: _l_ 10, _d_ 9, _r_[78] 8, _th_ 6, _n_ 6, and _w_ 5; that is, of the seventy consonantal sounds (counting _th_ as one, _p_ and _l_ as two sounds) in the stanza, thirty-five, or one-half, are the comparatively soft sounds _l_, _r_, _th_, _n_, _w_. From the point of view of the line, a tabulation shows two or more occurrences in each line of--

1 -- TH R T L 2 -- TH R L D 3 -- R L D P M W H 4 -- R T L D N

That is, there is a kind of RTLD motif throughout the stanza. The a.s.sonance is even more striking. The stressed vowel sounds (which are of course the most important[79]) line by line are as follows:[80]

u^R o e a e o u^R o o i au o o i e i u^R a i

Here the five o-sounds and four i-sounds and three u^R-sounds are noticeable.

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[78] According to the commonest American p.r.o.nunciation.

[79] The unaccented vowel sounds show the usual predominance

of the obscure vowel e, with three occurrences of i and i.

[80] Reference to the text will identify the symbols.

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Now while no one would dream of saying that such a mechanical examination unlocks the mystery of this quatrain's music, it cannot be denied that the predominance of some sounds (especially those that are peculiarly suggestive) over others is significant. And certainly such a tabulation reveals _parts_ of the mystery which are not plain even to the trained eye and ear.

The origin of rime is much disputed, but it occurs, at least sporadically, in the poetry of nearly all peoples, and is likely to have been a spontaneous growth arising from a natural human pleasure in similar sounds. "It lies deep in our human nature and satisfies an universal need." It is an established phenomenon in Sanskrit and Persian prosody, in Arabic, in Chinese, in Celtic, in Icelandic. Greek prosody, and Latin, which was based upon Greek, rejected it, partly perhaps because it was too simple an ornament for the highly cultivated Greek taste, especially on account of the great frequency of similar inflectional endings, and perhaps because it was not entirely consistent with the quant.i.tative principle.[81] In the _popular_ Latin verse, however, which was accentual, rime is found; and when, before the fall of the later Empire, quant.i.ty was gradually abandoned, rime returned as a regular feature of Latin verse. From thence it pa.s.sed into the Romance languages--Provencal, Italian, French--where it was for a time rivalled by a.s.sonance; and finally, under French influence after the Conquest, it made its way into England. But it had not been unknown in earliest English verse, though it occurred only here and there, as in Greek and Latin.[82] And from the fact that rimes appear with greater frequency in the later than in the earlier Anglo-Saxon verse, as the native poets became more familiar with the rimed Latin hymns, one may feel sure that it would have developed into a staple of English verse independently of French influence. From the twelfth century until the introduction of blank verse by the Elizabethans, practically all English verse, except that which belongs to the Alliterative Revival (mainly in the north of England) of the second half of the fourteenth century, was rimed.

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[81] Rime occurs, however, here and there in Greek and Latin

poetry, and is more frequent than perhaps we commonly

suppose.

[82] In the 3182 lines of Beowulf, for example, there are

sixteen exact rimes and many more approximate rimes. There

is also in Anglo-Saxon the so-called Riming Poem, of

uncertain date, composed probably under Scandinavian

influence.

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From the aesthetic point of view rime has been severely attacked and faithfully defended. A lively controversy was waged at the end of the sixteenth century between the Renaissance cla.s.sicists, who of course condemned it, and the native rimers, but was brought to a peaceful conclusion by Samuel Daniels' A Defence of Rhyme in 1603. In a prefatory note to the second edition of Paradise Lost, Milton delivered an arrogant but ineffectual counterblast. Rime, he said, was "no necessary adjunct or true ornament of poem or good verse, in longer works especially, but the invention of a barbarous age, to set off wretched matter and lame metre; graced indeed since by the use of some famous modern poets, carried away by custom, but much to their own vexation, hindrance, and constraint to express many things otherwise, and for the most part worse, than else they would have expressed them."

