Let me likewise dwell a little on the celebrated paragraph in which it is directed that the sound should seem an echo to the sense,--a precept which Pope is allowed to have observed beyond any other English poet. This notion of representative metre, and the desire of discovering frequent adaptations of the sound to the sense, have produced, in my opinion, many wild conceits and imaginary beauties. All that can furnish this representation are the sounds of the words considered singly, and the time in which they are pronounced. Every language has some words framed to exhibit the noises which they express, as _thump_, _rattle_, _growl_, _hiss_. These, however, are but few, and the poet cannot make them more, nor can they be of any use but when sound is to be mentioned. The time of pronunciation was in the dactylic measures of the learned languages capable of considerable variety; but that variety could be accommodated only to motion or duration, and different degrees of motion were perhaps expressed by verses rapid or slow, without much attention of the writer, when the image had full possession of his fancy; but our language having little flexibility, our verses can differ very little in their cadence. The fancied resemblances, I fear, arise sometimes merely from the ambiguity of words; there is supposed to be some relation between a _soft_ line and a _soft_ couch, or between _hard_ syllables and _hard_ fortune. Motion, however, may be in some sort exemplified, and yet it may be suspected that in such resemblances the mind often governs the idea, and the sounds are estimated by their meaning. One of their most successful attempts has been to describe the labour of Sisyphus: With many a weary step, and many a groan, Up the high hill he heaves a huge round stone; The huge round stone, resulting with a bound, Thunders impetuous down, and smokes along the ground. Who does not perceive the stone to move slowly upward, and roll violently back? But set the same numbers to another sense: While many a merry tale, and many a song, Cheered the rough road, we wished the rough road long; The rough road then, returning in a round, Mocked our impatient steps, for all was fairy ground. We have surely now lost much of the delay, and much of the rapidity. But to show how little the greatest master of numbers can fix the principles of representative harmony, it will be sufficient to remark that the poet who tells us that When Ajax strives some rock's vast weight to throw, The line too labours, and the words move slow; Not so when swift Camilla scours the plain, Flies o'er th' unbending corn, and skims along the main; when he had enjoyed for about thirty years the praise of Camilla's lightness of foot, he tried another experiment upon _sound_ and _time_, and produced this memorable triplet: