COMPOUND EPITHETS IN EIGHTEENTH CENTURY POETRY
It is proposed in this chapter to examine in some detail the use of
compound epithets in the poetry of the eighteenth century. For this
purpose the following grammatical scheme of classification has been
adopted from various sources:[160] _First Type_, noun _plus_ noun;
_Second Type_, noun _plus_ adjective; _Third Type_, noun _plus_ present
participle; _Fourth Type_, noun _plus_ past participle; _Fifth Type_,
adjective, or adjective used adverbially, _plus_ another part of speech,
usually a participle; _Sixth Type_, true adverb _plus_ a participle;
_Seventh Type_, adjective _plus_ noun plus -_ed_. Of these types it
will be evident in many cases that the first (noun _plus_ noun) and the
sixth (true adverb _plus_ participle) are not compounds at all, for the
hyphen could often be removed without any change or loss of meaning.
Occasionally the compounds will be regarded from the point of view of the
logical relation between the two elements, when a formal classification
may usually be made as follows: (_a_) _Attributive_, as in “anger-glow”;
(_b_) _Objective_, as in “anger-kindling”; (_c_) _Instrumental_, as in
“anger-boiling.” This scheme of classification permits of an examination
of the compounds from the formal point of view, whilst at the same time
it does not preclude an estimate of the æsthetic value of the new words
thus added to the language of poetry.[161]
It may be said, to begin with, that the formation and use of compound
epithets has always been one of the distinguishing marks of the special
language of poetry in English, as distinct from that of prose. The very
ease with which they can be formed out of the almost inexhaustible
resources of the English vocabulary has been a constant source of
temptation to poets with new things to say, or new impressions to
describe. Moreover, the partial disappearance of inflections in modern
English has permitted of a vagueness in the formation of compound words,
which in itself is of value to the word-maker. Though, of course, it is
possible in most cases accurately to analyse the logical relation between
the elements of a compound, yet it sometimes happens, especially with the
compound epithets of poetry, that this cannot be done with certainty,
because the new formation may have been the result of a hasty but happy
inspiration, with no regard to the regular rules of composition.[162]
Hence, from one point of view, the free formation of compounds is
a legitimate device allowed to the poets, of which the more severe
atmosphere of prose is expected to take less advantage; from another
point of view, the greater prevalence of the compound in poetry may not
be unconnected with the rhythm of verse. Viewed in this light, the use
of compound epithets in our poetry at any period may well have been
conditioned, in part at least, by the metrical form in which that poetry
received expression; and thus in the poetry of the eighteenth century it
connects itself in some degree—first, with the supremacy of the heroic
couplet, and later with the blank verse that proved to be the chief rival
of the decasyllabic.
The freedom of construction which facilitates the formation of compounds
had already in the earliest English period contributed to that special
poetic diction which is a distinguishing mark of Anglo-Saxon verse, as
indeed of all the old Germanic poetry; of the large number of words not
used in Anglo-Saxon prose, very many are synonymous compounds meaning
the same thing.[163] During the Middle English period, and especially
before the triumph of the East Midland dialect definitely prepared
the way for Modern English, it would seem that the language lost much
of its old power of forming compounds, one explanation being that the
large number of French words, which then came into the language, drove
out many of the Old English compounds, whilst at the same time these
in-comers, so easily acquired, tended to discourage the formation of new
compounds.[164] It was not until the great outburst of literary activity
in the second half of the sixteenth century that a fresh impetus was
given to the formation of compound nouns and epithets. The large number
of classical translations especially exercised an important influence in
this respect: each new translation had its quota of fresh compounds, but
Chapman’s “Homer” may be mentioned as especially noteworthy.[165] At
the same time the plastic state of Elizabethan English led to the making
of expressive new compounds of native growth, and from this period date
some of the happiest compound epithets to be found in the language.[166]
From the Elizabethans this gift of forming imaginative compounds was
inherited, with even greater felicity by Milton, many of whose epithets,
especially those of Type VII such as “_grey-hooded even_,” “_coral-paven
floor_,” “_flowery-kirtled_ Naiades” reveal him as a consummate master of
word-craft.
With Dryden begins the period with which we are especially concerned,
for it is generally agreed that from nearly every point of view the
advent of what is called eighteenth century literature dates from the
Restoration. During the forty years dominated by Dryden in practically
every department of literature, the changes in the language, both of
prose and poetry, which had been slowly evolving themselves, became
apparent, and, as the sequel will show, this new ideal of style, with its
passion for “correctness,” and its impatience of innovation, was not one
likely to encourage or inspire the formation of expressive compounds; the
happy audacities of the Elizabethans, of whose tribe it is customary to
seal Milton, are no longer possible.
The compounds in the poems of Dryden show this; of his examples of Type
I—the substantive compounds—the majority are merely the juxtaposition of
two appositional nouns, as _brother-angels_ (“Killigrew,” 4); or, more
rarely, where the first element has a descriptive or adjectival force,
as _traitor-friend_ (“Palamon,” II, 568). Not much more imaginative
power is reflected in Dryden’s compound epithets; his instances of Types
III and IV include “_cloud-dispelling_ winds” (“Ovid,” Met. I, 356),
“_sun-begotten_ tribe” (_ibid._, III, 462), with more original examples
like “_sleep-procuring_ wand.” Next comes a large number of instances
of Types V and VI: “_thick-spread_ forest” (“Palamon,” II, 123),
“_hoarse-resounding_ shore” (“Iliad” I, 54), as well as many compounded
with _long_-, _well_-, _high_-, etc. Most of these examples of Types V
and VI are scarcely compounds at all, for after such elements as “long,”
“well,” “much,” the hyphen could in most cases be omitted without any
loss of power. Of Dryden’s compound epithets it may be said in general
that they reflect admirably his poetic theory and practice; they are
never the product of a “fine frenzy.” At the same time not a few of them
seem to have something of that genius for satirical expression with which
he was amply endowed. Compounds like _court-informer_ (“Absalom,” 719),
“the rebels’ _pension-purse_” (_ibid._, Pt. II, 321),
Og, from a _treason-tavern_ rolling home
(_Ibid._, 480)
play their part in the delivery of those “smacks in the face” of which
Professor Saintsbury speaks in his discussion of Dryden’s satiric
manipulation of the heroic couplet.[167]
In the verse of Pope, compound formations are to be found in large
numbers. This may partly be attributed, no doubt, to the amount of
translation included in it, but even in his original poetry there
are many more instances than in the work of his great predecessor.
