Trochaic and Spondaic Substitutions in John Milton’s “Lycidas” and “Paradise Lost”
(Book IX)
Laura Zuber
Rhythmic substitutions are essential in John Milton’s poetry. For the purposes of
this essay, the focus will be narrowed to his initial trochaic and spondaic substitutions,
with deviations when relevant. For Milton, these substitutions serve several purposes:
they can speed up the rhythm of the line, or give the phrase more weight. They can
indicate a “turn” from a previous line or illustrate an action or emotion. Beyond being
descriptive, however, the technique has the added advantage of provoking a response
from the reader: in breaking away from the established blank verse, Milton not only
captures the reader’s attention but often forces an active participation. When the serpent
tempts Eve, the reader is tempted as well; when St. Peter describes the terrible corruption
within the church, the reader feels as though he, too, were “rot[ting] inwardly.” In order
to discuss the effects of this reader response in depth, the essay will be limited to Book
IX of “Paradise Lost” and “Lycidas.”
In Book IX, Lucifer, disguised as a serpent, constructs his great argument to
convince Eve to eat the forbidden fruit. In lines 584-588, he extols its many virtues,
claiming to have tasted it himself:
To satisfy the sharp desire I had
Of tasting those fair apples, I resolved
Not to defer: hunger and thirst at once,
Powerful persuaders, quickened at the scent
Of that alluring fruit, urged me so keen.
Although not an initial spondaic substitution, “fair apples” in line 585 is a good example
of using substitutions to draw a phrase out longer than usual. One might argue that
“those fair apples” is iambic. But the internal assonance shared between the stressed
“tasting” and “fair,” the fact that the fruit are named just this once in Book IX, and the
phrase’s importance in the context of Lucifer’s speech, make it natural to stress “fair” as
well, although not perhaps as strongly as the syllables that sandwich it. The three
stressed syllables in a row, then, in conjunction with the caesura that divides them from
the rest of the line, force the reader to slow down, lingering over the words, which is the
serpent’s intention. This switch in rhythm is one of the instances where the serpent’s
temptation of Eve is illustrated so well that the reader can feel its effects: like Eve, the
reader is being seduced.
Line 586 opens with a trochaic substitution that is given even more weight
because of the line that precedes it. The word “resolved” that concludes line 585 ends on
a rising note; with no end stop to block the reader’s progression to the next line, he reads
the two stressed syllables in the same breath, creating a split spondee. Lucifer’s
resolution, therefore, is doubly emphasized, first through the verb “resolved” and second
through the stressed “not,” which cements his decision to rebel. Throughout “Paradise
Lost” Satan defines himself by what he will not do – he will not accept God’s
omnipotence, nor give up possible independence in order to serve someone stronger. It
was no doubt deliberate on Milton’s part that even God’s greatest enemy defines himself,
and centers his actions around, the existence of his Creator. Satan’s argument for
rebellion is raised again further into Book IX, as Satan urges Eve, not so much to commit
sin, but to not miss this opportunity for knowledge, to not be frightened by “the
Threatener.” In tempting her to take the fruit he inducts her into his philosophy.
Satan’s speech throughout this passage is propelled by his active verbs and
adjectives, which often appear as initial trochaic substitutions. Hunger and thirst are
“powerful persuaders” (587), and their crashing rhythm breaks up the established blank
verse, carrying on the momentum from “not to defer.” The lines that follow maintain the
strength of these rhythmic substitutions. In addition, the strategic placement of these
substitutions gives them added weight: regular rhythm is established just long enough to
make these substitutions all the more striking when they break this pattern. Line 588, for
example, uses a trochaic substitution that is not diluted but amplified by the caesura that
divides it from the three initial iambs: “Of that alluring fruit, urged me so keen.” In a
technique similar to what was seen in “those fair apples,” the punctuated caesura
elongates the stressed “fruit” by forcing the reader to stop immediately after it. The
stressed “urged” that follows links it to its (also stressed) predecessor, creating an
interesting double meaning within the sentence itself: on the surface, the serpent is
describing hunger and thirst as the forces that drive him to take the fruit; the effect of the
rhythm, however, seems to imply that the fruit itself is persuading him to take it. In this
way Satan neatly deflects the attention of the listener from his role as tempter; it is the
fruit – not the snake himself – that is seducing Eve and the reader. The serpent
effectively paints himself as another victim susceptible to the fruit’s charms.
