to Louisiana, which, although then belonging to Spain, was still French in feeling. Here they were well received by those of their own language and religion. They found homes, as the poet tells us, in the fertile country by the river Têche, where they settled comfortably and permanently. "Their descendants are to be found in every parish of lower Louisiana," writes Alcée Fortier. "They form an important and useful part of our population." Although a simple farming people, they have had some men of eminence in the state, and their lot has been by no means miserable. c. The Metre.1 When you begin to read poetry aloud, you become aware that one of the great differences between poetry and prose lies in what is called metre. Another difference lies in rhyme; but although rhyme is common in poetry, it is not necessary. Much of the world's greatest poetry has no rhyme. The poetry of the Greeks and Romans had none; the poetry of the Hebrews had none. Much English poetry has none, as, for example, "Evangeline." Modern English poetry, however, almost invariably has metre. Metre is practically but another name for rhythm in poetry. We use the word "rhythm" for other things than poetry; we mean by it a regular recurrence of sounds and intervals. We might speak of “ the rhythm of the surf upon the beach," meaning the regularly recurring sound of the breakers. In poetry the regular recurrence is called metre or rhythm, the former being a more definite word. In English, rhythm is the regular recurrence of accented syllables among unaccented syllables. In prose the accent of the words is not regular; the accents in a sentence come at no fixed interval. But in poetry the accents come at intervals that we can realize. 66 "On the Mountains of the Prairie, on the great Red Pipe-stone Quarry, Gitche Manito the Mighty, he the Master of Life descending, on the red crags of the quarry, stood erect and called the nations, called the tribes of men together." 1 If the pupils cannot understand this matter readily, the teacher, at least, should study it carefully and explain it to them. In these lines from Longfellow's "Hiawatha," the fact that they are printed as prose will not conceal from you the fact that the accent falls régularly on every other syllable, beginning with the first. Sometimes it is not a very strong accent, as in the fourth word, of; but even on of there is more accent than on the syllables -tains and the just before and after it. In Máster of Life there are two syllables between the accents, but generally the recurrence is so regular that we become accustomed to it and hardly notice a slight variation. It is usual in writing and printing poetry to divide it into lines, commonly with an equal number of accents in each line, and the disposition of the accents in the line is taken as the basis for the metre. There are many different arrangements of rhythms, differing in the arrangement of the accented and unaccented syllables. The metre of "Evangeline" is called hexameter, because there are six accents to the line. In the hexameter, as written in English, we have a recurrence of accented syllables, with sometimes one unaccented syllable following, sometimes two. It is also the rule of the metre that the line shall begin with an accented syllable, and that the last accent but one of each line shall be followed by two unaccented syllables' and the last by one only. If then we represent an accented syllable by a, an unaccented syllable by x, we may write the scheme of the hexameter line as follows: To show how the metre really sounds, let us take the first line of "Evangeline": “Thís is the fórest priméval. The múrmuring pínes and the hémlocks." The first syllable has the accent, and each accented syllable is followed by two unaccented syllables, except the last, which has only one. “Beárded with móss, and in gárments greén, indistinct in the twilight.” Here the third accent also is followed by one unaccented syllable only, garments greén. 2 1 For an exception, see 1, p. 19. “Stánd like Drúids of éld, with voices sád and prophétic." Here the first, third, and fourth accents, as well as the last, have but one unaccented syllable following. If we write the first three lines with a and x as above, they would go : Read a number of lines, noting the accent. You will find it falls on the syllables that would be accented in prose, but that the words are so arranged as to have this regular recurrence, which gives the language a special character. Notice a few points: 1. In 1. 622. "Whirled them aloft through the air, at once from a hundred housetops." The fifth accent has but one unaccented syllable after it. So it is also in ll. 489, 812, 953, 1106. Otherwise, the end of each line is always the same, axx ax, leaving the beginnings for variation. 2. There is almost always something of a pause about the middle of a line, which gives a pleasant effect; it is called a caesura. The line is long; this divides it. But the variation in placing the pause does away with monotony. 3. You must not mark the ends of the lines strongly unless there is a punctuation mark. 66 "Shocks of yellow hair, like the silken floss of the maize, hung Here, as often, you must run right on from one line to another. 4. Sometimes the marking of the end of the verse gives a special effect: "So, in each pause of the song, with measured motion the clock clicked." 1. 217. Compare 1. 274. When you have become accustomed to the movement, you will find it not at all difficult except in some few cases. The metre, however, has some inconveniences, the most important of which arise from the fact that the line must begin with an accent. Now an English sentence sometimes begins with an accent, but rather more often it does not. You will easily notice, by reading a good number of sentences, that less than half begin with an accented syllable. Hence the poet will often find a difficulty in beginning the line with a sentence, and yet he may often wish to do so. Longfellow gets around the difficulty in three ways, none good in their effect. 1. He puts an unnatural accent on the first word. "But among all who came young Gabriel only was welcome." 1. 114. In prose we should not accent But, but the second syllable of among. 2. He inverts the usual word-order. "White as the snow were his locks, and his cheeks as brown as the oakleaves." 1. 64. Inversion is often met with in poetry, and is not displeasing. Here, however, seven lines (62-68) begin with an inversion, which becomes unnatural. It is better when it occurs seldom. gives emphasis, as in Then it "Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced neighboring ocean. " 1.5. But when often used it ceases to be emphatic; for we get used to it, and it becomes a conventionality. 3. He begins a sentence or a clause in the middle of the line, and lets it run over into the next. In itself there is no harm in this practice, but it tends to diffuseness. That is to say, the habit of running the sentence over the line to the next, tends to accustom one to ending a sentence in the middle of a line. It is then necessary to begin a new sentence, and this usually runs over into the next line, and so the temptation is to run on and on, and spin the story out. These, however, are but slight drawbacks and will not greatly bar your enjoyment of the poem. SUGGESTIONS FOR STUDY. It is well to read the poem several times; one would get but a slight idea of it by reading it only once. A true classic improves on each reading, and one may go over it again and again, and always find some new pleasure. According as there is time for a cursory reading only, or for a more careful reading with, perhaps, some critical study, the following suggestions are divided into three heads. If there is time only for a rapid reading, the points suggested in I. (pp. 20, 21) should be followed; if there is time, II. (pp. 21-25) should be added; while if it be advisable to go on to textual study, some suggestions will be found in III. (pp. 25-27). I. FOR A CURSORY READING. In reading the poem for the first time, you should try (a) to read it aloud well and pleasantly, and (b) to get a good understanding and appreciation of the story. You will find that you cannot read it easily and pleasantly without some knowledge of the metre, but the few pages (16–19) on the subject, already given, will be enough to give you an idea of that. With a little practice you will find no difficulty. The second matter is even easier. "Evangeline" is a simple story, and by no means hard to follow. It is a good plan to write down, as you go along, the substance of each part. To give an abstract of the whole story is a more difficult matter; it must be so compressed, it is so necessary to mention only the truly important things, that it is by no means easy.' It is not hard, however, to tell what happens in each part, and as you read each part you may write the story of it in prose, and finally put all the parts together. A particular part might be something like this: 1 R. L. Stevenson gives a good example in his account of the story of "Kidnapped," prefixed to "David Balfour." |