When engaged on his translation of Homer the prevalence of compounds
naturally attracted his attention, and he refers to the matter more
than once in his Preface.[168] As might be expected from the apostle
of “correctness,” he lays down cautious and conservative “rules” of
procedure. Such should be retained “as slide easily of themselves into an
English compound, without violence to the ear, or to the received rules
of composition, as well as those which have received the sanction from
the authority of our best poets, and are become familiar through their
use of them.”[169]
An examination of Pope’s compounds in the light of “the received rules of
composition,” shows his examples to be of the usual types. Of noun _plus_
noun combinations he has such forms as “_monarch-savage_,” (“Odyss.”
IV), whilst he is credited with the first use of “the _fury-passions_”
(Epistle III). More originality and imagination is reflected in his
compound epithets; of those formed from a noun and a present participle,
with the first element usually in an objective relation to the second,
his instances include “_love-darting_-eyes” (“Unfortunate Lady”), as well
as others found before his time, like the Elizabethan “_heart-piercing_
anguish” (_ibid._, XII) and “_laughter-loving_ dame” (_ibid._, III).
He has large numbers of compounded nouns and past-participles, many of
which—“_moss-grown_ domes” (“Eloisa”), “_cloud-topped_ hills” (“Essay
on Man,” I, 100), “_Sea-girt_ isles” (“Iliad,” III)—were common in
the seventeenth century, as well as “borrowed” examples, such as
“_home-felt_ joys” (Epistle II) or “_air-bred_ people” (“Odyss.,” LX,
330), presumably from Milton and Drayton respectively. But he has a few
original formations of this type, such as “_heaven-directed_ spire”
(Epistle III), “_osier-fringed_ bank,” (“Odyss.,” XIII), the latter
perhaps a reminiscence of Sabrina’s song in “Comus,” as well as happier
combinations, of which the best examples are “_love-born_ confidence”
(“Odyss.,” X) and “_love-dittied_ airs” (“Odyss.,” II).
Pope, however, makes his largest use of that type of compound which
can be formed with the greatest freedom—an adjective, or an adjective
used adverbially, joined to a present or past participle. He has
dozens of examples with the adverbial _long_, _wide_, _far_, _loud_,
_deep_, _high_, etc., as the first element, most of the examples
occurring in the Homer translations, and being attempts to reproduce
the Greek compounds.[170] Other instances have a higher æsthetic
value: “_fresh-blooming_ hope” (“Eloisa”), “_silver-quivering_ rills”
(Epistle IV), “_soft-trickling_ waters” “Iliad,” IX), “sweet airs
_soft-circling_” (_ibid._, XVII), etc. Of the formations beginning with
a true adverb, the most numerous are the quasi-compounds beginning
with “_ever_”—“_ever-during_ nights,” “_ever-fragrant_ bowers”
(“Odyss.,” XII), etc.; or “_well_”—“_well-sung_ woes” (“Eloisa”) or
“_yet_”—“_yet-untasted_ food” (“Iliad,” XV), etc. These instances do
not reveal any great originality, for the very ease with which they can
be formed naturally discounts largely their poetic value. Occasionally,
however, Pope has been more successful; perhaps his best examples of
this type are “_inly-pining_ hate” (“Odyss.,” VI—where the condensation
involved in the epithet does at least convey some impression of power—and
“the _softly-stealing_ space of time,” (“Odyss.,” XV), where the compound
almost produces a happy effect of personification.
Of the irregular type of compound, already mentioned in connexion with
Dryden, Pope has a few instances—“_white-robed_ innocence” (“Eloisa”),
etc. But perhaps Pope’s happiest effort in this respect is to be seen in
that quatrain from the fourth book of the “Dunciad,” containing three
instances of compound epithets, which help to remind us that at times he
had at his command a diction of higher suggestive and evocative power
than the plain idiom of his satiric and didactic verse:
To isles of fragrance, _lily-silver’d_ vales
Diffusing languor in the panting gales;
To lands of singing or of dancing slaves
_Love-whisp’ring_ woods and _lute-resounding_ waves.
Of the poets contemporary with Pope only brief mention need be made from
our present point of view. The poems of Anne, Countess of Winchilsea
contain few instances and those of the ordinary type, a remark which is
equally applicable to the poems of Parnell and John Phillips. John Gay
(1685-1732), however, though he has many formations found in previous
writers, has also some apparently original compound epithets which have
a certain charm: “_health-breathing_ breezes” (“A Devonshire Hill,” 10),
“_dew-besprinkled_ lawn” (“Fables,” 50), and “the lark _high-poised_ in
the air” (“Sweet William’s Farewell,” 13). More noteworthy is John Dyer;
“Grongar Hill” has no very striking examples, but his blank verse poems
have one or two not devoid of imaginative value: “_soft-whispering_
waters” (“Ruins of Rome”) and “_plaintive-echoing_ ruins” (_ibid._); he
has been able to dispense with the “classical” descriptive terms for
hills and mountains (“shaggy,” “horrid,” “terrible,” etc.), and his new
epithets reflect something at least of that changing attitude towards
natural scenery, of which he was a foremost pioneer: “_slow-climbing_
wilds” (“Fleece,” I), “_cloud-dividing_ hill” (_ibid._), and his
irregular “_snow-nodding_ crags” (_ibid._, IV).
