Part 17

Between South and North, the probabilities of a serious, and no very distant rupture, are strong and manifest. "Slavery" and "Abolition" will be the battle-cries of the respective parties. It may almost be said that the fight has already begun, at least on one side. An avowed abolitionist dare not venture into the South. There are laws for his chastisement, and should those be deemed too lenient, there are plenty of lawless hands outstretched to string him to a tree. A deputy from South Carolina openly declared in the House of Representatives at Washington, that if they caught an abolitionist in their State, they would hang him without judge or jury. A respectable Philadelphian and ardent abolitionist confessed to us, a short time ago, not without some appearance of shame at the state of things implied by the admission, that it would be as much as his life was worth to venture into certain slave-holding states. Hitherto the pro-slavery men have had the best of it; the majority of presidents of the Union have been chosen from their candidates, they have succeeded in annexing Texas, and latterly they have struck up an alliance with the West, which holds the balance between the South and the North, although, at the rate it advances, it is likely soon to outweigh them both. But this alliance is rotten, and cannot endure; the Western men are no partizans of slavery. Meantime, the abolitionists are active; they daily become more weary of having the finger of scorn pointed at them, on account of a practice which they neither benefit by nor approve. Their influence and numbers daily increase; in a few years they will be powerfully in the ascendant, they will possess a majority in the legislative chambers, and vote the extinction of slavery. To this, it is greatly to be feared, the fiery Southerns will not submit without an armed struggle. "Then," says the author of _Hochelaga_, "who can tell the horrors that will ensue? The blacks, urged by external promptings to rise for liberty, the furious courage and energy of the whites trampling them down, the assistance of the free states to the oppressed, will drive the oppressors to desperation: their quick perception will tell them that their loose republican organization cannot conduct a defence against such odds; and the first popular military leader who has the glory of a success, will become dictator. This, I firmly believe, will be the end of the pure democracy."

May such sinister predictions never be realised! Of the instability of American institutions, we entertain no doubt; and equally persuaded are we, that so vast a country, the interests of whose inhabitants are in many respects so conflicting, cannot remain permanently united under one government. But we would fain believe, that a severance may be accomplished peaceably, and without bloodshed; that the soil which has been converted from a wilderness to a garden by Anglo-Saxon industry and enterprise, may never be ensanguined by civil strife, or desolated by the dissensions and animosities of her sons.

FOOTNOTE:

[4] _Hochelaga; or, England in the New World._ Edited by ELIOT WARBURTON, Esq. Two Volumes. London: 1846.

LETTERS ON ENGLISH HEXAMETERS.

LETTER III.

DEAR MR EDITOR,--I hope you will be of opinion that I have, in my two preceding letters, proved the hexameter to be a good, genuine English verse, fitted to please the unlearned as well as the learned ear; and hitherto prevented from having fair play among our readers of poetry, mainly by the classical affectations of our hexameter writers--by their trying to make a distinction of long and short syllables, according to Latin rules of quantity; and by their hankering after spondees, which the common ear rejects as inconsistent with our native versification. If the attempt had been made to familiarise English ears with hexameters free from these disadvantages, it might have succeeded as completely as it has done in German. And the chance of popular success would have been much better if the measure had been used in a long poem of a religious character; for religious poetry, as you know very well, finds a much larger body of admirers than any other kind, and fastens upon the minds of common readers with a much deeper hold. Religious feeling supplies the deficiency of poetical susceptibility, and imparts to the poem a splendour and solemnity which elevates it out of the world of prose. I do not think it can be doubted that Klopstock's _Messiah_ did a great deal to give the hexameters a firm hold on the German popular ear; and I am persuaded that if Pollok's _Course of Time_ had been written in hexameters, its popularity would have been little less than it is, and the hexameter would have been by this time in a great degree familiarised in our language. Perhaps it may be worth while to give a passage of the _Messiah_, that your readers may judge whether a hexameter version of the whole would not have been likely to succeed in this country, at the time when the prose translator was so generally read and admired. The version is by William Taylor of Norwich.

The scene is the covenant made between the two first persons of the Trinity on Mount Moriah. The effect is thus described:--

"While spake the eternals, Thrill'd through nature an awful earthquake. Souls that had never Known the dawning of thought, now started, and felt for the first time. Shudders and trembling of heart assail'd each seraph; his bright orb Hush'd as the earth when tempests are nigh, before him was pausing. But in the souls of future Christians vibrated transports, Sweet pretastes of immortal existence. Foolish against God, Aught to have plann'd or done, and alone yet alive to despondence, Fell from thrones in the fiery abyss the spirits of evil, Rocks broke loose from the smouldering caverns, and fell on the falling: Howlings of woe, far-thundering crashes, resounded through hell's vaults."

