strong, and a fall at first may cause the fleetest to be distanced. No amount of criticism can now remove Pope and Dryden from their pedestals. Granted that these halting lines of theirs are faults, there are spots in the sun. There are some words that change their accent when they change the grammatical sense in which they are used, as when a noun becomes a verb. The most perplexing one of all these to the poets appears to have been the word "perfume;" but when the accent of a particular word becomes settled, it should be used as by custom and authority established. Walker has a long note on this word, and points out the various dictionaries where the accent is placed on the last syllable, whether as a substantive or a verb, but he adds: "The analogy of dissyllable nouns and verbs seems now to have fixed the accent of the substantive on the first, and that of the verb on the last," and this is now the generally recognized accentuation. To accent the substantive, as in the following lines by Milton, or the succeeding one by a modern poetess (Mrs. Hemans), would not be correct, according to this decision: Now gentle gales, Fanning their odoriferous wings, disperse Native perfume, and whisper whence they stole The sunbeam's glow, the citron flower's perfume. It must be borne in mind, then, that the noun "perfume-sweet odour, or fragrance," is accented on the first syllable, as "perfume," while the verb active". perfume-to impregnate with sweet scent," is accented on the last, as "perfume." By attending to the above rules, the beginner will soon be enabled to perfect himself in the art of forming rhymes. If his ear should be so faulty that he cannot depend on it, let him write his poem as best he may, putting down the thoughts as they occur to him, without waiting to examine the rhymes; his poem finished, he should then examine and sound them together, each pair of rhymes separately, to see if they perfectly agree. It may be he will find some false rhymes, then the line must be reconstructed, without altering the original sense, if possible. I give an example to show how this can be accomplished, though I would not presume to alter a line of so distinguished a poet, supposing the poem came under my observation in an editorial capacity; indeed, whatever faults or blemishes may occur in a published poem, there they ought to remain, as far as others are concerned, when they once leave the author's hands; hence the greater necessity for a strict personal examination. The example I select shall be the rhyming of "art" to "heart" already referred to. It occurs in a very beautiful lyric by Thomas Davis, the Irish bard, entitled "Darling Nell." Why should I not take her into my heart? Which might have been altered thus,— Or, Why should I not take her into my heart, Why should I not take her into my heart? Not a morsel of guile could her own impart. which would have been nearer to the original, but not so poetical. I merely give this example to show how easily alterations can be made, though I am not unmindful of a certain anecdote related of Thomas Moore. "Sir," said to him an amateur vocalist, who had repeated the first part of the tune of one of the Irish Melodies contrary to the notation of the bard, "you perceive the improvements I have made in your song?" "At least," rejoined Moore, "I observe the alterations." To the beginner I would say, never be afraid of altering, never send out to the world an imperfect poem; keep your manuscript by you as long as you can unpublished, and look at it at intervals; the longer you keep it, the more likely you will be to discover its imperfections, if any exist. Many an established poet has regretted rushing too precipitately into print. CHAPTER III. ON RHYTHM. IS I have said, I shall in this treatise abandon all those technical terms which, in the old scholastic treatises, under the heads of "Versification," and "Rules for making verses," have so bothered and bewildered the student, which never made a poet, and which would prescribe art to the condition of a cucumber grown in a tube and generated over a hot-bed. To those who wish to know when they are employing a Trochee, an Iambus, a Spondee, a Phyrric, a Dactyl, an Amphibrach, an Anapæst, or a Tribrach, there is Mr. Murray to refer to; the student will be better able to study rhythm by considering the best forms of verse that have been adopted and used by the best poets. Rhythm, measure, or metre, is the arrangement of a certain number of syllables into lengths, or musical lines, having other lines of the same length, and with precisely the same accent, to correspond with them. These lines may follow each other, or be alternated with other lines of longer, shorter, or similar lengths, which must also have their corresponding lines.* An elongation of the last line, as in the metre invented by Spenser, called hence the Spenserian stanza, and adopted by Byron in his "Childe Harold," is also admissible. A Each line in poetry consists of a certain number of feet, by which they can be measured or scanned. foot in poetry is determined by the rise and fall of the accent, as In a wild tranquil vale | fringed with forests of green, Another syllable added to the second line of this couplet would not have altered its rhythmical accent, as Where kind na | ture had, &c. The learned Pundits have reduced poetical feet to eight kinds, designated by the terms enumerated above, but if the beginner has no ear, these will not assist him; if he have one, he can easily measure off the feet for himself. + *There is an exception to this where a foot is dropped in the concluding line, for which see examples of stanzas. The following ingenious lines by Coleridge explain the whole system, and are at the service of those who prefer to work by the rule and square :— |