Poetical Ingenuities and Eccentricities Part 25

Mr. Swinburne, of whose style there has been given an imitation, is not the only poet who is p.r.o.ne to alliteration--in fact, all poets are given more or less to it, though not to the same extent. When used excessively it is as disagreeable as any other excess, yet its occasional use unquestionably adds to grace and style.

Pope says on this point in the following lines, which are also alliterative--

"'Tis not enough no harshness gives offence, The sound must seem an echo to the sense.

Soft is the strain when zephyr gently blows, And the smooth stream in smoother numbers flows; But when loud surges lash the sounding sh.o.r.e, The hoa.r.s.e rough verse should like the torrent roar."

We find this example in Tennyson:

"The splendour falls on castle walls, And snowy summits old in story; The long light shakes across the lakes, And the wild cataract leaps in glory.

Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying; Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying."

Crabbe also used this ornament profusely, as:

"Then 'cross the bounding brook they make their way O'er its rough bridge, and there behold the bay; The ocean smiling to the fervid sun, The waves that faintly fall and slowly run, The s.h.i.+ps at distance, and the boats at hand, And now they walk upon the seaside sand, Counting the number, and what kind they be, s.h.i.+ps softly sinking in the sleepy sea."

Take also this from Sh.e.l.ley's "Ode to a Skylark:"

"Teach me half the gladness That my brain must know, Such harmonious madness From my lips would flow, The world should listen then, as I am listening now.

Waking or asleep, Thou of death must deem Things more true and deep Than we mortals dream, Or how could thy notes flow in such a crystal stream?"

In the numbers of "Truth" for November 1881, there appeared a variety of excellent examples of alphabetic verses in the course of a compet.i.tion, and of these there follows one:

A YACHT ALPHABET.

"A was the Anchor which held fast our s.h.i.+p; B was the Boatswain, with whistle to lip; C was the Captain, who took the command; D was the Doctor, with physic at hand; E was the Euchre we played on the quiet; F was the Fellow who kicked up a riot; G was the Girl who was always so ill; H was the Hammock from which I'd a spill I was the Iceberg we pa.s.sed on our way; J was the Jersey I wore all the day; K was the Keel, which was stuck on the sh.o.r.e; L was the Lubber we all thought a bore; M was the Mate, no one better I'd wish; N was the Net in which I caught a fish; O was the Oar which I broke--'twas so weak; P was the Pennon which flew at our peak; Q was the Quoit which was made out of rope; R was the Rat which would eat all our soap; S was the Sailor who got very tight; T was the Tempest which came on one night; U was the Uproar the night of the storm; V was the Vessel we spoke in due form; W's the Watch which the crew kept in turn; X was Xantippe, whom each one did spurn; Y was our Yacht, which flew through the foam; Z was the Zany who wouldn't leave home."

_NONSENSE VERSE._

The following lines have been kindly sent us by Professor E. H. Palmer, who wrote them after a cruise on a friend's yacht, and are an abortive attempt to get up a knowledge of nautical terms.

THE s.h.i.+PWRECK.

"Upon the p.o.o.p the captain stands, As starboard as may be; And pipes on deck the topsail hands To reef the top-sail-gallant strands Across the briny sea.

'Ho! splice the anchor under-weigh!'

The captain loudly cried; 'Ho! lubbers brave, belay! belay!

For we must luff for Falmouth Bay Before to-morrow's tide.'

The good s.h.i.+p was a racing yawl, A spare-rigged schooner sloop, Athwart the bows the taffrails all In grummets gay appeared to fall, To deck the mainsail p.o.o.p.

But ere they made the Foreland Light, And Deal was left behind; The wind it blew great gales that night, And blew the doughty captain tight, Full three sheets in the wind.

And right across the tiller head The horse it ran apace, Whereon a traveller hitched and sped Along the jib and vanished To heave the trysail brace.

What s.h.i.+p could live in such a sea!

What vessel bear the shock?

'Ho! starboard port your helm-a-lee!

Ho! reef the maintop-gallant-tree, With many a running block!'

And right upon the Scilly Isles The s.h.i.+p had run aground; When lo! the stalwart Captain Giles Mounts up upon the gaff and smiles, And slews the compa.s.s round.

'Saved! saved!' with joy the sailors cry, And scandalise the skiff; As taut and hoisted high and dry They see the s.h.i.+p unstoppered lie Upon the sea-girt cliff.

And since that day in Falmouth Bay, As herring-fishers trawl, The younkers hear the boatswains say How Captain Giles that awful day Preserved the sinking yawl."

Mr. Charles G. Leland sends the following, with the remark that he thinks the lines "the finest and daintiest nonsense" he ever read:

"Thy heart is like some icy lake, On whose cold brink I stand; Oh, buckle on my spirit's skate, And lead, thou living saint, the way To where the ice is thin-- That it may break beneath my feet And let a lover in!"

A short time ago in the new series of _Household Words_, a prize was offered for the writing of Nonsense Verses of eight lines. Of the lines sent in by the compet.i.tors we give three specimens:

"How many strive to force a way Where none can go save those who pay, To verdant plains of soft delight The homage of the silent night, When countless stars from pole to pole Around the earth unceasing roll In roseate shadow's silvery hue, s.h.i.+ne forth and gild the morning dew."

--_Arym._

"And must we really part for good, But meet again here where we've stood?

No more delightful trysting-place, We've watched sweet Nature's smiling face.

No more the landscape's lovely brow, Exchange our mutual breathing vow.

Then should the twilight draw around No loving interchange of sound."

--_Culver._

"Less for renown than innate love, These to my wish must recreant prove; Nor whilst an impulse here remain, Can ever hope the soul to gain; For memory scanning all the past, Relaxes her firm bonds at last, And gives to candour all the grace The heart can in its temple trace."

--_Dum Spiro Spero._

The curious style of some versifiers has been well imitated in the following

BALLAD OF THE PERIOD.

"An auld wife sat at her ivied door (_b.u.t.ter and eggs and a pound of cheese_); A thing she had frequently done before; And her knitting reposed on her ap.r.o.ned knees.

The piper he piped on the hill-top high (_b.u.t.ter and eggs and a pound of cheese_); Till the cow said, 'I die,' and the goose said, 'Why?'

And the dog said nothing but searched for fleas.

The farmer's daughter hath soft brown hair (_b.u.t.ter and eggs and a pound of cheese_); And I've met a ballad, I can't tell where, Which mainly consisted of lines like these."

W. S. Gilbert has some verses which are true nonsense, of which this is one:

"Sing for the garish eye, When moonless brandlings cling!

Let the froddering crooner cry, And the braddled sapster sing.

For never and never again, Will the tottering beechlings play, For bratticed wrackers are singing aloud, And the throngers croon in May!"

Mr. Lewis Carroll's "Hunting of the Snark"[10] is a very curious little book, full of the most delicate fun and queer nonsense, with delightful ill.u.s.trations. It gives an account of how a Bellman, Boots, Barrister, Broker, Billiard-marker, Banker, Beaver, Baker, and Butcher go a-hunting after a mythical Beast called a "Snark." It is difficult to detach a pa.s.sage for quotation, but the following few lines will show how the "Quest of the Snark" was purposed to be carried on: