s a rule, certainly
stately, romantic in tone to the extreme, prepared to return, ignorantly
indeed, but with respect, to what was 'Gothic' in manners, architecture,
and language; all showing a more or less vague aspiration towards the
nature, and not one composed in the heroic couplet hitherto so vigorously
imposed on serious verse. 'The Seasons,' 'Night Thoughts' and 'The
Grave' are written in blank verse: 'The Castle of Indolence' and 'The
Schoolmistress' in Spenserian stanza; 'The Spleen' and 'Grongar Hill' in
octosyllabics, while the early odes of Gray and those of Collins are
composed in a great variety of simple but novel lyric measures."[2]

The only important writer who had employed blank verse in undramatic
poetry between the publication of "Paradise Regained" in 1672, and
Thomson's "Winter" in 1726, was John Philips. In the brief prefatory
note to "Paradise Lost," the poet of "L'Allegro" and "Il Penseroso,"
forgetting or disdaining the graces of his youthful muse, had spoken of
rhyme as "the invention of a barbarous age," as "a thing trivial and of
no true musical delight." Milton's example, of course, could not fail to
give dignity and authority to the majestic rhythm that he had used; and
Philips' mock-heroic "The Splendid Shilling" (1701), his occasional
piece, "Blenheim" (1705), and his Georgic "Cyder" (1706), were all avowed
imitation of Milton. But the well-nigh solitary character of Philips'
experiments was recognized by Thomson, in his allusion to the last-named
poem:

"Philips, Pomona's bard, the second thou
Who nobly durst, in rime-unfettered verse,
With British freedom sing the British song."[3]

In speaking of Philips' imitations of Milton, Johnson said that if the
latter "had written after the improvements made by Dryden, it is
reasonable to believe he would have admitted a more pleasing modulation
of numbers into his work."[4] Johnson hated Adam Smith, but when Boswell
mentioned that Smith, in his rhetorical lectures at Glasgow University,
had given the preference to rhyme over blank verse, the doctor exclaimed,
"Sir, I was once in company with Smith and we did not take to each other;
but had I known that he loved rhyme as much as you tell me he does, I
should have hugged him."

In 1725 James Thomson, a young Scotchman, came to London to push his
literary fortunes. His countryman, David Malloch,--or Mallet, as he
called himself in England,--at that time private tutor in the