poems have certain external features, the same stanza form, the same concentrated directness, the same objective quality, the same kind of subject, and much the same spirit. All this is due, of course, to the influence of the older poems,—to the purpose of the poets not so much to imitate the folk ballads, as to write in their spirit and profit by their method. That they have done so is shown by the fact that almost any of the poems of the second group might, on a hasty reading, be mistaken for an "old" ballad of popular origin. It is upon a more careful reading that the differences appear.

The metrical differences, to take the most external considerations first, are not so much differences of stanza form as they are effects of harmony within the stanza. To be sure, Rosabelle and Lady Clare employ a stanza form that is not identical with the typical ballad measure, for the lines are all of equal length and the rimes strictly alternate; similarly, La Belle Dame Sans Merci concludes each stanza with a two-foot line; and The Pride of Youth has a stanza form entirely its own: nevertheless, the difference of metrical effect is due not so much to these things as it is to the greater regularity of accent throughout the poems, and to special characteristics that can best be brought out by means of examples. In The Wreck of the Hesperus a slight shift of accent in the sixth and seventh stanzas puts the weight of the voice on the telling words-colder, colder, down. In the sixth stanza, the last two lines echo in sound the sense of

the verse; but not so notably as the passage beginning with the fifth stanza from the end, where, after the contrasting line.

Looked soft as carded wool,

comes the suggested fury of "rocks," "gored," and 'horns," the brittle shattering sound of "rattling," "sheathed in ice," "glass," and the sonorous shouting of the winds above all

Ho! ho! the breakers roared!

A very delicate effect of metrical harmony appears in La Belle Dame Sans Merci, and has no small part in the unearthly impression that the poem makes. In contrast with the quicker movement of the preceding lines, the short line that concludes each stanza falls with a strange solemnity, especially where there is ɛ succession of heavily accented syllables,

And no birds sing;

And made sweet moan;

On the cold hill's side.

It is not unnatural to look for yet other signs of the artistic spirit, beside these metrical effects. And very easy is it to find them, especially in the diction of the late ballads. In Lucy Gray can be observed the same concreteness of diction that is found in the folk ballads, and in such phrases as "solitary song,"

and "whistles in the wind," is the same tendency to alliteration; yet the individual hand of the poet is seen in the definiteness of the descriptive touches,the wooden bridge a furlong from the door, the broken hawthorn hedge,—and in such close observation as in the lines,

Her feet disperse the powdery snow
That rises up like smoke.

Closest to the diction of the old ballads, perhaps, is Lord Ullin's Daughter, with such phrases as "silver pound,” “bonny bride," "winsome lady," "waters wild"; farthest from it is the delicate suggestiveness of La Belle Dame Sans Merci, with lines like these:

Alone and palely loitering;

I saw their starved lips in the gloam.

How are all these differences between the folk ballads and those written by individual poets to be summed up? Here again there is need of certain general terms that will help keep the qualities apart in our minds. But they are easily supplied. The ballads in which the author's personality is expressed, and which require, therefore, special freedom in phrase and style, may be called "personal"; and poems like Lucy Gray and La Belle Dame Sans Merci can stand as examples. On the other hand, those in which there is no single author, or in which the author has been content to hide his personality behind famil

iar thoughts and phrases, may be called "impersonal"; and as examples we have not only the whole body of folk ballads, but such poems as Lord Ullin's Daughter as well. It is then but a step, and an easy one, to notice that the poem of "impersonal" tone, like Sir Patrick Spens, is likely to be "objective" in incident and diction; whereas the poem of "personal" tone, like Lucy, is generally marked by a style that may be called, in contrast, "subjective." The order in which the groups of poems are here taken up shows progress in a single clearly-marked direction,—from the "impersonal" to the "personal," from the “objective" to the "subjective."

SHORT NARRATIVE POEMS

In the body of the text a group of poems on battle and war is separated from another group of short narrative poems. This is, of course, simply a matter of convenience, for no essential distinction between stories in verse is based merely on the subjects treated. For the present purpose, therefore, both groups fall into one division,—short narrative poems of individual authorship, with a wide range of subject and style. In this latter point lies their difference from the poems. that have just been discussed: those, the Late Ballads, follow more or less closely a definitely marked tradition; these others have freedom to draw upon all the resources of narrative poetry.

This freedom is shown most strikingly in the metri

cal variety of the poems in the group. From poems like Love, by Coleridge, written in a verse that bears considerable resemblance to the ballad measure, the stanza forms extend so as to include not only the short couplets of Barbara Frietchie, but also the longer stanzas of Lochinvar, the more complex ones of The Sands of Dee, and finally the wholly irregular paragraphs of Tennyson's The Revenge.

When the metrical swing of the line is considered, however, the full significance of this freedom is felt; for meter appeals not so much to the eye, as we glance over the printed page, as to the ear, when we read the poem aloud or catch its movement with our inward hearing. Then we notice the dashing swing of the anapests in Lochinvar, or, in the same meter, the persistent, pounding gallop of Roland, carrying the good news from Ghent to Aix. Rougher and more irregular, full of power, is the anapestic vigor of The Battle of Naseby. Similarly, The Charge of the Light Brigade owes much of its stirring energy to the rush of its hurrying dactyls. In striking contrast is the quiet musical dignity of the iambic measure, as seen in Coleridge's poem Love. Even within the narrower limits of a single kind of meter can be felt distinct differences of metrical feeling. The anapests of The Burial of Sir John Moore have a wholly different effect from those of Lochinvar, for example; just as the iambic movement of Scott's The Outlaw would never be confused with that of Wordsworth's Laodamía.