the earth and it trembles. He touches the hills, and they smoke' is thus amplified by the same author.*

'The Hills forget they're fix'd, and in their fright Cast off their weight, and ease themselves for flight: The Woods, with terror wing'd, outfly the wind, And leave the heavy panting hills behind.'

"You here see the hills not only trembling, but shaking off the woods from their backs, to run the faster: after this you are presented with a foot race of mountains and woods, where the woods distance the mountains, that, like corpulent pursy fellows, come puffing and panting a vast way behind them."

We might, advantageously, add other quotations from the work before us; but the perusal of the whole of this admirable Satire is indispensable to every one who would study the principles of English composition.

* Blackmore.

177

CHAPTER XII.

OF PROSODY.

The enunciation of the common people of Greece, like that of all other nations, must have been varied according to the natural feelings of the Speaker; but, in the studied harangues of their Orators, and in the chant and chorus of their Dramas, a system of intonation was adopted, -regulated by means of marks termed accents, the powers of which are now unknown. It was that system, combining thought with sound, which produced those miraculous effects which are attributed to the music of the Greeks. Music and song were then invariably combined; and the words are still synonymous, in the language of the poet. Apollo was the God of Verse; but he was never seen without his lyre. In these latter times, however, Poetry has become an Art, and Music a Science; and it will scarcely be accounted a caricature of this modern division, when we say that the former teaches the pleasing arrangement of thoughts, independent of sounds; and the latter, the pleasing succession of sounds unaccompanied by thoughts. These things could never have been conceived by the ancients. Enunciation with them was the soul of language;

and tones without corresponding ideas were left (if truly there) to the choristers of the woods. Even now, the divorce is not complete. The Poet yet mutters his wayward fancies; and the Musician, unless he is hackneyed in his trade, still joins his voice to his harp: or he associates its tones with the pensive, or the pleasing, remembrances of other days. But we are wandering from our subject.

We have already spoken of Accents, under the general head of Composition. The Accent, in English, merely determines the syllable of a word, on which the stress of pronunciation rests; but this stress may be either on the consonant or on the vowel. In the former case, the syllable is pronounced in a shut or contracted manner, while, in the latter, it is full and in some degree prolonged. Not' and nóte, for instance, are distinctly different with regard to time; and, though we will not pretend to say that the one syllable is exactly double the other, we have, to a certain extent at least, the longs and shorts of the classic tongues. The accents, as divided into the grave, the acute and the circumflex, have no distinguishing marks in our language. They are left to the unfettered impulse of natural feeling, or to be taught (if they can be taught,) by the Masters of Elocution.

In every collection of sentences, regularly pronounced, the ear will be struck with a succession of syllables, or simple sounds, differing in their duration, and some of which will be more forcible than others. The discourse, then, will assume a character of melody or of discord, according as the succession shall be pleasing or grating to the ear. A selection of those sounds, in a regulated order, may be made to form a sort of chant,-a short piece of music, performed on two strings. The short and long syllables will mark the time, while the ideas which the words convey will prompt its tone and expression. This composition is a Verse. Two or more Verses complete the Chant, and constitute a Stanza,-one or more Stanzas, united in their subject, form the body of a Poem:-its soul must be the breath of Inspiration.

Independent of the concord of sweet sounds Poetry must, in all ages, have possessed some fascinating spell in its language, before it could have acquired its power over the minds of the multitude. This arose from the subject. The records of the life of a Hero, who falls in defence of his country, warm the hearts of those who emulate his glory; and the praises of the Gods swell the breast of the devotee. The description of the pains and pleasures of Love find a

responsive string in the youthful heart; and Tales of the Wild and the Wonderful arrest the attention of the timid and the ignorant. Such are the Subjects of Poetry; and, we may add, that, among a superstitious people the Poets sometimes assumed a more imposing character: they were Seers and Soothsayers,-they saw the future in visions, and predicted the coming events. In all cases, an invisible world was ready at the call of the Bard He peopled Earth, Sea and Air with Spirits of his own creation. They are the Machinery with which he yet works, and, in rude ages, they were mistaken for realities. Men who were not its dupes favoured the delusion; because it was considered as a powerful engine in the cause of virtue. Tartarus was the abode of the Furies; and the ghosts of the departed were brought back from the other world to haunt the steps of the murderer. The fictions of the Poet were received as truths; and followed, if they did not create, the superstitions of the people. Such tales as still impress the nursery with terror, or with delight, had once an influence over riper years; and even now the mind, though aware of the deception, is willingly led captive. Leaving probability behind, it follows with ardour the combats of Demigods; or it wanders through the secret caverns of the Earth with the Fairies