Neglecting for the moment the more famous of the blank verse poems,
we may notice Robert Blair’s “Grave” (published 1743), with a few
examples, which mainly allow him to indulge in “classical” periphrases,
such as the “_sight-invigorating_ tube” for “a telescope.” David
Mallet, who imitated his greater countryman James Thomson, has one
or two noteworthy instances: “pines _high-plumed_” (“Amyntor,” II),
“_sweetly-pensive_ silence” (“Fragment”), “spring’s _flower-embroidered_
mantle” (“Excursion,” I)—suggested, no doubt, by Milton’s
“violet-embroidered”—“the morn _sun-tinctured_” (_ibid._), compound
epithets which betray the influence of the “Seasons.” Of the other minor
blank verse poems their only aspect noteworthy from our present point of
view is their comparative freedom from compounds of any description. John
Armstrong’s “Art of Preserving Health” (1744) has only a few commonplace
examples, and the same may be said of the earlier “The Chase” (1735)
by William Somerville, though he finds a new epithet in his expression
“the strand _sea-lav’d_” (Bk. III, 431). James Grainger’s “The Sugar
Cane” (1764) shows a similar poverty, but the “_green-stol’d_ Naiad,
of the tinkling rill” (Canto I), “_soft-stealing_ dews” (Canto III),
“_wild-careering_ clouds” (Canto II), and “_cane-crowned_ vale” (Canto
IV) are not without merit. These blank verse poems, avowedly modelled
on Milton, might have been expected to attempt the “grandeur” of their
original by high-sounding compounds; but it was rather by means of
latinized words and constructions that the Miltonic imitators sought to
emulate the grand style; and moreover, as Coleridge pointed out, Milton’s
great epics are almost free from compound epithets, it being in the
early poems that “a superfluity” is to be found.[171]
Before turning to the more famous blank verse poems of the first half
of the eighteenth century it will be convenient at this point to notice
one or two poets whose work represents, on its formal side at least, a
continuation or development of the school of Pope. The first of these
is Richard Savage, whose only poem of any real merit, “The Wanderer”
(apart perhaps from “The Bastard”), appeared in 1729. He has only one
or two new compounds of noun and part-participle, such as “the robe
_snow-wrought_” (“The Wanderer,” I, 55), his favourite combination being
that of an adjective or adverb with a participle, where, amidst numerous
examples of obvious formations, he occasionally strikes out something
new: “eyes _dim-gleaming_” (Canto I), “_soft-creeping_ murmurs” (Canto
V), etc. Of his other types the only other noteworthy compound is the
“past-participle” epithet in his phrase “the _amber-hued_ cascade” (Canto
III), though a refreshing simplicity of expression is found in such lines
as
The bull-finch whistles soft his _flute-like_ note.
The poetical work of Dr. Johnson contains scarcely any instances of
compounds, and none either newly invented or applied. “London” and “The
Vanity of Human Wishes” have each not more than two or three instances,
and even the four poems, in which he successively treats of the seasons,
are almost destitute of compound epithets, “_snow-topped_ cot” (“Winter”)
being almost the only example.
There are many more instances of compound formations in the works of
Oliver Goldsmith, most of which, like “_nut-brown_ draughts” (“Deserted
Village,” II), “_sea-borne_ gales” (“Traveller,” 121), “_grass-grown_
footway” (“Deserted Village,” 127), had either been long in the language,
or had been used by earlier eighteenth century poets. There are,
however, instances which testify to a desire to add to the descriptive
power of the vocabulary; in “The Traveller” we find mention of “the
_hollow-sounding_ bittern” (l. 44), “the _rocky-crested_ summits” (l.
85), “the _yellow-blossomed_ vale” (l. 293), and the “_willow-tufted_
bank” (l. 294). For the rest, Goldsmith’s original compounds are,
like so many of this type, mere efforts at verbal condensation, as
“_shelter-seeking_ peasant” (“Traveller,” 162), “_joy-pronouncing_ eye”
(_ibid._, 10), etc.
Of the more famous blank verse poems of the eighteenth century the first
and most important was “The Seasons” of James Thomson, which appeared in
their original form between 1726 and 1730. The originality of style, for
which Johnson praised him,[172] is perhaps to be seen especially in his
use of compound formations; probably no other poet has ever used them so
freely.
As a general rule, Thomson’s compounds fall into the well-defined groups
already mentioned. He has a number of noun _plus_ noun formations (Type
I), where the first element has usually a purely adjectival value;
“_patriot-council_” (“Autumn,” 98), “_harvest-treasures_” (_ibid._,
1217), as well as a few which allow him to indulge in grandiose
periphrasis, as in the “_monarch-swain_” (“Summer,” 495) for a shepherd
with his “_sceptre-crook_” (_ibid._, 497). These are all commonplace
formations, but much more originality is found in his compound epithets.
He frequently uses the noun _plus_ present participle combinations
(Type III), “_secret-winding_, _flower-enwoven_ bowers” (“Spring,”
1058) or “_forest-rustling_ mountains” (“Winter,” 151), etc. Moreover,
the majority of his compounds are original, though now and then he
has taken a “classical” compound and given it a somewhat curious
application, as in “_cloud-compelling_ cliffs” (“Autumn,” 801). A few of
this class are difficult to justify logically, striking examples being
“_world-rejoicing_ state” (“Summer,” 116) for “the state of one in whom
the world rejoices,” and “_life-sufficing_ trees” (_ibid._, 836) for
“trees that give sustenance.”
Thomson has also numerous instances of the juxtaposition of nouns
and past-participles (Type IV): “_love-enlivened_ cheeks” (“Spring,”
1080), “_leaf-strewn_ walks” (“Autumn,” 955), “_frost-concocted_ glebe”
(“Winter,” 706); others of this type are somewhat obscure in meaning,
as “_mind-illumined_ face” (“Spring,” 1042), and especially “_art
imagination-flushed_” (“Autumn,” 140), where economy of expression is
perhaps carried to its very limit.
