Text: William Cullen Bryant (ed. J. Arthur Greenwood), “Appendix 1B: On Trisyllabic Feet in Iambic Measure,” Edgar A. Poe: The Rationale of Verse, a Preliminary edition, 1968, pp. 171-180 (This material is protected by copyright)

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APPENDIX 1B(1)

ON TRISYLLABIC FEET IN IAMBIC MEASURE.(2)

Rhymed heroic verse, though one of the noblest kinds of verse in our language, has never attained its full perfection. Our ears have become so habituated to what are called smooth verses, that is, to the unvaried iambic (or as little varied as the genius of our tongue will permit), and to the sense concluding with the couplet, so as to make every two correspondent rhyming lines throughout a poem a perfect stanza, and this taste has been so long established and so often confirmed by the judgments of critics, that a very considerable literary revolution must yet take place before any improvement in the fabric of this species of verse will meet with general reception and approval. The precepts of Lord Kames(3) and other writers, who framed their rules of versification chiefly from the writings of Pope, as the ancient critics gathered their rules for the composition of an epic poem from an analysis of the Iliad, are still in vogue; and the dogmas of Johnson(4) on this subject are regarded with reverence, though his ear, [page 172:] delighted as it was with monotony, and insensible as it was to music, was wearied, as he somewhat reluctantly confessed, with the practices to which Pope so invariably adhered.

I am aware that of late much has been done in England toward effecting an improvement in this respect; yet it has not always been done skilfully, and those who have attempted it have sometimes exhibited an odd mixture of the old manner with the new. The versification of Crabbe(5) is least exceptionable whenever he forgets to imitate the rhythm of his predecessors. Byron(6) seems hardly to have formed any system of versification, nor has he sufficiently studied variety; Leigh Hunt(7) has erred in the contrary extreme, for in his story of “Rimini,”(8) he labors violently to be harsh; and sometimes his lines are as rugged as those of old Donne,(9) in whom many passages are absolutely unreadable. I do not know whether those who are best qualified to judge on this subject will agree with me when I prefer the versification of Moore in his “Veiled Prophet of Khorassan”(10) to that of any other poet of the present day. It is true that it wants compression; it is true that many of his insufferably long periods, running through couplet after couplet, beget a suspicion that some of the fine images of which they are made up were introduced more because they were necessary to the rhyme than to the sense; but it is true likewise that there are passages free from these faults — passages which for vigorous and varied harmony are not surpassed by any in our language.

Against the innovations proposed, however, there is still a strong party, both in England and in our own country, which numbers in its ranks men of taste and learning, elegant writers, acute and accomplished critics, against whom one would not willingly enter the lists of combat. These, although they may perhaps allow that there is a little too much monotony in the structure of Pope's lines, would yet approve a versification modelled in general upon his style. It will not, I hope, be deemed indecorous to suggest to them that the example of men, whose genius and learning we have been taught to admire almost from our cradles, is apt to mould our opinions and tastes on such subjects before we have had time to examine the reasons on which they are founded, and that to the ear which is accustomed to a certain rhythm or measured succession of sounds every other must at first seem harsh and unpleasing. No man whose poetical reading has been confined to rhyme ever comprehended at first the beauty and sweetness of blank verse; no man accustomed to one particular kind of measure will on the instant perceive all the melody of another; and it is the same with different styles of the same kind of verse. We grow attached [page 173:] to the manner with which we have long been familiar, and it fastens itself on our taste by a thousand pleasing associations. Where the ear is inured to the regular iambic, and to pauses at the end of every couplet, and, whenever it is possible, at the end of every line, it perceives nothing but harshness and irregularity in more varied pauses and a greater license of prosody. [page 174:]

Few readers of verse can admire more than I do the acknowledged excellences of the writings of Pope — the compression which gives so much force to his precepts and so much point to his wit, and the dexterity and felicity of his satire, and I speak of his merits or his faults here only as they relate to his versification. He must be regarded as in a great measure the founder and perfector of that style of versification which prevailed as well among his contemporaries as among those who wrote after him till a very few years since, and for the adoption of which, by the poet and his admirers, it is not difficult to account. Everybody who has heard children or illiterate persons read poetry must have remarked their peculiar notion of quantity. In reading verses of six, eight, or ten syllables, they make an iambic of every foot, placing a marked stress upon every other syllable, in defiance of accent and emphasis, and pausing at the end of every line, to the utter destruction of the sense, in order to preserve the jingle of the rhyme. This puerile habit is not apt to be corrected until we become sick of the chime and the see-saw, from a wider acquaintance with poetical examples, and begin to perceive a beauty in variety. In some instances, in fact, it continues during life, as those can attest who have heard the devotional poetry of Dr. Watts(11) from the lips of many of our reverend clergy. This habit is acquired at first from observing the general structure of verse; as, for example, that an iambic is the basis of lines of ten syllables, and the trochee of lines of seven syllables, and as general rules pass always before exceptions, the introduction of any other feet into these kinds of verse, except of the iambic in the one and the trochee in the other, seems to the unpracticed and inexperienced ear irregular, unpleasing, and a manifest transgression of the laws of metre.

