I am mon|arch of all | I survey, My right | there is none | to dispute: From the cen|tre all round | to the sea I am lord | of the fowl | and the brute;
She came-- | she is gone-- | we have met, And meet | perhaps nev|er again: The sun | of that mo|ment is set And seems | to have ris|en in vain.
Now, though these lines are pretty, they are exposed to the charge of being pretty sing-song, and monotonous jingle. But this had, long before Cowper, been to a great extent remedied, though for comic purposes only or mainly, in such things as Gay's "Molly Mog," quoted above, and Chesterfield-Pulteney's
Had I Hanover, Bremen, and Ver|den, And likewise the Duchy of Zell, I would part with them all for a far|thing, To have my dear Molly Lepell!
(Pronounce "Verden" with the proper English value of _er_, and give "farthing" its then correct form of "farden," and the rhyme will be spotless.)
What it was that made Byron take this up for a serious purpose in the lines to Haidee (before _Don Juan_) is not, I believe, known:
I en|ter thy gar|den of ro|ses, Belov|ed and fair | Haidee, Each morn|ing where Flo|ra repo|ses, For sure|ly I see | her in thee.
The gain here, from the redundant syllable and double rhyme in the odd lines, and from a rather more frequent use of _dissyllabic_ feet to prevent monotony, is immense. Praed adopted the measure, and improved it still further, in his admirable "Letter of Advice":
Remem|ber the thrill|ing roman|ces We read | on the bank | in the glen; Remem|ber the suit|ors our fan|cies Would pic|ture for both | of us then. They wore | the red cross | on their shoul|der, They had van|quished and par|doned their foe-- Sweet friend, | are you wi|ser or cold|er? My own | Aramin|ta, say "No!"
And then Mr. Swinburne had the probably final inspiration of shortening the last line to two feet (or an anapæstic monometer), with an astonishing result of added and finished music:
Though the ma|ny lights dwin|dle to one | light, There is help | if the heav|en has one, Though the skies | be discrowned | of the sun|light, And the earth | dispossessed | of the sun, They have moon|light and sleep | for repay|ment When, refreshed | as a bride | and set free, With stars | and sea-winds | in her rai|ment, Night sinks | on the sea.