Poetry is the blossom and fragrance of all human knowledge, human thoughts, human passions, emotions, language."-COLERIDGE. GENTLE stillness of a spring-time evening, when, with heart attuned to the glories of the twilight scene, we listen enraptured to the closing song of busy nature, hushing to repose-this is poetry! The coming storm, preceded by the rushing wind; the dark, angry, approaching clouds, capped with the flashing, darting lightning, with the low muttering, and anon the deeptoned thunder, coming nearer and nearer in its awful grandeur! To the lover of the grand and sublime-this is poetry! The silvery quiet of the moonlight night, when we wander amid the jessamines and roses, with our darling, whispering words of love, and dreaming of the future - this is poetry! The midnight hour in the attic, when, through the crevices of the roof and windows, we catch. glimpses of the flashing lightning, and listen, slumber, and dream to the music of the pattering rain-drops on the roof- this is poetry! The roaring cataract, the silvery rivulet, the towering mountain, the dark ravine, the open ing rosebud, the cherub child, the waving grain, the modest violet,-all breathe the music of poetry! The beautiful face, the gentle, thrilling pressure of the hand, the kettle singing for tea, the joyous meeting of the husband and wife on the return from labor at the twilight hour, the smile, the kiss-all this is poetry! It flashes in the sky, it blossoms on the earth, it breathes music in the air, delighting the eye, charming the ear, and filling the soul with ineffable happiness - all this is poetry! To appreciate, to comprehend, and to interpret this golden, sunny halo of beauty, is the gift of the poet. Poetry is not necessarily told in rhyme. It is oftentimes revealed as beautifully in prose. B. F. Taylor illustrates this very strikingly in the following description of was sweet old 'Corinth' they were singing-strains that we have seldom heard since the rose-color of life was blanchedand we were in a moment back again to the old church; and it was a summer afternoon, and yellow sunbeams were stream ing through the west windows, and the silver hair of the old deacon who sat in the pulpit was turned to gold in its light, and the minister, who, we used to think, could never die, so good was he, had concluded 'application' and 'exhortation,' and the village choir were singing the last hymn, and the tune was 'Corinth.' "It is years we dare not think how many since then, and the prayers of 'David the son of Jesse' are ended, and the choir scattered and gone-the girl with blue eyes that sang alto, and the girl with black eyes that sang air; the eyes of one were like a June heaven at noon, and the other like the same heaven at night. They both became wives, and both mothers, and both died. Who shall say they are not singing 'Corinth' still, where Sabbaths never wane, and congregations never break up? There they sat, Sabbath after Sabbath, by the square column at the right of the 'leader,' and to our young ears their tunes were 'the very soul of music.' That column bears still their penciled names, as they wrote them in those days in life's June, 183-, before dreams of change had overcome their spirits like a summer's cloud. "Alas! that with the old singers most of the sweeter tunes have died upon the air! But they linger in memory, and they shall yet be sung in the sweet reunion of song that shall take place by and by, in a hall whose columns are beams of morning light, whose ceiling is pearl, whose doors are gold, and where hearts never grow old. Then she that sang alto, and she that sang air, will be in their places once more." More frequently, however, the poet gives expression to his emotions in rhyme, such form of expression having the advantage of musical sound, accompanied by sentiment. Unfortunately, however, much of that which passes for poetry is but rhyme, being devoid of sense or moral. For the assistance and guidance of those who would correctly write poetry, we give herewith the rules of versification, accompanied by a vocabulary of rhymes, followed by a number of standard poems from the best authors, that are models in their respective kinds of verse. Blank verse is the name given to a kind of poetry without rhyme, which was the form that the earlier poets almost entirely made use of. The poetry of the Greeks and Romans was generally without rhyme, and not until the Middle Ages, when introduced by the Goths from the North, did rhyme come into the Latin and the vernacular tongues of modern Europe. Blank verse is particularly suited to the drama, and was very popular in the sixteenth century, during which time, and the beginning of the seventeenth century, Shakespeare wrote his plays. The following from Milton's "Paradise Lost" representing Eve's lament and farewell to Eden, written in 1667, illustrates the power of expression in blank verse: "O unexpected stroke, worse than of death! And wild? How shall we breathe in other air Accent and Feet. Upon careful observation, it will be seen that we involuntarily divide a line of rhythmical verse into meter, by a sort of keeping time with hands and feet: accenting at regular intervals certain syllables, thus giving the peculiar musical accompaniment which makes poetry at tractive. There are four kinds of feet in English verse called Iambus, Trochee, Anapest and Dactyl. The distinguishing characteristic of Iambic verse is, that we always accent the second syllable in reading the same; as "Behld, how great." The Trochee, like the Iambus, consists of two syllables, with the accent on the first syllable; as "Sće the distant férest dárk and wáving." The Anapest has the first two syllables unaccented, and the last accented; as "O'er the lánd of the frée and the home of the brave." The Dactyl contains three syllables, with the accent on the first; as dúrable, brávery. |