Thomson’s favourite method of forming compounds however is that of
Type V, each book of “The Seasons” containing large numbers, the first
element (_full_, _prone_, _quick_, etc.) often repeated with a variant
second element. Sometimes constant repetition in this way produces
the impression of a tiresome mannerism. Thus “many” joined to present
and past-participles is used irregularly with quasi-adverbial force,
apparently meaning “in many ways,” “many times,” or even “much,” as
“_many-twinkling_ leaves” (“Spring,” 158), “_many-bleating_ flock”
(_ibid._, 835), etc. In the same way the word “mazy” seems to have had
a fascination for Thomson. Thus he has “the _mazy-running_ soul of
melody” (“Spring,” 577), “the _mazy-running_ brook” (“Summer,” 373),
“and _mazy-running_ clefts” (“Autumn,” 816), etc. Not all of this
type, however, are mere mechanical formations; some have real poetic
value and bear witness to Thomson’s undoubted gift for achieving happy
expressive effects. Thus the “_close-embowering_ wood” (“Autumn,” 208),
“the lonesome muse _low-whispering_” (_ibid._, 955), “the _deep-tangled_
copse” (“Spring,” 594), “the _hollow-whispering_ breeze” (_ibid._,
919), “the _grey-grown_ oaks” (“Summer,” 225), “_flowery-tempting_
paths” (“Spring,” 1109), “the morn _faint-gleaming_” (“Summer,” 48),
“_dark-embowered_ firs” (“Winter,” 813), “the winds _hollow-blustering_”
(_ibid._, 988), “the _mossy-tinctured_ streams” (“Spring,” 380), as well
as such passages as
the long-forgotten strain
At first _faint-warbled_
(“Spring,” 585)
and
Ships _dim-discovered_ dropping from the clouds.
(“Summer,” 946)
Thomson’s compound epithets with a true adverb as the first element
(Sixth Type), such as “_north-inflated_ tempest” (“Autumn,” 892), are not
particularly striking, and some of them are awkward and result in giving
a harsh effect to the verse, as
goodness and wit
In _seldom-meeting_ harmony combined.
(“Summer,” 25-6)
Finally, in “The Seasons” there are to be found many examples of the
type of compound epithet, already referred to, modelled on the form
of a past-participle; here Thomson has achieved some of his happiest
expressions, charged with real suggestive power.[173] Among his instances
are such little “word-pictures” as “_rocky-channelled_ maze” (“Spring,”
401), “the _light-footed_ dews” (“Summer,” 123); “the _keen-aired_
mountain” (“Autumn,” 434) “the _dusky-mantled_ lawn” (_ibid._, 1088),
“the _dewy-skirted_ clouds” (_ibid._, 961) Even when he borrows a
felicitous epithet he is able to apply it without loss of power, as when
he gives a new setting to Milton’s “meek-eyed” applied to “Peace” as
an epithet for the quiet in-coming of the dawn; the “_meek-eyed_ Morn”
(“Summer,” 47).
Thomson makes good and abundant use of compound epithets, and in this
respect, as in others he was undoubtedly a bold pioneer. His language
itself, from our present point of view, apart from the thought and
outlook on external nature it reflects, entitles him to that honourable
position as a forerunner in the Romantic reaction with which he is
usually credited. He was not content to accept the stereotyped diction
of his day, and asserted the right of the poet to make a vocabulary for
himself. There is thus justice in the plea that it is Thomson, rather
than Gray, whom Wordsworth should have marked down for widening the
breach between the language of poetry and that of prose.
No doubt the prevalence of the compound epithets in “The Seasons” is
due, to some extent at least, to the requirement of his blank verse
line; they helped him, so to speak, to secure the maximum of effect with
the minimum of word-power; and at times we can almost see him trying
to give to his unrhymed decasyllabics something of the conciseness and
polish to which Pope’s couplet had accustomed his generation. But they
owe their appearance, of course, to other causes than the mere mechanism
of verse. Thompson’s fondness for “swelling sound and phrase” has often
been touched upon, and this predilection finds full scope in the compound
epithets; they play their part in giving colour and atmosphere to “The
Seasons,” and they announce unmistakably that the old dead, descriptive
diction is doomed.
Of the blank verse poems of the period only “The Seasons” has any real
claim to be regarded as announcing the Romantic revolt that was soon to
declare itself unmistakably. But three years after the appearance of
Thomson’s final revision of his poem the first odes of William Collins
were published, at the same time as those of Joseph Warton, whilst the
work of Thomas Gray had already begun.
There are some two score of compound formations in the poems of
Collins, but many of these—as “_love-darting_” (“Poetic Character,” 8),
“_soul-subduing_” (“Liberty,” 92)—date from the seventeenth century. One
felicitous compound Collins has borrowed from James Thomson, but in doing
so he has invested it with a new and beautiful suggestiveness. Thomson
had written of
Ships _dim-discovered_ dropping from the clouds.
(“Summer,” 946)
The compound is taken by Collins and given a new beauty in his
description of the landscape as the evening shadows gently settle upon it:
Hamlets brown and _dim-discovered_ spires
(“Evening,” 37)
where the poetic and pictorial force of the epithet is perhaps at its
maximum.[174]
Collins, however, has not contented himself with compounds already in the
language; he has formed himself, apparently, almost half of the examples
to be found in his poems. His instances of Types I, as of Types V and
VI, are commonplace, and he has but few examples of Type II, the most
noteworthy being “_scene-full_ world” (“Manners,” 78), where the epithet,
irregularly formed, seems to have the meaning of “abounding in scenery.”
Most of his instances of Type III are either to be found in previous
writers, or are obvious formations like “_war-denouncing_ trumpets”
(“Passions,” 43).
