GUIDES AND HANDBOOKS.
The earliest handbook of verse appears to be that of Bysshe, who is, by
the way, described in the British Museum Catalogue as "the Poet." The
entry is the only ground I can find for so describing him. He is,
however, amusingly hard on simple versifiers. "Such Debasers of Rhyme,
and Dablers in Poetry would do well to consider that a Man would justly
deserve a higher Esteem in the World by being a good Mason or
Shoe-Maker, than by being an indifferent or second-Rate Poet."
Furthermore, with touching modesty, he says, "I pretend not by the
following sheets to teach a man to be a Poet in Spight of Fate and
Nature." His "Rules for making English Verse" are reprinted in the
Appendix.
His dictionary of rhymes is better than those of his
successors,—perhaps I should say "that" of his successors, for Walker's
has been repeated with all its errors, or nearly all, in every
subsequent handbook. Bysshe is to be praised for setting his face
against what Walker styles "allowable" rhymes, such as "haste" and
"feast."[7]
Bysshe's theory of verse was "the seat of the accent, and the pause,"
as distinguished from quantity—that is, it depended on the number of
syllables. As a result of this undivided devotion, he misses much of the
power to be attained by making the sound the echo of the sense, as Pope
puts it. He proposes to alter a line of Dryden's from
"But forced, harsh, and uneasy unto all."
into
"But forced and harsh, uneasy unto all."
One would fancy the merest tyro would see the intentional harshness of
the line as Dryden wrote it, and its utter emasculation as Bysshe
reforms it.
Bysshe is strongly in favour of clipping syllables, a very pitiable
error, for the chief drawback of English as a poetical language is the
preponderance of consonants. He prefers to make "beauteous" dissyllabic,
and "victorious" trisyllabic. He recommends the elision which makes
"bower," "Heaven," "Prayer" and "higher," monosyllables, and advises the
use of such abortions as "temp'rance," "fab'lous," "med'cine,"
"cov'nant," and even "wall'wing," for wallowing! To compensate for these
clippings, however, he considers "ism" a dissyllable!
As a consequence of his narrowing verse to a question of syllable and
accent only, he vulgarises many words unnecessarily. The student of
verse who considers quantity as well as accent will find no difficulty
in reading the following lines without eliding any vowels.
"From diamond quarries hewn, and rocks of gold."—_Milton._
"A violet by a mossy stone."—_Wordsworth._
"With vain but violent force their darts they threw."—_Cowley._
"His ephod, mitre, well-cut diadem on."—_Cowley._
"My blushing hyacinth and my bays I keep."—_Dryden._
Bysshe cuts down to "di'mond," "vi'let," "vi'lent," "di'dem,"
"hy'cinth," words which need no such debasing elision. As in music two
short sharp beats are equivalent to one long one (two minims = one
semi-breve) so in verse two brief vowels, or syllables even, are
admissible—indeed, at times desirable for the sake of variety in lieu of
one.
Among less questionable maxims of Bysshe's is one, "avoid a concourse of
vowels," instanced by—
"Should th_y_ _I_ambics swell into a book."
This means, it is to be presumed, "avoid a concourse of repetitions of
one sound," a very necessary rule. Some poets are careful not to get the
same vowel sound twice in any line. "Avoid ending a verse with an
adjective whose substantive follows in the next line" is another sound
precept, instanced by—
"Some lost their quiet rivals, some their kind
Parents."
The same rule applies to the separation of a preposition from the case
which it governs, as exemplified in—
"The daily lessening of our life shows by
A little dying," &c.
With less reason Bysshe condemns alliteration. It is an artifice that
can be overdone, as is often the case in Poe's poems, and those of Mr
Swinburne,[8]
Following the example of the old _Gradus ad Parnassum_, Bysshe gives
an anthology with his guide. An anthology in a guide to English verse is
worse than useless, for it serves no purpose save to provoke plagiarism
and imitation. Any one who wishes to write verse will do little unless
he has a fair acquaintance with English poetry—an acquaintance for which
an anthology can never be a substitute; while it will but cripple and
hamper his fancy and originality by supplying him with quotations on any
given subject, from "April" to "Woman."