In lines 590-601, several active verbs are used as initial trochaic substitutions,
overwhelming the reader with Satan’s powers of persuasion:
For high from ground the branches would require
Thy utmost reach, or Adam’s: round the tree
All other beasts that saw, with like desire
Longing and envying stood, but could not reach.
Amid the tree now got, where plenty hung
Tempting so nigh, to pluck and eat my fill
I spared not; for such pleasure till that hour
At feed or fountain never had I found.
Sated at length, ere long I might perceive
Strange alteration in me, to degree
Of reason in my inward powers, and speech
Wanted not long, though to this shape retained. (591-601; emphasis added)
The transitive verbs longing, envying, and tempting create an interesting rhythm where
the reader moves upward, only to slide back down within the same word. This is
especially effective in line 593, which describes other animals coveting the fruit, but
finding that they “could not reach”; the rhythm of these verbs, therefore, emphasizes the
great desire of the other animals, at the same time highlighting their inability to fulfill it
(and implicitly praising Eve in comparison, who can reach the fruit if she wishes).1 That
the verbs stand far away from their subject, making them appear intransitive, is deliberate:
in a syntactic technique similar to that employed in line 588 (“fruit, urged”), Satan makes
the reader overlook the verbs’ literal place in the sentence, so that he feels the strength of
their emotion while failing to remember that these verbs do not apply to him. Through
this transference the reader finds himself longing for the fruit as well, however
unconsciously.
The spondee “spared not” (598) harkens back to the substitution in “not to defer”;
the use of “not” in both cases signifies the serpent’s deliberate decision to rebel. But
through the phrases’ switches in metrical feet, spondaic or trochaic, the serpent
emphasizes that just because these decisions are disobedient does not make them less
valid. “Spared not” is the first part of this extended argument, rationalizing this
disobedience; the next spondee, “such pleasure,” constructs the second, highlighting the
1
The fallacy, of course, is that the serpent has not tasted the fruit; and, not only is it doubtful that other
animals were gazing at the apples with longing, it is illogical. Many species could have climbed the tree,
especially if it was short enough for Eve to touch its branches. (Luxon)
rewards for braving potential punishment. Line 597 carries this argument through in
perfect iambic pentameter, using the rhythm to support the serpent’s contention, that no
greater pleasure can be experienced than eating the fruit. Here, we pause at a full
punctuated stop, which separates the tasting of the fruit from its results: the opening verb
“sated,” after the momentum we have experienced in the descriptions of his hunger, is
like the conclusion of the argument.
In line 601, rhythm works underneath content, further amplifying Satan’s
assertion. On the surface, he is discussing how speech came to him, the serpent, not long
after tasting the fruit; but in conjunction with the initial trochaic substitution “wanted” –
which, beyond meaning “lacking,” is yet another verb of desire – the reader encounters
an unfulfilled urge once again. The falling rhythm of “wanted” leaves the reader
‘wanting’ something as well; but this time, the problem is instantly followed by its
solution, another rhythmic substitution (this time spondaic). Immediately the rhythm
rises again, to arguably the two strongest syllables in the line: “not long” promises swift
fulfillment of Eve’s – and the reader’s – craving. Rhythmically, one could call line 601 a
summation of Satan’s entire speech.
Further on, Satan’s argument shifts from lauding the fruit’s powers to appealing
to Eve’s vanity. In lines 684-690, the serpent uses his newly acquired “knowledge” to
question God’s authority, and urges Eve to do the same:
Queen of the universe! do not believe
Those rigid threats of death. Ye shall not die;
How should ye? By the fruit? it gives you life
To knowledge; by the Threatener? look on me,
Me who have touched and tasted, yet both live,
And life more perfect have attained than Fate
Meant me, by venturing higher than my lot.
Here, breaks in the rhythm often show a loss of control. The trochaic substitution of line
684 is has a clear purpose: calling Eve queen is only one instance of the serpent’s
calculated flattery. He then returns to iambic pentameter, using its even rhythm to
support his argument: “Those rigid threats of death” is presented as the problem; a
punctuated caesura separates the problem from his proferred solution, a logical
counterargument: “Ye shall not die.” The caesura lying in between the two statements in
the same line makes Satan’s counterargument seem all the more rational: the reader
“falls” on the unstressed “ye,” making the argument seem not an opinion, but a natural
conclusion. In reality, of course, the first sentence makes a mockery of God’s warning
(the robotic “rigid threats of death” seems more like a parody than anything else), while
the second is Satan’s unfounded assertion. The period lying in between these two
phrases, then, is like visual line separating enemy camps: while the closed period does
not invite interaction between the statements, they are still implicitly at odds.