Much more originality is evident in his examples of Type IV, which
is apparently a favourite method with him. He has “_moss-crowned_
fountain” (“Oriental Ecl.,” II, 24), “_sky-worn_ robes” (“Pity,”
II), “_sedge-crowned_ sisters” (“Ode on Thomson,” 30), “_elf-shot_
arrows” (“Popular Superstitions,” 27), etc. Some instances here are,
strictly speaking, irregular formations, for the participles, as in
“_sphere-descended_,” are from intransitive verbs; in other instances the
logical relation must be expressed by a preposition such, as “_with_”
in “_moss-crowned_,” “_sedge-crowned_”; or “_by_” in “_fancy-blest_,”
“_elf-shot_”; or “_in_” in “_sphere-found_,” “_sky-worn_.” He has some
half-dozen examples of Type VII, three at least of which—“_gay-motleyed_
pinks” (“Oriental Eclogues,” III, 17), “_chaste-eyed_ Queen” (“Passions,”
75), and “_fiery-tressed_ Dane” (“Liberty,” 97)—are apparently his own
coinage, whilst others, such as “_rosy-lipp’d_ health” (“Evening,” 50)
and “_young-eyed_ wit,” have been happily used in the service of the
personifications that play so great a part in his Odes.
There is some evidence that the use of compounds by certain writers
was already being noticed in the eighteenth century as something of an
innovation in poetical language. Thus Goldsmith, it would seem, was
under the impression that their increasing employment, even by Gray,
was connected in some way with the revived study of the older poets,
especially Spenser.[175] This supposition is unfounded. Gray, it is
true, uses a large number of compounds, found in previous writers, but
it is chiefly from Milton—e.g. “_solemn-breathing_ airs” (“Progress
of Poesy,” 14; cp. “Comus,” 555), “rosy-bosomed hours” (“Spring,” I),
or from Pope—e.g. “_cloud-topped_ head” (“Bard,” 34) that he borrows.
Moreover, he has many compounds which presumably he made for himself.
Of Type I he has such instances as “the _seraph-wings_ of Ecstasy”
(“Progress,” 96), “the _sapphire-blaze_” (_ibid._, 99), etc.; he has one
original example of Type II in his “_silver-bright_ Cynthia” (“Music,”
32), and two of Type III, when he speaks of the valley of Thames as a
“_silver-winding_ way” (“Eton Ode,” 10), and he finds a new epithet
for the dawn in his beautiful phrase “the _incense-breathing_ Morn”
(Elegy XVII). Of Type IV, he has some half-dozen examples, only two of
which, however, owe their first appearance to him—the irregularly formed
“_feather-cinctured_ chiefs” (“Progress,” 62) and “the _dew-bespangled_
wing” (“Vicissitude,” 2). The largest number of Gray’s compound
epithets belong to Type V, where an adjective is used adverbially with
a participle: “_rosy-crowned_ loves” (“Progress,” 28) and “_deep-toned_
shell” (“Music,” 23). One of Gray’s examples of this class of compound,
evidently formed on a model furnished by Thomson, came in for a good
deal of censure. He speaks of “_many-twinkling_ feet” (“Progress,” 35),
and the compound, which indeed is somewhat difficult to defend, aroused
disapproval in certain quarters. Lyttleton was one of the first to object
to its use, and he communicated his disapproval to Walpole, who, however,
at once took sides for the defence. “In answer to your objection,” he
wrote,[176] “I will quote authority to which you will yield. As Greek as
the expression is, it struck Mrs. Garrick; and she says that Mr. Gray
is the only poet who ever understood dancing.” Later, the objection was
revived in a general form by Dr. Johnson. “Gray,” he says,[177] “is too
fond of words arbitrarily compounded. ‘Many-twinkling’ was formerly
censured as not analogical: we may say ‘_many-spotted_’ but scarcely
‘_many_-spotting.’” The incident is not without its significance;
from the strictly grammatical point of view the epithet is altogether
irregular, unless the first element is admitted to be an adverb meaning
“very much” or “many times.” But Gray’s fastidiousness of expression is
a commonplace of criticism, and we may be sure that even when he uses
compounds of this kind he has not forgotten his own clearly expressed
views on the language fit and proper for poetry.
Johnson also objected to another device by which Gray had sought
to enrich the vocabulary of poetry, as reflected in his use of the
“participal” epithet in -_ed_.[178] If this device for forming new
epithets cannot be grammatically justified, the practice of the best
English poets at least has always been against Johnson’s dictum, and,
as we have seen, it has been a prolific source of original and valuable
compound epithets. Of this type Gray has some six or seven examples, the
majority of which, however, had long been in the language, though in the
new epithet of “the _ivy-mantled_ tower” (Elegy IX) we may perhaps see
an indication of the increasing Romantic sensibility towards old ruins.
Though not admitted to the same high rank of poets as Collins and Gray,
two of their contemporaries, the brothers Warton, are at least of as
great importance in the history of the Romantic revival.[179] From our
present point of view it is not too fanciful to see a reflection of
this fact in the compound epithets freely used by both of the Wartons.
Thomas Warton is especially noteworthy; probably no other eighteenth
century poet, with the exception of James Thomson, has so many instances
of new compound formations, and these are all the more striking in that
few of them are of the mechanical type, readily formed by means of a
commonplace adjective or adverb. Instances of compound substantives
(Type I) are almost entirely lacking, and the same may be said of the
noun _plus_ adjective epithets (Type II). There are, however, a few
examples of Type III (noun _plus_ present participle), some of which, as
“_beauty-blooming_ isle” (“Pleasures of Melancholy”), “_twilight-loving_
bat” (_ibid._), and “the woodbines _elm-encircling_ spray” (“On a New
Plantation”), no doubt owe something to the influence of Thomson.
Instances of Type IV are plentiful, and here again there is a welcome
freshness in Warton’s epithets: “Fancy’s _fairy-circled_ shrine” (“Monody
Written near Stratford-on-Avon”), “morning’s _twilight-tinctured_
beam” (“The Hamlet”), “_daisy-dappled_ dale” (“Sonnet on Bathing”).