It seems to me that such verses as these might very well have satisfied the English admirers of Klopstock.

You will observe, however, that we have, in the passage which I have quoted, several examples of those _forced trochees_ which I mentioned in my first letter, as one of the great blemishes of English hexameters; namely, these--_first tAe-me_; _bright Arb_; _agaAe"nst GAd_; _hAe"ll's vAefults_. And these produce their usual effect of making the verse in some degree unnatural and un-English.

It is, however, true, that in this respect the German hexametrist has a considerable advantage over the English. Many of the words which are naturally thrown to the end of a verse by the sense, are monosyllables in English, while the corresponding German word is a trochaic dissyllable, which takes its place in the verse smoothly and familiarly. In consequence of this difference in the two languages, the Englishman is often compelled to lengthen his monosyllables by various artifices. Thus, in _Herman and Dorothea_--

"Und er wandte sich schnell; de sah sie ihm ThrA€nen im _auge_."

"And he turned him quick; then saw she tears in his _eyelids_."

In order that I may not be misunderstood, however, I must say that I by no means intend to proscribe such final trochees as I have spoken of, composed of two monosyllables, but only to recommend a sparing and considerate use of them. They occur in Goethe, though not abundantly. Thus in _Herman and Dorothea_, we have three together:--

"Und es brannten die strassen bis zum markt, und das _Haus war_, Meines Vaters hierneben verzchrt und diesar zug_leich mit_, Wenig flA1/4chtehen wir. Ich safs, die traurige _Nacht durch_."

None of these trochees, however, are so spondaic as the English ones which I formerly quoted, consisting of a monosyllable-adjective with a monosyllable-substantive--"the weight of his _right hand_;" or two substantives, as "the heat of a _love's fire_."

Yet even these endings are admissible occasionally. Every one assents to Harris's recognition of a natural and perfect hexameter in that verse of the Psalms--

"Why do the heathen rage, and the people imagine a _vain thing_?"

The fact is, that though the English hexameter, well constructed, is acknowledged by an English ear, as completely as any other dactylic or anapA|stic measure, it always recalls, in the mind of a classical scholar, the recollection of Greek and Latin hexameters; and this association makes him willing to accept some rhythmical peculiarities which the classical forms and rules seem to justify. The peculiarities are felt as an _allusion_ to Homer and Virgil, and give to the verse a kind of learned grace, which may or may not be pedantic, according to the judgment with which it is introduced. Undoubtedly, if the hexameter ever come to be as familiar in English as it is in German poetry, our best hexametrists will, like theirs, learn to convey, along with the pleasure which belongs to a flowing and familiar native measure, that which arises from agreeable recollections of the rhythms of the great epics of antiquity.

And, I add further, that the recollection of classical hexameters which will thus, in the minds of scholars, always accompany the flow of English hexameters, makes any addition to, or subtraction from, the six standard feet of the verse altogether intolerable. And hence I earnestly protest--and I hope you, Mr Editor, agree with me--against the license claimed by Southey, of using _any foot_ of two or three syllables at the beginning of a line, to avoid the exotic and forced character, which, he says, the verse would assume if every line were to begin with a long syllable. No, no, my dear sir; this will never do. If we are to have hexameters at all, every line _must_ begin with a long syllable. It is true, that this is sometimes difficult to attain. It is a condition which forbids us to begin a line with _The_, or _It_, or many other familiar beginnings of sentences. But it is a condition which must be adhered to; and if any one finds it too difficult, he must write something else, and leave hexameters alone. Southey, though he has claimed the license of violating this rule, has not written many of such licentious lines. I suppose the following are intended to be of this description:--

"That nAt for lawless devices, nor goaded by desperate fortunes."

"UpAn all seas and shores, wheresoever her rights were offended."

"His rAe"verend form repose; heavenward his face was directed."

The two former lines might easily be corrected by leaving out the first syllable. The other is a very bad line, even if the licence be allowed.

For the same reason it must be considered a very bad fault to have supernumerary syllables, or syllables which would be supernumerary if not cut down by a harsh elision. A final dactyl, requiring an elision to make it fit its place, appears to me very odious. Southey has such:--

"wins in the chamber What he lost in the field, in fancy conquers the _conqueror_."

"Still it deceiveth the weak, inflameth the rash and the _desperate_."

"Rich in Italy's works and the masterly labours of _Belgium_."

