Rhythm and Movement 21unmetrical, not only an intenser value of sound, but a force to
compel language and sense to heighten themselves in order to
fall fitly into this stricter mould. There is perhaps a truth in the
Vedic idea that the Spirit of creation framed all the movements
of the world bychandas, in certain fixed rhythms of the for-
mative Word, and it is because they are faithful to the cosmic
metres that the basic world-movements unchangingly endure. A
balanced harmony maintained by a system of subtle recurrences
is the foundation of immortality in created things, and metrical
movement is nothing else than creative sound grown conscious
of this secret of its own powers.
Still there are all sorts of heights and gradations in the use
of this power. General consent seems indeed to have sanctioned
the name of poetry for any kind of effective language set in a
vigorous or catching metrical form, and although the wideness
of this definition is such that it has enabled even the Macaulays
and Kiplings to mount their queer poetic thrones, I will not
object: catholicity is always a virtue. Nevertheless, mere force
of language tacked on to the trick of the metrical beat does
not answer the higher description of poetry; it may have the
form or its shadow, it has not the essence. There is a whole
mass of poetry, — the French metrical romances and most of the
mediaeval ballad poetry may be taken as examples, — which
relies simply on the metrical beat for its rhythm and on an even
level of just tolerable expression for its style; there is hardly a
line whose rhythm floats home or where the expression strikes
deep. Even in later European poetry, though the art of verse and
language has been better learned, essentially the same method
persists, and poets who use it have earned not only the popular
suffrage, but the praise of the critical mind. Still the definitive
verdict on their verse is that it is nothing more than an effective
jog-trot of Pegasus, a pleasing canter or a showy gallop. It has
great staying-power, — indeed there seems no reason why, once
begun, it should not go on for ever, — it carries the poet easily
over his ground, but it does nothing more. Certainly, no real
soul-movement can get easily into this mould. It has its merits
and its powers; it is good for metrical romances of a sort, for