One instance of this class of compound epithet, “the _furze-clad_
dale,” is certainly significant as indicative of the changes that were
going on from the “classical” to the Romantic outlook towards natural
scenery.[180]
Of the other class of compound epithets, Warton has only a few instances,
but his odes gave plenty of scope for the use of the “participial
epithet” (Type VII), and he has formed them freely: “Pale Cynthia’s
_silver-axled_ car” (“Pleasures of Melancholy”), “the _coral-cinctured_
stole” (“Complaint of Cherwell”), “Sport, the _yellow-tressed_ boy”
(_ibid._). No doubt many of Thomas Warton’s compound formations were the
result of a conscious effort to find “high-sounding” terms, and they
have sometimes an air of being merely rhetorical, as in such instances
as “_beauty-blooming_,” “_gladsome-glistering_ green,” “_azure-arched_,”
“_twilight-tinctured_,” “_coral-cinctured_,” “_cliff-encircled_,”
“_daisy-dappled_,” where alliterative effects have obviously been sought.
Yet he deserves great credit for his attempts to find new words at a time
when the stock epithets and phrases were still the common treasury of the
majority of his contemporaries.
His brother, Joseph Warton, is less of a pioneer, but there is evident
in his work also an effort to search out new epithets. His compounds
include (Type II) “_marble-mimic_ gods” (“The Enthusiast”); (Type III)
“_courage-breathing_ songs” (“Verses, 1750”), with many instances of Type
IV, some commonplace, as “_merchant-crowded_ towns” (“Ode to Health”),
others more original, as “mirth and youth nodding _lily-crowned_ heads”
(“Ode to Fancy”), joy, “the _rose-crowned, ever-smiling_ boy” (“Ode
Against Despair”), “the _beech-embowered_ cottage” (“On The Spring”).
Moreover, there are a number in “The Enthusiast,” which reflect a genuine
love of Nature (“_thousand-coloured_ tulips,” “_pine-topp’d_ precipice”)
and a keen observation of its sights and sounds.
It is not forcing the evidence of language too much to say that a similar
increasing interest in external nature finds expression in some of the
compound epithets to be found in much of the minor poetry of the period.
Thus Moses Mendez (_d._ 1758)[181] has in his poem on the various seasons
(1751) such conventional epithets as
On every hill the _purple-blushing_ vine,
but others testify to first hand observation as
The _pool-sprung_ gnat on sounding wings doth pass.
Richard Jago (1715-1781)[182], in his “Edgehill” (1767), has such
instances as “the _woodland-shade_,” “the _wave-worn_ face,” and “the
tillag’d plain _wide-waving_.” The Rev. R. Potter,[183] who imitated
Spenser in his “Farewell Hymn to the Country” (1749), has happy examples
like “_mavis-haunted_ grove” and “this _flowre-perfumed_ aire.” In
William Whitehead’s poems[184] there are numerous formations like
“_cloud-enveloped_ towers” (“A Hymn”) and “_rock-invested_ shades”
(“Elegy,” IV). A few new descriptive terms appear in the work of John
Langhorne (1735-1779),[185] “_flower-feeding_ rills” (“Visions of
Fancy,” I), “_long-winding_ vales” (“Genius and Valour”), etc. Michael
Bruce (1746-1767) in his “Lochleven”[186] has, e.g., “_cowslip-covered_
banks,” and fresh observation of bird life is seen in such phrases
as “_wild-shrieking_ gull” and “_slow-wing’d_ crane.” James Graeme
(1749-1772)[187] has at least one new and happy compound in his line
The _blue-gray_ mist that hovers o’er the hill.
(“Elegy written in Spring”)
John Scott (1730-1783)[188] makes more use of compound formations than
most of his minor contemporaries. He has many instances of Type IV (noun
_plus_ participle), including “_rivulet-water’d_ glade” (Eclogue I),
“_corn-clad_ plain,” “_elder-shaded_ cot” (“Amwell”). His few instances
of Type VI (e.g. “_wildly-warbled_ strain,” (“Ode” IV)), and of Type VII
(e.g. “_trefoil-purpled_ field” (“Elegy,” III)); “_may-flower’d_ hedges”
(“Elegy,” IV); and “_golden-clouded_ sky,” (“Ode,” II), are also worthy of
notice.
Meanwhile another aspect of the rising Romantic movement was revealing
itself in the work of Chatterton. With the “antiquarianism” of the
Rowley poems we are not here concerned, but the language of both the
“original” work and of the “discovered” poems contains plenty of material
relevant to our special topic. Chatterton, indeed, seems to have had a
predilection for compound formations, though he has but few instances of
compound substantives (e.g. “_coppice-valley_” (“Elegy”), and instances
of Type II (noun _plus_ adjective) are also rare. The other types of
epithets are, however, well represented: “_echo-giving_ bells” (“To Miss
Hoyland”), “_rapture-speaking_ lyre” (“Song”), etc. (Type III), though it
is perhaps in Type IV that Chatterton’s word-forming power is best shown:
“_flower-bespangled_ hills” (“Complaint”), “_rose-hedged_ vale” (“Elegy
at Stanton-Drew”), etc., where the first compound epithet is a new and
suggestive descriptive term. His examples of Type V are also worth
noting: “_verdant-vested_ trees” (“Elegy,” V), “_red-blushing_ blossom”
“Song”), whilst one of the best of them is to be found in those lines,
amongst the most beautiful written by Chatterton, which reflect something
of the new charm that men were beginning to find in old historic churches
and buildings:
To view the cross-aisles and the arches fair
Through the half-hidden _silver-twinkling_ glare
Of yon bright moon in foggy mantle dress’d.
(“Parliament of Sprites,” Canto XXI)
The remaining examples of Chatterton’s compound formations do not
call for much attention, though “_gently-plaintive_ rill” (“Elegy on
Phillips”) and “_loudly-dinning_ stream” (“Ælla,” 84) are new and fresh.
Chatterton has much of the conventional poetical language and devices of
his time throughout his work, and his compound epithets do not in the
mass vary much from contemporary usage in this respect. But some of them
at least are significant of the position which he occupies in the history
of the Romantic revival.
