Take a packet of fine selected early English, containing no words but
such as are obsolete and unintelligible. Pour this into about double
the quantity of entirely new English, which must have never been used
before, and which you must compose yourself, fresh as it is wanted. Mix
these together thoroughly till they assume a colour quite different from
any tongue that was ever spoken, and the material will be ready for use.
Determine the number of stanzas of which your poem shall consist, and
select a corresponding number of the most archaic or most peculiar words
in your vocabulary, allotting one of these to each stanza; and pour in
the other words round them, until the entire poem is filled in.
This kind of composition is usually cast in shapes. These, though not
numerous--amounting in all to something under a dozen--it would take too
long to describe minutely here: and a short visit to Mr. ----'s shop in
King street, where they are kept in stock, would explain the whole of
them. A favourite one, however, is the following, which is of very easy
construction. Take three damozels, dressed in straight night-gowns. Pull
their hair-pins out, and let their hair tumble all about their
shoulders. A few stars may be sprinkled into this with advantage. Place
an aureole about the head of each, and give each a lily in her hand,
about half the size of herself. Bend their necks all different ways, and
set them in a row before a stone wall, with an apple-tree between each
and some large flowers at their feet. Trees and flowers of the right
sort are very plentiful in church windows. When you have arranged all
these objects rightly, take a cast of them in the softest part of your
brain, and pour in your word-composition as above described.
This kind of poem is much improved by what is called a burden. This
consists of a few jingling words, generally of an archaic character,
about which we have only to be careful that they have no reference to
the subject of the poem they are to ornament. They are inserted without
variation between the stanzas.
In conclusion we would remark to beginners that this sort of composition
must be attempted only in a perfectly vacant atmosphere; so that no
grains of common-sense may injure the work whilst in progress.