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Authors: Carl Woodring,James Shapiro

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Page 306
hearing. Sight loses its capacity to measure, to judge dimension or distance. "And swelling Haycocks thicken up the Vale." Haycocks loom large and indeterminately bulky; as the sight cannot engage in judgment, vision becomes tactile. The loss of the day's judgment or rationality, its measurement, order, and hierarchy, is felt as a great and continuous relief, expressed openly toward the end of the poem:
Their shortliv'd Jubilee the Creatures keep,
Which but endures, whilst Tyrant-
Man
do's sleep:
When a sedate Content the Spirit feels.
And no fierce Light disturbs, whilst it reveals.
Finch brings off a concealed pun here in her compound "Tyrant-
Man
." It can seem for a moment that she means "Man" in general, but we can sense beneath that a protest that the real "Tyrant" is the masculine human. She herself does not disturb the landscape, nor does Lady Salisbury, to whom a compliment was paid in an earlier line. The two women seem to be roaming, fantastically free, over this night world, and they are in harmony with ita freedom that can only be found "whilst Tyrant-
Man
do's sleep.''
For woman, as for the animals, the Jubilee is shortlived. "In such a
Night
let Me abroad remain, / Till Morning breaks, and All's confus'd again." Audaciously, Finch reverses the expected or "natural" order whereby Night is thought of as a time of confusion and Day as a time of openness and regularity. Morning "breaks" the tranquility so briefly restored, and a new and pleasing order of things is to be fragmented again by the strong confusions of the daylight world. The rules, hierarchies, and rationalizations that characterize the daylight world are here felt to be chaotic, the ruin of another way of being that was nearly within our grasp.
It seems not uncommon to associate morning with a certain loss or discomfortand without any primary engagement in the aubade tradition of the lover's lament at dawn. Finch has some odd company in Swift, whose short mock georgic "A Description of the Morning" (1709) recreates the urban morning as an increasing outburst of noise and sordid activity:
The Smallcoal-Man was heard with Cadence deep,
Till drown'd in Shriller Notes of
Chimney-Sweep
.
Duns at his Lordships Gate began to meet,
And Brickdust
Moll
had Scream'd through half a Street.
 
Page 307
Finch in her poem does not go into the details of the confusions of morning, while Swift delights in rendering them. For both poets, the advance of day means the replacement of the natural by the man-made, and the loss of silence. Finch's emphasis on change of vision, on the conversion of visual images to auditory or tactile ones, and on the pleasure of communing in solitude with a landscape that has given up its allegiances to day will be captured in William Collins's famous unrhymed "Ode to Evening" (1747), truly a marvel of rhythm and sound. Collins emphasizes more than Finch the steady progress of transformation in observing the personified Evening at work in various seasons, and marking when and how the changes happen:
                                                be mine the Hut,
     That from the Mountain's Side,
     Views Wilds, and swelling Floods,
And Hamlets brown, and dim-discover'd Spires,
And hears their simple Bell, and marks o'er all
     Thy Dewy Fingers draw
     The gradual dusky Veil.
Collins still gives spectatorship and the control of the eye more authority than Finch does (a masculine prepossession?); his "Hut" must have a superior view. Yet he too collapses sight into touch, as the visible darkness, the dusk, becomes both "Dewy Fingers" and "Veil" or a pile of whirling dead leaves temporarily at stop: "While sallow
Autumn
fills thy Lap with Leaves." Hearing gains perceptibly over sight, from the simple bell heard in spring to the shrieking dominant winds of winter. Collins's poem offers an escape, a relief from day; we may read it at noon and imagine the pleasures of evening with its promises of softness, pleasure, and cool restorations.
Finch's poem deliberately represents an escape from the institutional; but from the institutions of the time, from the Anglican Church and the Universities, came other invocations of the night. The most famous of these in its time (aside from Gray's
Elegy
) was the very popular and often-printed
Night Thoughts
by the clergyman Edward Young. Young's first major success was in a series of satires entitled
Love of Fame, the Universal Passion
(1725), and some thought him a better satirist than Pope. Often quoted in his century, Young has not been much regarded in our own, and what was thought of as his masterpiece,
The Complaint, or Night Thoughts on Life, Death, and Immortality
(17421746), has
 
Page 308
been little read since the mid-nineteenth century. In its own age, Young's nine "Nights" were tremendously popular, both in England and on the Continent, translated not only into French and German but into languages more remote, such as Hungarian. It went through over thirty editions during the century.
Young's poem struggles, sometimes in interestingly complicated ways, both against the night and with it. Night is definitely objectified and personified (as not in Finch, for instance). A sable goddess, Night in "rayless Majesty, now stretches forth / Her leaden Sceptre o'er a slumb'ring world." It is easy to see that Young's Night is not only derived from traditional iconographical and poetic sources, such as Spenser, but that it or rather
she
is an immediate reflection and in some ways counterpart of Pope's goddess of Dulness (herself, "With Night Primeval," restoring "the great Anarch's ancient reign," strongly related to the iconographic and poetic traditions of personified Night, especially in Spenser). Pope's goddess is a power to be condemned and resisted. The day world of ceaseless striving, clarity of vision, order, hierarchy, and regulation must be assertedand this is a remorselessly masculine world. The power of seeing is the power of control; the night world brings on terrible blindness. Young's poem takes issue, implicitly, with Pope. Not least does it do so in the choice of blank verse, which by this time seems in itself a rejection of the world of day, of authority, reason, and social order. These things, like socially based moralizing, are best left to the daylight operations of rhyme, the satirist's tool.
As the century progresses, blank verse steadily becomes, not what it was in Milton, the vehicle for high heroic thought and action, but the means of expressing personal sensibility. It is thus associated with what John Sitter calls "Literary Loneliness." Blank verse is often the medium for carrying out what Sitter defines as "feminizing and internalizing" the poetic impulse itself, in the personification of imaginative entities as feminine. Johnson in his poems and Goldsmith in
The Deserted Village
evidently wish to maintain the serious import of rhyme, and to sustain the habit of moral and social observation. But the tendency of what their age called "the age" was against them, leading toward the explosion out of regular form signified by Macpherson's Ossian and all of Blake's later writings, as well as toward the calmer inwardness of Cowper's blank verse in
The Task
. Cowper owes a serious debt to his mid-century predecessor Young, who so importantly called upon the relief of night and darkness, and the personal consciousness. Young's
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