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the two is this: the number in ancient verse relates to the feet, and modern poetry to the syllables; for to assert that modern poetry has no feet, is a ridiculous absurdity. The feet that principally enter the composition of Greek and Latin verses, are either of two or three syllables: those of two syllables are either both long, as the spondee; or both short, as the pyrrhic; or one short and the other long, as the iambic; or one long and the other short, as the trochee. Those of three syllables are the dactyl, of one long and two short syllables; the anapest, of two short and one long; the tribrachium, of three short; and the molossus, of three long.

From the different combinations of these feet, restricted to certain numbers, the ancients formed their different kinds of verses, such as the hexameter or heroic, distinguished by six feet, dactyls and spondees, the fifth being always a dactyl, and the last a spondee: e. g.

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The pentameter of five feet, dactyls and spondees, are of six, reckoning two cæsuras.

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Cùm mala per lon-gas invalu-êre mo-ras.

They had likewise the iambic of three sorts, the dimeter, the trimeter, and the tetrameter, and all the different kinds of lyric verse specified in the odes of Sappho, Alcæus, Anacreon, and Horace. Each of these was distinguished by the number, as well as by the species of their feet; so that they were doubly restricted. Now all the feet of the ancient poetry are still found in the versification of living languages; for as cadence was regulated by the ear, it was impossible for a man to write melodious verse without naturally falling into the use of ancient feet, though per

haps he neither knows their measure nor denomir ation. Thus Spenser, Shakspeare, Milton, Dryden, Pope, and all our poets, abound with dactyls, spondees, trochees, anapests, &c., which they use indiscriminately in all kinds of composition, whether tragic, epic, pastoral, or ode, having in this particular greatly the advantage of the ancients, who were restricted to particular kinds of feet in particular kinds of verse. If we then are confined with the fetters of what is called rhyme, they were restricted to particular species of feet; so that the advantages and disadvantages are pretty equally balanced: but, indeed, the English are more free in this particular, than any other modern nation. They not only use blank verse in tragedy and the epic, but even in lyric poetry. Milton's translation of Horace's ode to Pyrrha* is universally known, and generally admired, in our opinion much above its merit. There is an ode extant without rhyme addressed to Evening, by the late Mr. Collins,† much more beautiful; and Mr. Warton, with some others, has happily succeeded in divers occasional pieces, that are free of this restraint: but the number in all of these depends upon the syllables, and not upon the feet, which are unlimited.

It is generally supposed that the genius of the English language will not admit of Greek or Latin measure; but this, we apprehend, is a mistake, owing to the prejudice of education. It is impossible that the same measure, composed of the same times, should have a good effect upon the ear in one language, and a bad effect in another. The truth is, we have been accustomed from our infancy to the numbers of English poetry, and the very sound and signification of the words dispose the ear to receive them in a certain manner; so that its disappointment must be

["What slender youth bedew'd with liquid odors,

Courts thee on roses in some pleasant cave," &c.]

t["If aught of oaten stop, or pastoral song,

May hope, chaste Eve, to soothe thy modest ear," &c.]

attended with a disagreeable sensation. In imbibing the first rudiments of education, we acquire, as it were, another ear for the numbers of Greek and Latin poetry, and this being reserved entirely for the sounds and significations of the words that constitute those dead languages, will not easily accommodate itself to the sounds of our vernacular tongue, though conveyed in the same time and measure. In a word, Latin and Greek have annexed to them the ideas of the ancient measure, from which they are not easily disjoined. But we will venture to say, this difficulty might be surmounted by an effort of attention and a little practice; and in that case we should in time be as well pleased with English as with Latin hexameters.

Sir Philip Sydney is said to have miscarried in his essays ;* but his miscarriage was no more than that of failing in an attempt to introduce a new fashion. The failure was not owing to any defect or imperfection in the scheme, but to the want of taste, to the irresolution and ignorance of the public. Without all doubt the ancient measure, so different from that of modern poetry, must have appeared remarkably uncouth to people in general who were ignorant of the classics; and nothing but the countenance and perseverance of the learned could reconcile them to the alteration. We have seen several late specimens of English hexameters and sapphics, so happily composed, that by attaching them to the idea of ancient measure, we found them in all respects as melodious and agreeable to the ear as the works of Virgil and Anacreon, or Horace.

*["Spenser himself affects the Obsolete,

And Sidney's verse halts all on Roman feet."-POPE.

For a specimen, Dr. Warton quotes the following from the Arcadia :'

"If the spheres senseless do yet hold a music,

If the swan's sweet voice be not heard, but at death,

If the mute timber when it hath the life lost

Yieldeth a lute's tune."]

Though the number of syllables distinguishes the nature of the English verse from that of the Greek and Latin, it constitutes neither harmony, grace, nor expression. These must depend upon the choice of words, the seat of the accent, the pause, and the cadence. The accent, or tone, is understood to be an elevation or sinking of the voice in reciting: the pause is a rest, that divides the verse into two parts, each of them called a hemistich. The pause and accent in English poetry vary occasionally, according to the meaning of the words; so that the hemistich does not always consist of an equal number of syllables, and this variety is agreeable, as it prevents a dull repetition of regular stops, like those in the French versification, every line of which is divided by a pause exactly in the middle. The cadence comprehends that poetical style which animates every line, that propriety which gives strength and expression, that numerosity which renders the verse smooth, flowing, and harmonious, that significancy which marks the passions, and in many cases makes the sound an echo to the sense. The Greek and Latin languages, in being copious and ductile, are susceptible of a vast variety of cadences, which the living languages will not admit; and of these the reader of any ear will judge for himself. We shall only mention a few that are remarkably striking.* The following from Denham's 'Cooper's Hill,' has been admired and imitated, as full, flowing, and sonorous. Speaking of the river Thames:

"O could I flow like thee, and make thy stream
My great example as it is my theme;

Though deep yet clear, though gentle yet not dull,
Strong without rage, without o'erflowing full."

*The poet Vida describes the last groan of our Saviour in these words:

"Supremamque aurum, ponens caput, expiravit."

There cannot be a better specimen of the swift cadence, than

this line of Milton:

"Light as the lightning's glimpse, they ran, they flew "*

ESSAY XXIV.

DESCRIPTION OF A wow-wow.t

I am one of those unhappy mortals who are retired from the fatigues of business in town, to be tired and fatigued for want of business in the country. While I was in trade, I always languished for retirement; now that is obtained, I long for business again. The air which I thought conveyed the blessings of health and vigor, the flowers that regaled every sense, and the babbling streams that I doted on with rapture, are all become insipid.

I spurn at these, and throw them aside as a boy does his toys; and like him, feel no satisfaction but in the hope of obtaining others that are new. May we not, then, say that all our happiness is centred in expectation, and, like a coy mistress, ever flies before us?

Tired of a village life and of myself, I flew for refuge to the country town, whence I date this letter, there hoping to share the mean between London and the country, and to variegate life, and partake of the pleasures both of business and retirement; but here I am again disappointed. The only diversion, and indeed almost the only business of this place, is going to the Wow-wow.

* [This series of papers terminated here, before, as we may believe, the original design with which they commenced was finished.]

+ [This pleasant paper, with the two succeeding ones, originally appeared in the Public Ledger, a daily paper, established in January, 1760, by Newbery, of St. Paul's Church-yard, and have never before been collected.]

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