_Lara_, and _The Island_, Byron proved, in the words of Jeffrey, that “the oldest and most respectable measure that is known amongst us is as flexible as any other,” and elicited from Sir E. Brydges a just tribute to his “unbroken stream of native eloquence,” it is precisely because “the narrative (as he says) is rapid,” and because the hazardous experiment is not tried of continuing rhymed distiches through a long poem. The Italian _ottava rima_ has been observed to derive great strength from its majestic close, which is invariably in a doubly rhymed couplet, and I have occasionally introduced double rhymes in this and other parts of the stanza to relieve the tendency to monotony. The most distinguished cultivator of Southern literature that England has ever produced, Lord Holland, in his translations from Lope de Vega, Luis de Gonzaga, &c., and from Ariosto, was very successful in this imitation. The hypercatalectic syllable occurs in every line of Tasso’s _Gerusalemme_, and in every line of Camóens’ _Lusiadas_, and the Italians and Portuguese therefore call the verse “hendecasyllabic.” A poem of any length constructed on this principle in English would degenerate into pure burlesque; but Byron and others have proved that it may be advantageously introduced as a pleasing variety. The Alexandrine at the close of each stanza of Spenser produces an equivalent, and perhaps even a more majestic effect. It has been objected to this Alexandrine that it gives a drawling tone to a long narrative poem; but I do not think with justice, since very much depends on the mode in which the line is constructed. Pope’s celebrated “needless Alexandrine” has created a prejudice against this metre, which I admit to be just where it is interspersed with heroic verse, since, as Johnson correctly observes, it disappoints the ear. But in the stanza of Spenser it is expected. How easily the form and character of a verse may be changed by transposing a word or two will appear from Pope’s famous imitative Alexandrine: “Which like a wounded snake drags its slow length along.” Alter two monosyllables, and it goes quite trippingly from the tongue: “And like a wounded snake it drags its length along.” There is no essential alteration. The adjective “slow” omitted is an incorrect epithet applied to “length,” since the quickest objects in nature, a racehorse or a greyhound, appear very long when upon full stretch, and in most rapid movement. The trick of the line is in the simple use of spondees in the place of iambuses, “which like,” “drags its,” “slow length.” How short and compact an Alexandrine may be, may be seen in Horace’s Epodes _passim_. Take the first line of the celebrated second ode, the “_longè pulcherrima_” by the consent of all critics: “Beatus ille qui procul negotiis.”