But once the subject of the “Threatener” is raised, Satan’s words become less
polished. One can hear the anger in his voice in the trochaic substitution in line 687: “…
look on me,/ Me who have touched and tasted, yet both live…” (686-7). The repetition
of the stressed “me,” despite the end stop and line break that give the serpent ample time
to pause and collect himself, indicates his loss of control. Were he in angel form, one
could imagine the angry Lucifer striding before his fallen army, gesturing at himself.
That the serpent has not died after tasting the fruit is a persuasive argument (although one
has to wonder how exalted Eve can become if he has remained an animal). Despite his
efforts to be logical, however, his words are deeply resentful. One can see it also in the
trochaic substitution in line 690, when the serpent claims that he has “a life more
perfect… than Fate/ Meant me, by venturing higher than my lot” (689-90). While
“venturing” describes brave behavior, its stressed syllable cannot be read louder than the
initial jolt of “meant me” – which, in addition to being an initial substitution (and thus
having the advantage of coming first), is rendered all the stronger by the necessity of an
unstressed “me” in the line, despite the two stressed “me’s” that preceded it. Suddenly,
the serpent is diminished. Despite his best efforts, Fate’s intentions carried greater weight
than his rebellion; the two unstressed syllables that are part of the dactyl’s makeup,
therefore, become ironic, illustrating that even in his brash words he cannot negate his
eventual failure.
In any case, it is not difficult to read in between the lines: “venturing higher than
[his] lot” is what led to Lucifer’s expulsion from Heaven in the first place. The initial
substitution in line 690 shows both his resentment and his bitter triumph: despite the
Threatener and Fate’s best efforts, he believes, he has still attained more independence
than God would have granted him. (As Satan said himself, “Better to reign in Hell than
serve in Heav’n.”) In short, the initial substitutions serve three purposes: first, to
persuade Eve of her safety, emphasizing “me” to illustrate that even a lowly serpent has
escaped unscathed; second, to reveal Satan’s still very palpable anger, which still results
in a loss of control (“me” is repeated three times in just four lines); and third, to reflect
his personal philosophy, that it is better to steal power and defy God for the sake of
personal independence, rather than blindly accepting His authority.
In “Lycidas,” trochaic and spondaic substitutions dramatically alter the poem’s
tone. In lines 123-129, St. Peter’s criticism of corrupt clergy is made more scathing by
the increasingly brutal rhythm of the text:
And when they list, their lean and flashy songs
Grate on the scrannel pipes of wretched straw.
The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed,
But swoln with wind, and the rank mist they draw,
Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread,
Besides what the grim wolf with privy paw
Daily devours apace, and nothing said.
The rhythm of line 123 is regular, indicative of the deceptive nature of the “lean and
flashy songs” it mentions, which feed without ever nourishing. This easy flow, however,
is interrupted in the next line, which opens with a harsh trochaic substitution. “Grate” is a
harsh word, and indeed the whole line is fraught with sharp edges, creating a sound akin
to groaning metal. This contrasts with the even rhythm and alliteration of line 123: the
discordance of the second line emphasizes that these songs, played by pipes of straw, do
not lead to grace.2
In line 126 Milton utilizes a spondaic substitution – but not in the beginning of the
line. The words “rank mist” are given equal emphasis, which highlights the foul nature
of the air the congregation breathes in. This, followed by the momentum from the ending
stressed syllable “draw,” makes the initial spondaic substitution of the next line even
more powerful: the full force of “rot inwardly” is felt, with all the ugly images that
preceded it. An end stop separates lines 126-127, although the strength of those echoing
spondees still lingers, especially through the assonance of “draw” and “rot inwardly,” as
well as the internal alliteration of “grate,” “scrannel,” “wretched,” “rank mist,” and
again “rot inwardly.” The reader is propelled through the lines by these unpleasant
sounds. That both of these sound effects culminate in the initial spondee “rot inwardly”
is not a coincidence: the force of the phrase alarms us; we wonder if this “foul contagion”
The “scrannel pipes of wretched straw” are an allusion to Virgil’s Eclogues, where Menalcas says, “You
out-pipe him? /… used you not/ on grating straw/ some miserable tune/ to mangle?” (Luxon, Greenough)
2
can infect us as well. The syntax of the passage is such that the subject – the “hungry
sheep” – is delayed from one of its verbs, “rot inwardly.” As a result the reader can feel
its physical effects before being able to name it, making the experience all the more
sinister. The momentum of the “wind” and the “rank mist” carries the reader to the main
message of the passage – the internal rot, or the parish’s eventual corruption – creating an
ugly warning: even we, the readers, are susceptible to this moral disease.