The chief arguments against rime are those mentioned by Milton, its tendency to conceal "wretched matter and lame metre," and the necessity it often forces upon poets of either twisting unpleasantly what they have to say or of adding irrelevant matter. Besides these there is also what Cowper called "clock-work tintinnabulum"--mere empty jingle. But all the arguments are double-edged. For although many inferior poets have imposed for a while on readers and critics by the superficial melody of rime alone, "wretched matter and lame metre" were never long successfully concealed by it. And although, as Hobbes wrote, rime "forces a man sometimes for the stopping of a c.h.i.n.k to say something he did never think," it is a fact nevertheless that the second thought, induced by rime-necessity, "the rack of truest wits,"[83] is sometimes if not better than the first, at least a worthy and handsome brother to it. Whether rime be a hindrance, vexation, and constraint to the poet depends almost wholly on his mastery of the technique of verse. It is not always easier to write in unrimed measures, for, as Milton proudly implied, good blank verse is the most difficult of all metres. And although the jingle of like sounds may become tedious and mechanical if unskilfully handled--"to all judicious ears trivial and of no true musical delight," says Milton again--it has also proved a source of richness and beauty of sound; and it should never be forgotten that in the true aesthetic judgment of poetry sound plays a very important part.[84]

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[83] See the whole of Ben Jonson's Fit of Rhyme against

Rhyme.

[84] Compare Flaubert's extreme statement: "that a beautiful

verse without meaning is superior to one that has meaning

but is less beautiful."

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The satisfaction which the ear receives from rime at the end of a verse has been aptly compared to the pleasure we feel when a long arch of melody returns to the dominant and then the tonic. More elaborate is Oscar Wilde's praise of rime--"that exquisite echo which in the music's hollow hill creates and answers its own voice; rhyme, which in the hands of a real artist becomes not merely a material element of metrical beauty, but a spiritual element of thought and pa.s.sion also, waking a new mood, it may be, or stirring a fresh train of ideas, or opening by mere sweetness and suggestion of sound some golden door at which the Imagination itself had knocked in vain; rhyme, which can turn man's utterance into the speech of the G.o.ds; rhyme, the one chord we have added to the Greek lyre."

The real problem in the arguments on rime is its fitness or unfitness in particular kinds of poetry. No rules or laws can be formulated; men have judged differently at different times; but it has been generally felt that shorter poems, inasmuch as they are in a way the concentrated essence of poetry, and must make their full impression almost instantaneously, require all the advantages of the poetic art.

Tennyson's unrimed lyrics and Collins' Ode to Evening are unusual, though successful, experiments. For long poems, however, there is not this necessity of immediate effect. Here rime is sometimes a vexation, sometimes not. Justification lies in special circ.u.mstances. The cla.s.sical French drama found it indispensable; English poetic drama gave it a trial in the seventeenth century and rejected it. Narrative poems which contain a large lyrical element, like the Faerie Queene and the Eve of St. Agnes, are, all agree, enhanced by the rime. But no one would now wish to have Paradise Lost in rimed verse, though it is clear from the publisher's note in 1668 that many readers at the time were 'stumbled' because it was not. On the other hand, we feel that Chapman's and Pope's Homer and Dryden's Virgil might have been better without rimes. Once more, it lies with the poet--and with the poem--to justify his use of rime or his refusal of it; if he is a good poet and his judgment is not warped by local or temporary conditions there will rarely be any doubt.

Rimes are called _masculine_ when they consist of one syllable, as _cries: arise;_ _feminine_ when they consist of two or more syllables, as _heedless: needless_, _beautiful: dutiful_. When both vowel and following consonant agree the rime is called _perfect_, as _might: right_, _solemn: column_. When the preceding consonant as well as the vowel and following consonant agree the rime is called _identical_ or _echo_ rime, as _reed: read_, _perfection: infection_, _ours: hours_.

When there is a difference either in the vowel sound or in the following consonantal sound, that is, when a.s.sonance or consonance is subst.i.tuted for rime, the rime is usually said to be approximate or imperfect, as _worth: forth_, _was: pa.s.s_, _gusht: dust_ (Coleridge). When the rime words look alike but are p.r.o.nounced differently, they are called _eye rimes_, as _war: car_, _brow: glow_. Sometimes false rimes occur which have no similarity of sound or appearance, but are more or less sanctioned by earlier p.r.o.nunciation or by custom, as _high: humanity_.