The greatest figure in this revival, as it appears to us now, was William
Blake, but from our present point of view he is almost negligible. It
may safely be said that few poets of such high rank have made less
use of compound formations: in his entire poetical work scarcely half
a dozen instances are to be found. Yet the majority of these, such
as “_angel-guarded bed_” (“A Dream,” 2), “_mind-forg’d_ manacles”
(“London,” 8), “Winter’s _deep-founded_ habitation” (“Winter,” 3),
“_softly-breathing_ song” (“Song,” 2: “Poetical Sketches”) are a
sufficiently striking tribute to his ability to form expressive compounds
had he felt the need. But in the beautiful purity and simplicity of his
diction, for which he has in our own time at least received adequate
praise, there was no place for long compound formations, which, moreover,
are more valuable and more appropriate for descriptive poetry, and likely
to mar the pure singing note of the lyric.
It is curious to find a similar paucity of compound formations in the
poems of George Crabbe, the whole number being well represented by
such examples as “_dew-press’d_ vale” (“Epistle to a Friend,” 48),
“_violet-wing’d_ Zephyrs” (“The Candidate,” 268), and “_wind-perfuming_
flowers” (“The Choice”). No doubt the narrative character of much of
Crabbe’s verse is the explanation of this comparative lack of compounds,
but the descriptions of wild nature that form the background for many of
“The Tales” might have been expected to result in new descriptive terms.
Two lesser poets of the time are more noteworthy as regards our especial
topic. William Mickle (1735-1788), in his “Almada Hill” (1781) and
his “May Day,” as well as in his shorter poems, has new epithets for
hills and heights, as in such phrases as “_thyme-clad_ mountains” and
“_fir-crown’d_ hill” (“Sorcerers,” 4). His Spenserian imitation “Syr
Martyn,” contains a few happy epithets:
How bright emerging o’er yon _broom-clad_ height
The silver empress of the night appears
(Canto II, 31)
and “_daisie-whitened_ plain,” “_crystal-streamed_ Esk” are among his new
formations in “Eskdale Braes.”
James Beattie has a large number of compounds in his poems, and though
many of these are mechanical formations, he has a few new “nature”
epithets which are real additions to the vocabulary of poetical
description, as “_sky-mixed_ mountain” (“Ode to Peace,” 38), the lake
“_dim-gleaming_” (“Minstrel,” 176), “the _wide-weltering_ waves”
(_ibid._, 481), the wave “_loose-glimmering_” (“Judgment of Paris,” 458).
He has also a few instances of Type VII chiefly utilized, as often with
compounds of this type, as personifying epithets: “the frolic moments
_purple_-pinioned” (“Judgment of Paris,” 465) and “_loose-robed_ Quiet”
(“Triumph of Melancholy,” 64).
The “Pleasures of Memory” (1792) by Samuel Rogers has one or two
compound formations: “_moonlight-chequered_ shade” (Part II). Hope’s
“_summer-visions_” (_ibid._) and “the _fairy-haunts_ of long-lost hours”
(_ibid.)_, have a trace at least of that suggestive power with which
Keats and Shelley were soon to endow their epithets. Brief reference only
need be made to the works of Erasmus Darwin, which have already been
mentioned as the great example of eighteenth century stock diction used
to the utmost possible extent. He has plenty of instances of compound
epithets of every type, but his favourite formation appears to be that
of a noun _plus_ part-participle, as “_sun-illumined_ fane” (“Botanic
Garden,” I, 157), “_wave-worn_ channels” (_ibid._, I, 362), and as seen
in such lines as
Her _shell-wrack_ gardens and her _sea-fan_ bowers.
(“Economy of Vegetation,” VI, 82)
Many of Darwin’s compounds have a certain charm of their own; in the mass
they contribute towards that dazzling splendour with which eighteenth
century diction here blazed out before it finally disappeared.
Cowper, like Blake and Crabbe, is not especially distinguished for his
compound epithets. Though he has a large number of such formations, very
few of them are either new or striking, a remark which applies equally to
his original work and his translations. Many instances of all the types
are to be found in the “Homer,” but scarcely one that calls for special
mention, though here and there we come across good epithets well applied:
“accents _ardour-winged_” (IV, 239) or “_silver-eddied_ Peneus” (II, 294).
Before attempting to sum up the use of compound epithets in eighteenth
century poetry, brief reference may be made to their use in the early
work of the two poets who announced the definite advent of the new age.
Wordsworth in his early poems has many instance of compound words,
most of which are either his own formations, or are rare before his
time. The original and final drafts both of the “Evening Walk” and the
“Descriptive Sketches” show some divergence in this respect, compounds
found in the 1793 version being omitted later, whilst on the other new
formations appear in the revised poems. Besides imitative instances
such as “_cloud-piercing_ pine trees” (D.S., 63), there are more
original and beautiful compounds, such as the “_Lip-dewing_ song and the
_ringlet-tossing_ dance” (_ibid._, 132), which does not appear until the
final draft.
Examples of Type IV are “_holly-sprinkled_ steeps” (E.W., 10), “The
sylvan cabin’s _lute-enlivened_ gloom” (D.S., 134, final); and of Types
V and VI, “_green-tinged_ margin” (D.S., 122), “_clear-blue_ sky” (D.S.,
113), “_dim-lit_ Alps” (D.S., 1793 only, 217), and “the _low-warbled_
breath of twilight lute” (D.S., 1793, 749). Wordsworth’s early poems,
it has been noted, are almost an epitome of the various eighteenth
century devices for producing what was thought to be a distinctively
poetical style,[189] but he soon shakes off this bondage, and “Guilt and
Sorrow,” perhaps the first poem in which his simplicity and directness
of expression are fully revealed, is practically without instances of
compound epithets.