The metaphor of the “grim wolf” in lines 128-129 is also an example of rhythm
mirroring its subject. (The wolf is a reference to the Roman Catholic Church (Luxon).)
The spondee “grim wolf” forces the reader to slow down and watch it prowl into the fold.
A spondee, the term “grim wolf” forces the reader to slow down, watching it prowl into
the fold. The following line opens with a trochaic substitution. The double dactyl
rhythm of “daily devours apace” – a deviation that appears unstable compared to the
scattered substitutions of the previous lines – communicates a sense of foreboding
through its uncertain variation in meter while suggesting the loping of an animal.
A similar technique to that employed in lines 121-129 is utilized earlier on,
though on a smaller scale:
How well could I have spared for thee, young swain,
Enow of such as for their bellies’ sake,
Creep and intrude, and climb into the fold! (113-115)
Before line 115, the rhythm follows the ideal: there is not one break in the iambic
pentameter. The opening “creep,” however, interrupts this perfect state; in breaking with
the rhythm, it evinces the intrusion that is felt within the community. Of all of the
stressed syllables in the line it is also the loudest, highlighting how disruptive this
invasion is. As part of a trochaic substitution, the word illustrates its purpose.
The preposition “into” plays an unusual role in line 115: although “creep” is
clearly a deviation, the line seems to return to iambic meter afterwards, until we reach
“climb into.” The word “climb” must be stressed, but etymologically speaking “into”
cannot be pronounced as an iamb. Milton’s blank verse is so well established that, even
after the initial trochaic substitution of “creep,” we want to override our instincts and
make “into” iambic. This is in itself a comment on the subtlety of the invasion. Because
it is so unexpected, the trochee is a loud one: this makes it all the more effective, because
the reader literally has to surmount the obstacle presented by this sudden stressed syllable,
thus “climbing” over the word to reach the line’s end.
A similar technique is used in line 92, although not in the opening of the line.
When Triton asks, “What hard mishap hath doomed this gentle swain?” it is tempting to
read “mishap” as iambic to maintain regular rhythm. But an interesting alternative would
be to view it as a trochaic substitution that trips up the reader’s progress. In other words,
the one ‘fault’ in the line would be the word whose actual definition is mistake.
Perhaps it is playing into the idea of English as a barbaric language, but variations
in inflection seem to provoke a response so instinctive that it unavoidable. That is why
Milton’s substitutions capture our attention. At times they are violent, at times more
subtle, but all of them disrupt an established rhythm, making the reader sit up and take
notice. Without his imposed variations in rhythm, Milton’s poetry would still be
effective – but that added element make his works that much more relatable and
enjoyable. The reader responds to a stimulus more basic than the words’ actual meanings,
and therefore more direct: the serpent seduces us, the hideous air of a corrupt parish
makes us reel back in disgust; before we can delve into the semantics of a phrase, we
have already reacted. It is Milton’s manipulation of rhythm – that robotic iambic meter –
that transforms his poetry into an interactive experience.
Bibliography
Ferguson, Margaret; Salter, Mary Jo; Stallworthy, Jon, eds. The Norton Anthology of
Poetry: Fifth Edition. New York, NY: W.W. Norton & Company, 2005. pp. 411415.
Fussell, Paul. Poetic Meter and Poetic Form, Revised Edition. New York, NY:
McGraw-Hill, 1979. pp. 30-61.
Vergil. Bucolics, Aeneid, and Georgics Of Vergil. J. B. Greenough. Boston. Ginn & Co.
1900. Accessed through the Perseus Classics Collection, October 2007,
<http://www.perseus.tufts.edu/cgi-bin/ptext?lookup=Verg.+Ecl.+3.1>. 3.8, lines
39-32.
Luxon, Thomas H., ed. The Milton Reading Room. <http://www.dartmouth.edu/~milton>.
Accessed October 2007.