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singing linnet； like the bird in the old English heathen apologue；
dashes its light wings painfully against the walls of the chamber
into which it has flown out of the blind night that shall again
receive it。
I do not care to dwell on the imperfections in that immortal strain
of sympathy and consolation； that enchanted book of consecrated
regrets。 It is an easier if not more grateful task to note a
certain peevish egotism of tone in the heroes of 〃Locksley Hall；〃 of
〃Maud；〃 of 〃Lady Clara Vere de Vere。〃 〃You can't think how poor a
figure you make when you tell that story； sir；〃 said Dr。 Johnson to
some unlucky gentleman whose 〃figure〃 must certainly have been more
respectable than that which is cut by these whining and peevish
lovers of Maud and Cousin Amy。
Let it be admitted； too； that King Arthur； of the 〃Idylls；〃 is like
an Albert in blank verse； an Albert cursed with a Guinevere for a
wife； and a Lancelot for friend。 The 〃Idylls；〃 with all their
beauties； are full of a Victorian respectability； and love of
talking with Vivien about what is not so respectable。 One wishes；
at times； that the 〃Morte d'Arthur〃 had remained a lonely and
flawless fragment； as noble as Homer； as polished as Sophocles。 But
then we must have missed； with many other admirable things； the
〃Last Battle in the West。〃
People who come after us will be more impressed than we are by the
Laureate's versatility。 He has touched so many strings； from 〃Will
Waterproof's Monologue；〃 so far above Praed； to the agony of
〃Rizpah；〃 the invincible energy of 〃Ulysses；〃 the languor and the
fairy music of the 〃Lotus Eaters；〃 the grace as of a Greek epigram
which inspires the lines to Catullus and to Virgil。 He is with
Milton for learning； with Keats for magic and vision； with Virgil
for graceful recasting of ancient golden lines； and； even in the
latest volume of his long life； 〃we may tell from the straw；〃 as
Homer says； 〃what the grain has been。〃
There are many who make it a kind of religion to regard Mr。 Browning
as the greatest of living English poets。 For him； too； one is
thankful as for a veritable great poet； but can we believe that
impartial posterity will rate him with the Laureate； or that so
large a proportion of his work will endure？ The charm of an enigma
now attracts students who feel proud of being able to understand
what others find obscure。 But this attraction must inevitably
become a stumbling…block。
Why Mr。 Browning is obscure is a long question； probably the answer
is that he often could not help himself。 His darkest poems may be
made out by a person of average intelligence who will read them as
hard as； for example； he would find it necessary to read the 〃Logic〃
of Hegel。 There is a story of two clever girls who set out to
peruse 〃Sordello；〃 and corresponded with each other about their
progress。 〃Somebody is dead in 'Sordello；'〃 one of them wrote to
her friend。 〃I don't quite know who it is； but it must make things
a little clearer in the long run。〃 Alas！ a copious use of the
guillotine would scarcely clear the stage of 〃Sordello。〃 It is
hardly to be hoped that 〃Sordello；〃 or 〃Red Cotton Night Cap
Country；〃 or 〃Fifine；〃 will continue to be struggled with by
posterity。 But the mass of 〃Men and Women；〃 that unexampled gallery
of portraits of the inmost hearts and secret minds of priests；
prigs； princes； girls； lovers； poets； painters； must survive
immortally； while civilization and literature last； while men care
to know what is in men。
No perversity of humour； no voluntary or involuntary harshness of
style； can destroy the merit of these poems； which have nothing like
them in the letters of the past； and must remain without successful
imitators in the future。 They will last all the better for a
certain manliness of religious faithsomething sturdy and assured
not moved by winds of doctrine； not paltering with doubts； which is
certainly one of Mr。 Browning's attractions in this fickle and
shifting generation。 He cannot be forgotten while； as he says …
〃A sunset touch；
A chorus ending of Euripides；〃
remind men that they are creatures of immortality； and move 〃a
thousand hopes and fears。〃
If one were to write out of mere personal preference； and praise
most that which best fits one's private moods； I suppose I should
place Mr。 Matthew Arnold at the head of contemporary English poets。
Reason and reflection； discussion and critical judgment； tell one
that he is not quite there。
Mr。 Arnold had not the many melodies of the Laureate； nor his
versatile mastery； nor his magic； nor his copiousness。 He had not
the microscopic glance of Mr。 Browning； nor his rude grasp of facts；
which tears the life out of them as the Aztec priest plucked the
very heart from the victim。 We know that； but yet Mr。 Arnold's
poetry has our love； his lines murmur in our memory through all the
stress and accidents of life。 〃The Scholar Gipsy；〃 〃Obermann；〃
〃Switzerland；〃 the melancholy majesty of the close of 〃Sohrab and
Rustum；〃 the tenderness of those elegiacs on two kindred graves
beneath the Himalayas and by the Midland Sea； the surge and thunder
of 〃Dover Beach；〃 with its 〃melancholy； long…withdrawing roar；〃
these can only cease to whisper to us and console us in that latest
hour when life herself ceases to 〃moan round with many voices。〃
My friends tell me that Mr。 Arnold is too doubting； and too
didactic； that he protests too much； and considers too curiously；
that his best poems are； at most； 〃a chain of highly valuable
thoughts。〃 It may be so； but he carries us back to 〃wet； bird…
haunted English lawns；〃 like him 〃we know what white and purple
fritillaries the grassy harvest of the river yields；〃 with him we
try to practise resignation； and to give ourselves over to that
spirit
〃Whose purpose is not missed；
While life endures； while things subsist。〃
Mr。 Arnold's poetry is to me； in brief； what Wordsworth's was to his
generation。 He has not that inspired greatness of Wordsworth； when
nature does for him what his 〃lutin〃 did for Corneille； 〃takes the
pen from his hand and writes for him。〃 But he has none of the
creeping prose which； to my poor mind； invades even 〃Tintern Abbey。〃
He is； as Mr。 Swinburne says； 〃the surest…footed〃 of our poets。 He
can give a natural and lovely life even to the wildest of ancient
imaginings； as to 〃these bright and ancient snakes； that once were
Cadmus and Harmonia。〃
Bacon speaks of the legends of the earlier and ruder world coming to
us 〃breathed softly through the flutes of the Grecians。〃 But even
the Grecian flute； as in the lay of the strife of Apollo and
Marsyas； comes more tunably in the echo of Mr。 Arnold's song； that
beautiful song in 〃Empedocles on Etna；〃 which has the perfection of
sculpture and the charm of the purest colour。 It is full of the
silver light of dawn among the hills； of the music of the loch's
dark；