Sometimes also unaccented syllables are rimed with accented syllables, as _burning: sing_.

Imperfect rimes of all sorts are used for various reasons. Compared with some languages, English is not very rich in rime words; and for many words which poets are p.r.o.ne to use, such as _love_, _G.o.d_, _heaven_, etc., few available rimes exist. When good rimes are few, older p.r.o.nunciations are often resorted to, as the familiar _love: move_, _blood: stood_, _north: forth._ In reading the older poets we find many rimes which are now imperfect but were once entirely correct, as the eighteenth century _fault: thought_, _join: shine_, _tea: way_. On the other hand, the poet's carelessness or indifference is sometimes to blame for approximate rimes, as Gray's _beech: stretch_ in the Elegy, and his _relies: requires_, Blake's _lamb: name_ and _tomb: come_, Coleridge's _forced: burst_, Whittier's notorious _pen: been_, etc. But to dogmatize on a point like this is obviously very dangerous. Certain poets, especially among the moderns, may be said to choose imperfect rimes deliberately, both as a fresh means of securing variety and avoiding the monotony of hackneyed rimes, and also as a means of subtly suggesting the imperfection and futility of life. A few famous examples, defensible and indefensible, are: Wordsworth's _robin: sobbing_, _sullen: pulling_; Tennyson's _with her: together_, _valleys: lilies_; Keats's _youths: soothe_, _pulse: culls_; Swinburne's _lose him: bosom: blossom_. Keats and Rossetti are noted for their free use of approximate rimes. The humorous rimes of Byron and Browning, among others, are of course in a different category.

Feminine rimes have been frequently rejected as undignified. They are, said Coleridge, "a lower species of wit"; and he instanced, not very justly, the couplet of Smart:

Tell me, thou son of great Cadwallader!

Hast sent the hare? or hast thou swallowed her?[85]

But again the right justification is successful use, and no one will deny that Swinburne's double and triple rimes have greatly enriched his verse and revealed to others unused possibilities of metre. Such rimes as _grey leaf: bay-leaf_ were practically a new thing in 1865.[86]

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[85] Triple rimes are naturally excellent for joco-serious

purposes, like the celebrated _intellectual: henpecked you

all_, _Timbuctoo: hymn book too_, _thin sand doubts: ins and

outs_.

[86] Swinburne, Dedication, 1865.

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Too evasive for explanatory a.n.a.lysis, almost too delicate and impalpable even for descriptive comment, are many of the best musical effects of fine poetry. The poet's ear and his sixth prosodic sense enable him to make his verse a perfect vehicle of his meaning and emotion. He chooses an appropriate stanza for his poem, discovers an unguessed power in some common measure, makes the words hurry or deliberately holds them back, varying the tempo with the spirit of the words, gives the pattern an unusual twist when the idea is unusual, startles or soothes by the sound as well as by the intellectual content of his lines--and accomplishes all these metrical nuances, not with the whip-snapping of the ring-master, but with the consummate art that conceals art. When his prosodic effects are obvious they lose their power; we can see how the trick is done and we do not marvel. But when we feel vaguely the haunting quality of a melodious line or the perfect metrical rightness of a phrase without knowing _why_ the melody haunts us or the phrase just fits, then we both marvel and applaud; then the poet's gift, his divine authorization, is patent, and we recognize his superiority with awe.

Some of these effects have already been mentioned in the preceding paragraphs; but besides the 'tone-color' of a.s.sonance and consonance and rime proper there are also effects of pitch and of tempo and of repet.i.tion, and imitative effects, more or less concrete and explainable. It is true that many trained readers find subtleties of sound and suggestiveness where others find none, and also that many find rich beauties that the poet himself was not aware of and did not intend.

This latter case may be accounted for in two ways: sometimes a reader is supersubtle and imagines embellishments that do not exist; and sometimes the poet builds better than he knows. His intuition, or inspiration, or whatever one chooses to call it, endows him with powers of whose complete functioning he is not at the time conscious. As readers must steer carefully between these two dangers, so also the poet has to avoid on the one hand repelling us by the appearance of a metrical device and on the other losing an effect which he intends but which may be too delicate to be seen or felt. No one probably ever missed the simple melody of Poe's