And no less does the ear repudiate all other violent elisions. I find several in the other translation of the Iliad referred to in your notice of N. N. T.'s. And I am sure Mr Shadwell will excuse my pointing out one or two of them, and will accept in a friendly spirit criticisms which arise from a fellow feeling with him in the love of English hexameters. These occur in his First Iliad.

"_Wheth'r_ it's for vow not duly perform'd or for altar neglected."

"Hand on his sword half drawn from its sheath, on a _sudd'n_ from Olympus."

"Fail to regard in his envy the _daught'r_ of the sea-dwelling ancient."

Such crushing of words is intolerable. Our hexameters, to be generally acceptable, must flow on smoothly, with the natural pronunciation of the words; at least this is necessary till the national ear is more familiar with the movement than it is at present.

I believe I have still some remarks upon hexameters in store, if your patience and your pages suffice for them: but for the present I wish to say a word or two on another subject closely connected with this; I mean pentameters. The alternate hexameter and pentameter are, for most purposes, a more agreeable measure than the hexameter by itself. The constant double ending is tiresome, as constant double rhymes would be. Southey says, in his angry way, speaking of his hexameters--"the double ending may be censured as double rhymes used to be; but that objection belongs to the duncery." This is a very absurd mode of disposing of one objection, mentioned by him among many others equally formal and minute, which others he pretends to discuss calmly and patiently. The objection is of real weight. Though you might tolerate a double ending here and there in an epic, I am sure, Mr Editor, you would stop your critical ears at the incessant jingle of an epic in which every couplet had a double rhyme. On the other hand, an alternation of double and single endings is felt as an agreeable form of rhythm and rhyme. We have some good examples of it in English; the Germans have more: and the French manifest the same feeling in their peremptory rule for the alternation of masculine and feminine rhymes. And there is another feature which recommends the pentameter combined with the hexameter. This combination carries into effect, on a large scale, a principle which prevails, I believe, in all the finer forms of verse. The principle which I mean is this;--that the metrical structure of the verse must be distinct and pure _at the end_ of each verse, though liberties and substitutions may be allowed at the beginning. Thus, as you know, Mr Editor, the iambics of the Greek tragedians admit certain feet in the early part of the line which they do not allow in the later portions. And in the same manner the hexameter, a dactylic measure, must have the last two feet regular, while the four preceding feet may each be either trissyllabic or dissyllabic. Now, this principle of pure rhythm at the end of each strain, is peculiarly impressed upon the hexameter-pentameter distich. The end of the pentameter, rigorously consisting of two dactyls and a syllable, closes the couplet in such a manner that the metrical structure is never ambiguous; while the remainder of the couplet has liberty and variety, still kept in order by the end of the hexameter; and the double ending of the strain is avoided. I do not know whether you, Mr Editor, will agree with me in this speculation as to the source of the beauty which belongs to the hexameter-pentameter measure: but there can be no doubt that it has always had a great charm wherever dactylic measures have been cultivated. Schiller and GA¶ethe have delighted in it no less than TyrtA|us and Ovid: and I should conceive that this measure might find favour in English ears, even more fully than the mere hexameter.

But, in order that there may be any hope of this, it is very requisite that the course of the verse should be natural and unforced. This is more requisite even than in the hexameter; for, in the pentameter, the verse, if it be at variance with the natural accent, subverts it more completely, and makes the utterance more absurd. But it does not appear to be very difficult to attain to this point. In the model distich quoted by Coleridge--

"In the hexameter rises the fountain's silvery column, In the pentameter still falling in melody back;"

the pentameter is a better verse than the hexameter. Surry's pentameters often flow well, in spite of his false scheme of accentuation.

"With strong foes on land, on sea, with contrary tempests, Still do I cross this wretch, whatso he taketh in hand."

I will here terminate my criticisms for the present, but I will offer you, along with them, a specimen of hexameter and pentameter. It is a translation from Schiller, and could not fail to win some favour to the measure, if I could catch any considerable share of the charm of the original, both in versification, language, and thought. Such as the verses are, however, I shall utter them in your critical ear--and am, dear Mr Editor, your obedient,

M. L.

THE DANCE. FROM SCHILLER.

