Literature is
written by and for two senses: a sort of internal ear, quick to
perceive 'unheard melodies'; and the eye, which directs the pen and
deciphers the printed phrase. Well, even as there are rhymes for
the eye, so you will find that there are assonances and
alliterations; that where an author is running the open A, deceived
by the eye and our strange English spelling, he will often show a
tenderness for the flat A; and that where he is running a
particular consonant, he will not improbably rejoice to write it
down even when it is mute or bears a different value.
Here, then, we have a fresh pattern--a pattern, to speak grossly,
of letters--which makes the fourth preoccupation of the prose
writer, and the fifth of the versifier. At times it is very
delicate and hard to perceive, and then perhaps most excellent and
winning (I say perhaps); but at times again the elements of this
literal melody stand more boldly forward and usurp the ear. It
becomes, therefore, somewhat a matter of conscience to select
examples; and as I cannot very well ask the reader to help me, I
shall do the next best by giving him the reason or the history of
each selection. The two first, one in prose, one in verse, I chose
without previous analysis, simply as engaging passages that had
long re-echoed in my ear.
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