"When all sublunar joys and griefs are o'er, And teach the sons of Heaven immortal love." This passage contains nothing which does not merit the approbation of the most rigid moralist and the most scrupulous Christian. What it asserts is contrary neither to philosophy nor to Christianity. We may, without doing violence to moral propriety, or to scriptural truth, believe that the results which it anticipates, will, at the appointed time, be the termination of all the cares and joys, the hopes and the fancies, which checker and perplex the scene of mortal existence. The selection of a proper subject is a consideration of great importance to the poet. If he choose one that is trifling or mean, his genius, however brilliant, may be unable to invest it with interest. The weed which springs up in a garden, may not, itself, be an object of disgust or contempt; but it becomes ridiculous when a writer attempts, by pompous language and overwrought images, to make it as attractive as the flowers by which it is surrounded. The efforts of those who endeavour to impart to trivial subjects, a degree of importance which they cannot justly claim, will always be unsuccessful. Butterflies and moths, a blade of grass or a withered rose, may supply an appropriate theme for a fugitive verse, or a stanza, as insignificant as themselves. But he who aspires to the honours of the poet, and deserves them, will disdain to waste his energies upon subjects that are beneath his genius. Perspicuity in writing is an object not less important than the judicious choice of a subject. The poet should consider it indispensable. Whatever dignity his subject may possess, or with whatever other attractions he may adorn it, if his work be deficient in clearness, the praise which he might otherwise receive, will be denied him. Obscurity in the ideas or in the language of a writer, whether of prose or poetry, is a fault for which no splendour of genius or beauty of diction can atone. Poetry is, peculiarly, a species of composition which requires a rapid, smooth current of thought and expression to bear the reader insensibly and agreeably onward, and a clear, constant light to guide him in his course. It does not admit of the minute logical arguments and the profound metaphysical abstractions, which are adapted to prose writings, in the perusal of which the mind may pause to reflect and to reason. Poetical writings are resorted to rather as a relaxation from severe intellectual labour, and as a source of rational entertainment, than for the purpose of acquiring abstruse information. It was a prevalent and a fatal error of the writers who are designated as metaphysical poets, that they pertinaciously sought for images which were, in themselves, inappropriate, and in their nature inconsistent with each other, as well as with the ideas which they attached to them; and that they so involved them in quaintness of language as to render them obscure or unintelligible. Those who imitated these affected writers when their celebrity was at its height, and others who continued to imitate them after it had irretrievably fallen, erroneously supposed that turns of thought, because they are unusual, must be admirable and attractive; that antiquated words and phrases, and ambiguity and involution of expression, indicate superior genius. But nothing imparts to poetry a greater charm than good versification. The misapprehension or disregard of this requisite, was an error of the metaphysical poets, as detrimental to their reputation, as that which they committed by persisting in the use of strained conceits, unnatural imagery, and affected diction. Dr. Johnson, in his Life of Cowley, observes that their verses "stood the trial of the finger better than of the ear; for the modulation was so imperfect, that they were found to be verses only by counting the sylla, bles." Even that degree of praise is hardly merited by the metaphysical rhymers of the present day. Their syllables are not always controlled by the authority of the fingers, and their verse often falls upon the ear with a sound which is the reverse of melody. These are faults which the improved and improving taste of the age will rebuke, and compel those who commit them to amend, or to relinquish their hopes of obtaining great and permanent popularity. No poet, who is not assiduously careful in the observance of rhythm, can be long or justly popular. The very nature of poetry renders it indispensable that it should flow in an even, unobstructed stream; that there should be nothing in it grating to the ear; and that the lines, throughout, but especially in their termination, should be smooth and sonorous. The principles of correct versification have their origin in good sense and pure taste. They depend, for their improvement and perfection, upon the exercise of cultivated judgment and an ear accustomed to the accurate modulations of sound. Melody and harmony, which are intimately connected with each other, constitute an essential part of versification. Compared with these, the most glowing language and the most sublime imagery are unimportant; and without them, what is termed poetry, is nothing but prose arranged in measured lines. Accents, cadences, and pauses must all be placed with strict regard to metrical numbers; and yet they should be so introduced into the work of the poet as to appear only incidental to its design. There must be a regularity and a continuous flow in the language, by which the reader is carried forward rapidly, smoothly, and without effort. The lines should not move heavily or languidly, but with energy and vivacity; and although the sounds may not always be an echo to the sense, they should respond to it with so much exactness as to be in just unison with it, and not to create in the mind any discordant sensation. To produce these results, prosodial quantities must be strictly observed; for however artificial the rules which prescribe them may appear, those rules are founded in nature, and approved by sound judgment and taste. An acquaintance with them, although it is not sufficient to form a poet, is a part of knowledge with which he cannot dispense. Whether they are derived from nature, or have been devised by art, he cannot neglect them consistently with his desire for the reputation to which he aspires. The same distinguished writer and literary critic, whose opinion on the subject of versification has been referred to in this dissertation, asserts, that "however minute the employment may appear of analyzing lines into syllables, and whatever ridicule may be incurred by a solemn deliberation upon accents and pauses, it is certain that, without this petty knowledge, no man can be a poet;" and, "that verse may be melodious and pleasing, it is necessary, not only that the words be so arranged as that the accent may fall on its proper place, but that the syllables themselves be so chosen as to flow smoothly into one another." Lines and syllables constitute, when arranged in regular order, and according to metrical rules, the exterior form of poetry; and accents, cadences, and pauses |