Walker's Rhyming Dictionary has greater faults, but also greater
merits than Bysshe's Art of Poetry. Walker admits and defends
"allowable" rhymes. "It may be objected," he says, "that a work of this
kind contributes to extend poetical blemishes, by furnishing imperfect
materials and apologies for using them. But it may be answered, that if
these imperfect rhymes were allowed to be blemishes, it would still be
better to tolerate them than cramp the imagination by the too narrow
boundaries of exactly similar sounds." Now, it is perfectly true, of
course, that a _poet_ may well be allowed to effect the compromise of
sacrificing a rhyme for a thought; but the versifier (for whom Walker's
book is meant) must have no such license. He must learn to walk before
he runs. Yet apart from this, Walker's argument is singularly
illogical;—there can be no need to catalogue the blemishes, even on the
ground he urges, since the imagination would suggest the license, not
the license stimulate the imagination. Walker's book being simply
mechanical should have been confined to the correct machinery of verse,
and imagination should have been allowed to frame for itself the
licenses, which it would not dream of seeking in a handbook.
But for this defect, Walker's Dictionary would be the best book of the
sort possible. It contains, beside an Index in which rhymes are arranged
under various terminations, as in Bysshe's work, a terminational
dictionary of three hundred pages; a dictionary, that is, in which the
words are arranged as in ordinary dictionaries, save that the last and
not the first letter of the word is that under which it is ranged.
Walker's Index is by no means exhaustive. In arranging the index of
this little book I have added about a hundred terminations to his list,
beside subdividing headings which have two sounds (as ASH, in "cash" and
"wash"). Walker's _Dictionary_ of rhymes, though by no means exhaustive,
is useful, and is the only one extant. His _Index_ of rhymes has been
copied so servilely by all compilers of "handbooks of poetry" that, in
dismissing it now, we dismiss all so-called rhyming dictionaries of
later date.
Of these recent books there are but two of any note or importance. One
claims to be a "complete practical guide to the whole subject of English
versification"—"an exhaustive treatise," in which the writer, by way of
simplifying matters, proposes to supersede the old titles of spondee,
dactyl, &c., by the titles of "march," "trip," "quick," and "revert,"
and makes accents intelligible by calling them "backward" and "forward,"
with such further lucidities as "hover," "main," "midabout," and other
technicalities afford. Its chief characteristic, however, is a decided
condemnation of rhyme altogether, and a suggestion of the substitution
of "assonance," under which "path" and "ways," and "pride" and "wife"
would do duty for rhyme! The treatise, though spoiled by pedantic aiming
after novelties of nomenclature, and too assertive language, is worth
perusal. But as "a practical guide" it is at present useless, and will
remain so until English rhyme is disestablished and disendowed by Act of
Parliament. Although its author modestly describes it as "the first
treatise of the kind ever completed," and considers it "will in no mean
degree serve to advance" the study of English verse, it is to be feared
that there is little danger of its setting the Pierian spring on fire.
A more practical "Handbook of Poetry" is the best work of the kind I
have met with, but it is full of grave errors. It begins with a
definition of "Poetry" which makes it identical with "Verse," and it
tends too much to the side of license in consequence, from the fact of
permitting to the versifier freedoms which poets only can claim. On
rhyme it is singularly inconsistent. It pronounces as no rhyme "heart"
and "art," which to any but a cockney ear are perfect rhymes. Yet, a few
paragraphs farther on, its only objection to the coupling of "childhood"
and "wildwood" as a double rhyme, is that it is hackneyed; whereas it is
not a double rhyme at all! In a chapter on "Imagery," though "metaphor"
is catalogued, "simile" is omitted, and both together reappear under the
needless subdivision "tropes." An anthology is added, and a dictionary
of double and treble rhymes—as if it were possible to give anything like
an exhaustive list of them in twenty pages!
Such being the imperfections, whether of shortcoming or excess, of the
various existing handbooks, I venture to hope that this little treatise
may plead some excuse for its appearance.