(Vol. ii., pp. 305. 349. 377.; Vol. iii., p. 309.)
A passage in Churchill, and one in Lord John Russell's _Life of Moore_,
have lately reminded me of a former Note of mine on this subject. The
structure of Churchill's second couplet must surely have been suggested
by that of Pope, which formed my original text:
"Conjunction, adverb, preposition, join
To add new vigour to the nervous line:--
In monosyllables his thunders roll,--
He, she, it, and, we, ye, they, fright the soul."
_Censure on Mossop._
Moore, in his Journals, notes, on the other side of the question,
conversation between Rogers, Crowe, and himself, "on the beauty of
monosyllabic verses. 'He jests at scars,' &c.; the couplet, 'Sigh on my
lip,' &c.; 'Give all thou canst,' &c. &c., and many others, the most
vigorous and musical, perhaps, of any." (Lord John Russell's _Moore_,
vol. ii. p. 200.)
The frequency of monosyllabic lines in English poetry will hardly be
wondered at, however it may be open to such criticisms as Pope's and
Churchill's, when it is noted that our language contains, of
monosyllables formed by the vowel _a_ alone, considerably more than 500;
by the vowel _e_, about 450; by the vowel _i_, nearly 400; by the vowel
_o_, rather more than 400; and by the vowel _u_, upwards of 260; a
calculation entirely exclusive of the large number of monosyllables
formed by diphthongs.
I hardly know whether the following "literary folly" (as "D'Israeli the
Elder" would call it, see _Curiosities of Lit._ sub tit.), suggested by
dipping into the above monosyllabical statistics, will be thought worthy
to occupy a column of "N. & Q." However, it may take its chance as a
supplementary Note, without farther preface, under the none, for want of
a better, of _Univocalic verses_:
_The Russo-Turkish War._
_A._
Wars harm all ranks, all arts, all crafts appal:
At Mars' harsh blast arch, rampart, altar fall!
Ah! hard as adamant, a braggart Czar
Arms vassal-swarms, and fans a fatal war!
Rampant at that bad call, a Vandal-band
Harass, and harm, and ransack Wallach-land!
A Tartar phalanx Balkan's scarp hath past,
And Allah's standard falls, alas! at last.
_The Fall of Eve._
_E._
Eve, Eden's Empress, needs defended be;
The Serpent greets her when she seeks the tree.
Serene she sees the speckled tempter creep;
Gentle he seems--perversest schemer deep--
Yet endless pretexts, ever fresh, prefers,
Perverts her senses, revels when she errs,
Sneers when she weeps, regrets, repents she fell;
Then, deep-reveng'd, reseeks the nether hell!
_The Approach of Evening._
_I._
Idling I sit in this mild twilight dim,
Whilst birds, in wild swift vigils, circling skim.
Light winds in sighing sink, till, rising bright,
Night's Virgin Pilgrim swims in vivid light!
_Incontrovertible Facts._
_O._
No monk too good to rob, or cog, or plot.
No fool so gross to bolt Scotch collops hot.
From Donjon tops no Oroonoko rolls.
Logwood, not Lotos, floods Oporto's bowls.
Troops of old tosspots oft, to sot, consort.
Box tops, not bottoms, schoolboys flog for sport.
No cool monsoons blow soft on Oxford dons,
Orthodox, jog-trot, book-worm Solomons!
Bold Ostrogoths of ghosts no horror show.
On London shop fronts no hop-blossoms grow.
To crocks of gold no dodo looks for food.
On soft cloth footstools no old fox doth brood.
Long-storm-tost sloops forlorn work on to port.
Rooks do not roost on spoons, nor woodcocks snort,
Nor dog on snowdrop or on coltsfoot rolls,
Nor common frog concocts long protocols.
_The same subject continued._
_U._
Dull, humdrum murmurs lull, but hubbub stuns.
Lucullus snuffs up musk, mundungus shuns.
Puss purrs, buds burst, bucks butt, luck turns up trumps;
But full cups, hurtful, spur up unjust thumps.
Although I am the veritable K. I. P. B. T. of the former Notes, I sign
myself now, in accordance with more recent custom,