See with floating tread the bright pair whirl in a wave-like Swing, and the wingA"d foot scarce gives a touch to the floor. Say, is it shadows that flit unclogg'd by the load of the body? Say, is it elves that weave fairy-wings under the moon? So rolls the curling smoke through air on the breath of the zephyr; So sways the light canoe borne on the silvery lake. --Bounds the well-taught foot on the sweet-flowing wave of the measure; Whispering musical strains buoy up the aA"ry forms. Now, as if in its rush it would break the chain of the dancers, Dives an adventurous pair into the thick of the throng. Quick before them a pathway is formed, and closes behind them; As by a magical hand, open'd and shut is the way. Now it is lost to the eye; into wild confusion resolvA"d-- Lo! that revolving world loses its orderly frame. No! from the mass there it gaily emerges and glides from the tangle; Order resumes her sway, only with alterA"d charm. Vanishing still, it still reappears, the revolving creation, And, deep-working, a law governs the aspects of change. Say, how is it that forms ever passing are ever restorA"d? How still fixity stays, even where motion most reigns? How each, master and free, by his own heart shaping his pathway, Finds in the hurrying maze simply the path that he seeks? This thou would'st know? 'Tis the might divine of harmony's empire; She in the social dance governs the motions of each. She, like the Goddess[5] Severe, with the golden bridle of order, Tames and guides at her will wild and tumultuous strength. And around thee in vain the word its harmonies utters If thy heart be not swept on in the stream of the strain, --Not by the measure of life which beats through all beings around thee, --Not by the whirl of the dance, which through the vacant abyss Launches the blazing suns in the spacious sweeps of their orbits. Order rules in thy sports: so let it rule in thy acts.

M. L.

FOOTNOTE:

[5] Nemesis.

A NEW SENTIMENTAL JOURNEY.

AT MOULINS.

"I DON'T think so," said the lady; and, pulling up the window of the calA"che, she sank back on her seat: the postilion gave another crack with his whip, another _sacre_ to his beasts, and they rolled on towards Moulins.

It's an insolent unfeeling world this: when any one is rich enough to ride in a calA"che, the poorer man, who can only go in a cabriolet, is despised. Not but that a cabriolet is a good vehicle of its sort: I know of few more comfortable. And then, again, for mine, why I have a kind of affection for it. 'Tis an honest unpretending vehicle: it has served me all the way from Calais, and I will not discard it. What though Maurice wanted to persuade me at Paris that I had better take a britska, as more fashionable? I resisted the temptation; there was virtue in that very deed--'tis so rare that one resists; and I am still here in my cabriolet: and when I leave thee, honest cab, may I----

"_A l'HA'tel de l'Europe?_" asked the driver; "'tis an excellent house, and if Monsieur intends remaining there, he will find _une table merveilleuse_."

Why to the Hotel de l'Europe? said I to myself. I hate these cosmopolitic terms. Am I not in France--gay, delightful France--partaking of the kindness and civility of the country? "A l'Hotel de France!" was my reply.

The driver hereupon pulled up his horses short;--it was no difficult task: the poor beasts had come far: there had been no horses at Villeneuve, and we had come on all the way from St Imbert, six weary leagues. "_Connais pas_," said the man: "Monsieur is mistaken; besides, madame is so obliging. If there were an Hotel de France, it would be another affair: add to this, that the voiture which has just passed us is going to the hotel."

"Enough--I will go there too;" and, so saying, we got through the BarriA"re of Moulins.

Now, I know not how it is, but, despite of the fellow's honest air, I had a misgiving that he intended to cheat me. He was leading me to some exorbitant monster of the road, where the unsuspecting traveller would be flayed alive: he was his accomplice--his jackall; I was to be the victim. Had he argued for an hour about the excellence of mine host's table, I had been proof: my Franco-mania and my wish to be independent had certainly taken me to some other hotel. But he said something about the voiture: _it_ was going there. What was that to me? I hate people in great carriages when I am not in them myself. But then, the lady! I had seen nothing but her face, and for an instant. She said "she did not think so." Think what? _Mais ses yeux!_

Reader, bear with me a while. There is a fascination in serpents, and there is one far more deadly--who has not felt it?--in woman's eyes. Such a face! such features, and such expression! She might have been five-and-twenty--nay, more: girlhood was past with her: that quiet look of self-possession which makes woman bear man's gaze, showed that she knew the pains, perhaps the joys, of wedded life. And yet the fire of youthful imagination was not yet extinct: the spirit of poetry had not yet left her: there was hope, and gaiety, and love in that bright black eye: and there was beauty, witching beauty, in every lineament of her face. Her voice was of the softest--there was music in its tone: and her hand told of other symmetry that could not but be in exquisite harmony. "She did not think so:" why should she have taken the trouble to look out of the carriage window at me as she said these words? Was I known to her--or fancied to be so? As she did not think so, I was determined to know why. "We will go to the Hotel de l'Europe, if you press it;" and away the cabriolet joggled over the roughly paved street.