rapidly as we should in prose. This hurry and constipation produces an effect of effort and strain, which is just what is required. An extreme case of[Pg 22] this power of metre to mould and so give life to a phrase, is the line, [Pg 22] If this be read as a line with four stresses, thus: “And | máde him | bów to the | góds of his | wíves,” it is then not a Miltonic blank verse at all. Yet, since we cannot read it, “And | máde him | bów tó | thé góds | óf his | wíves,” the only thing to be done is to put a kind of level staccato accent on the last six syllables, thus: “And máde him bów tó thé góds óf hís wíves,” which spaces the words out, so that they sound like a blank verse, or at least do the best they can to sound like one. Thus not only is our ear sufficiently reminded of the underlying metrical base, but we are obliged to give to the phrase a kind of fierce indignant or ironic emphasis, which again is, I think, exactly what Milton intended. I could multiply instances;[Pg 23] but these should be sufficient to illustrate the way in which verse, if it be well written, adds imaginative expressiveness to words, by forcing us to space them out and emphasise them, till they acquire new values that they would not have had in prose. [Pg 23] Another obvious function of a constant metrical framework is that of heightening the values of words and phrases by mere position, much as the structure of a cathedral may do with sculpture. Any passage of Milton, or of Keats’ mature work, might be used to illustrate this principle. If then the main function of spoken verse be this of building a framework upon which we may place words in significant and beautiful relations both with each other and with the rhythmical structure itself, and upon which we may also stretch out and contract them, in order to increase their emotional values, it would seem to be necessary that this framework should[Pg 24] be definite and constant. And it is this necessity that is, I think, the chief objection to some modern experiments in free verse. Whatever advantages there may be in emancipation from regularity, we should not forget the price that has to be paid for it in the loss or diminution of this power of moulding and vivifying language. It is true that there have been many successful experiments in more or less free verse, from the choruses in Samson Agonistes to, let us say, Mr. Waley’s translations of early Chinese poetry; but I suggest that as a general rule the success is in proportion to the degree in which we are made aware of a fixed