The critics, it would appear, had already marked down as a fault a
“profusion of new coined double epithets”[190] in a “small volume of
juvenile poems” published by Coleridge in 1794. In replying to, or rather
commenting on, the charge, Coleridge makes an interesting digression on
the use of such formations, defending them on “the authority of Milton
and Shakespeare,” and suggesting that compound epithets should only be
admitted if they are already “denizens” of the language, or if the new
formation is a genuine compound, and not merely two words made one by
virtue of the hyphen. “A Language,” he adds, “which like the English
is almost without cases, is indeed in its very genius unfitted for
compounds. If a writer, every time a compounded word suggests itself
to him, would seek for some other mode of expressing the same sense,
the chances are always greatly in favour of his finding a better word.”
Though there is a good deal of sound sense in these remarks, we have only
to recall the wealth of beautiful compound epithets with which Keats, to
take only one example, was soon to enrich the language, to realize that
English poetry would be very much the poorer if the rule Coleridge lays
down had been strictly observed. It would perhaps be truer to say that
the imaginative quality of the compound epithets coined by a poet is a
good test of his advance in power of expression.[191]
As regards his own practice, Coleridge goes on to say[192] that
he “pruned the double epithets with no sparing hand”; but the
pruning was not very severe, judging from a comparison of the two
volumes. Yet these early poems are not without examples of good
compound epithets: “_zephyr-haunted_ brink,” (“Lines to a Beautiful
Spring”), “_distant-tinkling_ stream” (“Song of the Pixies,” 16),
“_sunny-tinctured_ hue” (_ibid._, 43), “_passion-warbled_ strain,” (“To
the Rev. W. J. H.”), etc.
When we review the use of compound epithets in the poetry of the
eighteenth century we are bound to admit that in this, as in other
aspects of the “purely poetical,” the eighteenth century stands apart
from other periods in our literary history. Most readers could probably
at will call to their mind half a dozen compound epithets of Shakespeare
and the Elizabethan period, of Milton, or of more modern writers, such as
Keats, that are, as it were, little poems in themselves, Shakespeare’s
“_young-eyed cherubim_,” or Milton’s “_grey-hooded even_,” or Keats’s
“_soft-conched shell_.” It is safe to say that few eighteenth century
words or phrases of this nature have captured the imagination to a
similar degree; Collins’s “_dim-discovered spires_” is perhaps the only
instance that comes readily to the mind.
There are, of course, as our study has shown, plenty of instances of
good compound epithets, but in the typical eighteenth century poetry
these are rarely the product of a genuine creative force that endows the
phrase with imaginative life. Even the great forerunners of the Romantic
revolt are not especially remarkable in this respect; one of the greatest
of them, William Blake, gave scarcely a single new compound epithet to
the language, and whilst this fact, of course, cannot be brought as a
reproach against him, yet it is, in some respects at least, significant
of the poetical atmosphere into which he was born. It has often been
remarked that when Latin influence was in the ascendant the formation of
new and striking compound epithets has been very rare in English poetry,
whilst it has been always stimulated, as we know from the concrete
examples of Chapman and Keats, by the influence of a revived Hellenism.
Another fact is worthy of attention. Many of the most beautiful compound
epithets in the English language are nature phrases descriptive of
outdoor sights and sounds. The arrested development, or the atrophy of
the sense of the beauty of the external world, which is a characteristic
of the neo-classical school, was an unconscious but effective bar to
the formation of new words and phrases descriptive of outdoor life. The
neo-classical poet, with his eye fixed on the town and on life as lived
there, felt no necessity for adding to the descriptive resources of his
vocabulary, especially when there was to his hand a whole _gradus_ of
accepted and consecrated words and phrases. It is in the apostles of “the
return to Nature” that we find, however inadequately, to begin with, a
new diction that came into being because these poets had recovered the
use of their eyes and could sense the beauty of the world around them.
And this fact leads to a further consideration of the use of compound
epithets from the formal viewpoint of their technical value. It has
already been suggested that their use may not be unconnected with the
mechanism of verse, and the æsthetic poverty of eighteenth century poetry
in this respect may therefore be not unjustly regarded as an outcome of
the two great prevailing vehicles of expression. In the first place,
there was the heroic couplet as brought to perfection by Pope. “The
uniformity and maximum swiftness that marked his manipulation of the
stopped couplet was achieved,” says Saintsbury, “not only by means of
a large proportion of monosyllabic final words, but also by an evident
avoidance of long and heavy vocables in the interior of the lines
themselves.”[193] Moreover, perhaps the commonest device to secure the
uniform smoothness of the line was that use of the “_gradus_ epithet”
which has earlier been treated; these epithets were for the most part
stock descriptive adjectives—_verdant_, _purling_, _fleecy_, _painted_,
and the like—which were generally regarded by the versifiers as the only
attendant diction of the couplet. If we compare a typical Pope verse such
as
Let _vernal_ airs through trembling osiers play
with the line already quoted,
Love-whisp’ring woods and lute-resounding waves
we may perhaps see that the free use of compound epithets was not
compatible with the mechanism of the couplet as illustrated in the
greater part of Pope’s practice; they would tend to weaken the balanced
antithesis, and thus spoil the swing of the line.
The most formidable rival of the heroic couplet in the eighteenth
century was blank verse, the advent of which marked the beginning of the
Romantic reaction in form. Here Thomson may be regarded as the chief
representative, and it is significant that the large number of compound
epithets in his work are terms of natural description, which, in addition
to their being a reflex of the revived attitude to natural scenery, were
probably more or less consciously used to compensate readers for the
absence of “the rhyme-stroke and flash” they were accustomed to look
for in the contemporary couplet. “He utilizes periodically,” to quote
Saintsbury again,[194] “the exacter nature-painting, which in general
poetic history is his glory, by putting the distinctive words for colour
and shape in notable places of the verse, so as to give it character
and quality.” These “distinctive words for colour and shape” were, with
Thomson, for the most part, compound epithets; almost by the time of
“Yardley Oak,” and certainly by the time of “Tintern Abbey,” blank verse
had been fully restored to its kingdom, and no longer needed such aid.