We are not, therefore, to wonder that Pope — who wrote his pastorals(12) (which his admirers call his most perfect specimen of melodious numbers) at an age when he could hardly be supposed to have divested himself of childish taste — should have adhered, when he acquired a greater command of language, as uniformly as possible to the iambic, and should have contrived pauses in the sense at the end of every couplet, and often at the end of every line, so that the rhyme might be readily perceived without violence to the meaning. Nor is it any more a matter of surprise that this way of versification should have been so favorably received. It was novel, it was uniform in the quantity beyond all former example, and the pauses were balanced with singular regularity. The multitudes who read poetry like children found the manner in some measure reconciled with the meaning. And all this was brought [page 175:] about with such rare ease and so little embarrassment in the diction that, on the whole, the effect was extremely imposing, and well calculated to attract admiration, were it merely as a specimen of ingenuity. It was, moreover, natural that Pope, seeing the applause which this style of versification had gained him, should have gone on writing verses in the same way to the end of his life,(13) and it was equally natural that his success should have led those who wrote in his own time and after him to imitate so pleasing a model.

But to the more immediate purpose of this paper, which is to show, particularly by citations from the older poets, that there may be departures from the accepted rules without marring the beauty of the structure.

The only feet of three syllables which can be employed in English iambics are either those which have the two first short and the third long or those which have all three short — the anapest and the tribrach. A certain use of these feet in that kind of verse has been allowed from the very beginnings of English poetry when either the two syllables in those feet are vowels or diphthongs, as in the following instance:

or where the letter r only is interposed between the vowels, as in [page 176:] the following:

or where the consonant n comes between the vowels, and the vowel preceding this letter is so obscurely or rapidly pronounced as to leave it doubtful whether it may be considered as forming a distinct syllable, as in this instance:

Sometimes the liquid I, in a like position, gives the poet a like liberty, as in the following example:

In all these cases the three syllables were, until lately, written with a contraction which shortened them into two, and it came at length to be regarded as a rule, by most critics and authors, that no trisyllabic feet should be admitted in iambic measure where such a contraction was not allowed, or where the two first syllables might not, by some dexterity of pronunciation, be blended into one. This was, in effect, excluding all trisyllabic feet whatever; but they are now generally written without the contraction, and in reading poetry it is not, I believe, usually observed.

There is a freer use of trisyllabic feet in iambic verse, of equal antiquity with the former, but which was afterward proscribed as irregular and inharmonious, and particularly avoided by those who wrote in rhyme. I allude to all those cases where the two first syllables will not admit of a contraction, or, which is nearly the same thing, refuse to coalesce in the pronunciation. These may be called pure trisyllabic feet, and the following is an example of this kind:

In excluding liberties of this description, it is difficult to tell what has been gained, but it is easy to see what has been lost; the rule has been observed to the frequent sacrifice of beauty of expression, and variety and vivacity of numbers.

I think that I can show, by examples drawn from some of our best poets, that the admission of pure trisyllabic feet into iambic verse is agreeable to the genius of that kind of measure as well as to the habits of our language. I begin with those who have written in blank verse. The sweetest passages of Shakespeare — those which appear to have been struck out in the ecstasy of genius, and flow with that natural melody which is peculiar to him — are generally sprinkled with freedoms of this kind. Take the following specimen among a thousand others — part of the eloquent apostrophe of Timon to gold: [page 177:]

Most of the older dramatists are guilty of the same thing — some more frequently than others — but none appear to have avoided it with much care. Let me point to the most perfect master of poetic modulation, perhaps, in our language — a man to whom nature had given an exquisite ear, whose taste had been improved and exalted by a close study of the best models in the most harmonious tongues we know, and who emulated, in their own languages, the sweetness of the Latin and Italian poets. The heroic verse of Milton abounds with instances of pure trisyllabic feet. The following passage is certainly not deficient in harmony:

Dryden(20) sometimes admits feet of this kind in his tragedies in blank verse, and many other dramatic poets, his contemporaries and successors, have taken the same liberty. In the celebrated work of Young I find no instance of this sort, and it is not hard to tell the reason. Young was a profound and blind admirer of Pope; nor is it to be wondered at that he, who, at the recommendation of his friend, gave his days and nights to the study of Thomas Aquinas as a system of divinity, should take that friend for a model in poetry. Young, in his “Night Thoughts,”(21) endeavored to do that for which of all things his genius least fitted him — to imitate the manner of Pope; and the consequence was that he injured the fine flow of his own imagination by violent attempts at point and an awkward sententiousness. It was like setting the Mississippi to spout little jets d’ eau and turn children's water-wheels.(22) He was probably afraid to use feet of three syllables, because he did not find them in the works of his master.(23)

