and trochaic and dactylic metres will have feminine endings; but an iambic or anapestic verse may have a feminine ending, owing to an extra light syllable being added at the end, and a trochaic or dactylic verse may have a masculine ending, owing to the omission of the unaccented part of the last foot. (Such trochaic or dactylic verses are called catalectic or truncated.) We may therefore fully describe a metre, if it is of a normal type, by saying that it is "four-foot iambic," "three-foot anapestic with feminine ending,' "five-foot trochaic catalectic," etc. But in some poems (for example, No. 240) the metre varies between dissyllabic and trisyllabic, so that it may be called iambic-anapestic; and in others the lines open variously with accented or unaccented syllables, when it may be called iambic-trochaic (as in Nos. 106 and 107) or dactylic-anapestic (as in No. 267). Again, some poems seem to vary between double and quadruple rhythm, each fourth syllable bearing a principal accent, but with a tendency toward accenting every second syllable also (see No. 80); these metres may be called trochaic-pæonic or iambic-pæonic. IV In conclusion, it may be well to ask, What is the advantage of our taking an interest in poetry, apart from the few occasions when it may attract our attention because of some especially striking use to which it is put? The first answer is that the love of poetry is one of the highest forms of pleasure. The love of good pictures is a high form of pleasure, but they do not often have as close a relation to life as poetry, and at their best are rare and expensive. The love of good music is another high form of pleasure, but it is also connected rather slightly with the problems of living, and experience shows that comparatively few persons get far enough into the knowledge of musical forms to enjoy this art at its best. But poetry introduces us to the enjoyment of beauty as swiftly and effectively as pictures and music do; it deals with pleasurable aspects of almost every kind of experience in real life; and anyone who can read can soon acquire the ability to get into the movement and feeling of the work of the very greatest poets, even though all their ideas may not be fully understood. A second answer has already been suggested. While some poetry exists only for pleasure, most good poetry contains also the interpretation of aspects of life. It does not interpret them in the same way that a school-teacher, a scientist, an editor, or a preacher may do, and cannot take the place of education, science, sociology, or religion; but in the special way by which the imagination interprets things, the poet does what no one else can do so well. He accompanies us into all our most thrilling experiences-out-ofdoor life, patriotism, war, love, sorrow, religion, hope, ambition—and brings out the finest feelings that they involve. He does not have much to say about eating and drinking and clothes and the earning of money, because these experiences are connected with comparatively low levels of feeling; but on the other hand he does not, as some people suppose, keep to a few narrow subjects. He may write about machinery-locomotives and aero planes as well as sunsets and flowers. And he is likely to lead us from the more commonplace and superficial side of whatever he treats of, into its deeper and richer meanings. Consequently, those who become well acquainted with good poetry, and carry much of it in their memory, find it all through their lives a kind of companion-one who not only shares their pleasures and pains sympathetically, but says about each of them the truest and wisest word. |