Being a member of a Cambridge college has many perks, not least of which is exposure to the English choral tradition, which is alive and well in many a college chapel. In fact, it may be thanks to the evensongs of Trinity Hall that I came to think more deeply about the potential effects of archaic rhyme in poetry. (Incidentally, the re-introduction of evensong into Anglican churches was controversial in the nineteenth century: it seemed a bit too Catholic to some. Nevertheless, it proved popular.)
The closing hymn was often a translation of one originally written in Latin, “Te lucis ante terminum” (“To thee before the ending of the day”). The English version in Trinity Hall’s hymn books consists of rhyming couplets beginning, “Before the ending of the day | Creator of the world we pray.” Paired with a simple chant-based melody, the rhymes create a sense of stability. The overall effect is fitting for a work that asks for protection through the night. There is one exception for modern listeners/singers, however: the beginning of the second stanza.
“From all ill dreams defend our eyes, | From nightly fears and fantasies.”
I long assumed that this now-jarring rhyme was an artifact of the Elizabethan era whence (I thought) it originated. But the translation, it turns out, dates to the middle of the nineteenth century. Translator J.M. Neale (a Cambridge man himself) published his version around 1851 as part of the Hymnal Noted. This volume reflected high-church preferences, including a return to plainsong (chanting in unison). Could this love of the past be the reason Neale employed a rhyme that worked rather better for Chaucer than for us?
Well actually, my current research has revealed that nineteenth-century poets regularly used words ending in the sounds “eyes” and “eese” as rhymes. Even a rhyming dictionary of the period was forced to acknowledge, “There is no fixed rule on this subject.” So Neale wasn’t unusual in rhyming “eyes” with “fantasies.” Nevertheless, the effect can be useful to a writer with nostalgic tastes.
Like the marginalia I described in my last post, these two lines reflect a bigger story. They are a product of counter-currents, namely the shifting of pronunciation and the preservation of older forms in poetic practice.