About this time, and for some years afterward, the exclusion of pure trisyllabic feet from blank verse seems to have been complete. I find no traces of them in Thomson(24) and Dyer,(25) nor in the heavy writings of Glover(26) and Cumberland.(27) Akenside's(28) [page 178:] “Pleasures of Imagination” has been highly esteemed for the art with which the numbers are modulated and the pauses adjusted. In this poem, as it was first written, there are no instances of the sort of which I am speaking; but, when the author in the maturity of his faculties revised and partly wrote over the work, he seems to have been in some measure dissatisfied with that versification which the world had praised so much. In looking over this second draught of his work, I have noted the following deviations from his former practice:

Armstrong(32) has given us some examples of a similar license in versification. Cowper's(33) “Task” abounds with them, and they may be frequently found in the blank verse of some of our latest poets.

In accompanying me in the little retrospect which I have taken of the usage of our poets who have written in blank verse, I think the reader must be convinced that there is something not incompatible with the principles of English versification, nor displeasing to an unperverted taste, in a practice that, in spite of rules and prejudices, is continually showing itself in the works of most of our sweetest and most valued poets, which prevailed in the best age of English poetry, and has now returned to us endeared by its associations with that venerable period. I will not here multiply examples to show how much it may sometimes improve the beauty of the numbers. I will only refer the reader to those already laid before him. I do not believe that he would be contented to exchange any of the words marked in the quotations which I have made for tame iambics, could it ever be done by the use of phrases equally proper and expressive. For my part, when I meet with such passages, amid a dead waste of dissyllabic feet, their spirited irregularity refreshes and relieves me, like the sight of eminences and forests breaking the uniformity of a landscape.

If pure trisyllabic feet are allowed in blank verse, it would seem difficult to give any good reason why they should not be employed in rhyme. If they have any beauty in blank verse, they cannot lose it merely because the ends of the lines happen to coincide in sound. The distinction between prose and verse is more strongly marked in rhymes than in blank verse, and the former, therefore, stands less in need than the latter of extreme regularity of quantity to make the distinction more obvious. [page 179:] Besides, the restraint which rhyme imposes on the diction is a good reason why it should be freed from any embarrassments which cannot contribute to its excellence. But, whatever may be the reasons for admitting trisyllabic feet into iambic rhyme, it is certain that most of our rhyming poets, from the time of Dryden, have carefully excluded them.(34)

Spenser's verse is harmonious, but its harmony is of a peculiar kind. It is a long-drawn, diffuse, redundant volume of music, sometimes, indeed, sinking into languor, but generally filling the ear agreeably. This peculiar dialect has been called the Doric of the English language. I would rather call it the Ionic. It delights in adding vowels and resolving contractions, and, instead of shortening two syllables into one, it often dilates one syllable into two. It is not in Spenser, therefore, that we are look for frequent examples of pure trisyllabic feet in iambic verse. They have an air of compression not well suited to the loose and liquid flow of his numbers. Yet he has occasionally admitted them, and without any apparent apprehension that he was sinning against propriety, for by a little variation of phrase he might have avoided them. In turning over his “Faerie Queene,” I meet, without any very laborious search, the following instances:

That Milton did not think the use of these feet in rhyme incompatible with correct versification, is evident from the following passages in his “Lycidas” — no unworthy or hasty effort of his genius:

Cowley(42) employed pure trisyllabic feet in iambics without scruple. Waller(43) and Denham(44) sometimes admitted them, but Dryden and his successors rigidly excluded them; or, when in too great haste to do this, disguised them by some barbarous and almost unpronounceable elision. Pope, in one of his earlier poems, has an instance of this sort:

Who at this day would attempt to pronounce this line as it is written? I have observed some instances of pure trisyllabic feet in Garth's(46) “Dispensary”; and a few even occur, at remote distances, to break the detestable monotony of Darwin's(47) iambics.

Some of our latest modern poets in rhyme, as I have already said, have restored the old practice with a good effect. Take an example from Moore's “Veiled Prophet,” which I have praised:

Here the anapest in the third line quickens the numbers, and gives additional liveliness to the image which we receive of the rapid flight of the clouds over the face of heaven.

The liberty for which I have been contending has often been censured and ridiculed; the utmost favor which it has at any time, to my knowledge, received from the critics, is to have been silently allowed, but no one has openly defended it; and, in doing so now, my aim has not been to mark its limits or to look for its rules, but simply to attempt to show that it is an ancient birthright of the poets which ought not to be given up.

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