epoch, had replaced the cynical despair of Byron. Its hero saw science trembling on the verge of mighty discoveries; he "dipt into the future far as human eye could see, Saw the Vision of the World, and all the wonder that would be." It is the poem of democracy, and while it cries out against "the jingling of the guinea," and "the social lies that warp us from the living truth," it looks forward to a time of universal brotherhood and peace, when "-the war drum throbs no longer, and the battle flags are furled, In the Parliament of man, the Federation of the world." And as Tennyson here expresses his age's young enthusiasm, he likewise expresses in Locksley Hall Sixty Years After that disappointment at the real or apparent failure of its early hopes which characterizes our later times. The cry of the first poem is "Forward"; that of the second, the scornful echo of the watchword of an imagined progress: "Gone the cry of Forward, Forward-lost within a growing gloom ; Lost, or only heard in silence from the silence of a tomb. Half the marvels of my morning, triumphs over time and space, Staled by frequence, shrunk by usage, into commonest commonplace." The faithfulness of the two Locksley Halls to the mood of their respective times might be further illustrated, but enough has been said to indicate their representative character. The mood of despondency in the later poem is, however, entirely foreign to the predominant spirit of Tennyson's work. In general he is the poet of progress. After the reckless license and fierce enthusiasms of Byron, after Shelley's glorious but intangible dreams of social reconstruction, we have in Tennyson the poet of a rational and definite progress, an advance to be gradually gained through established social and political institutions. He doubts not that 66 Through the ages one increasing purpose runs ; he rejoices in "A land of settled government, A land of just and old renown, Where Freedom slowly broadens down From precedent to precedent." t It is impossible to dwell here on the many ways in which Tennyson's work binds him to his time. He is one with it in his feeling for science and the supremacy of law; its questionings are embodied in In Memoriam (1850), the most profound and original of his poems. Notwithstanding some traces of despondency in certain of his later poems, he is from first to last the undaunted singer of faith and hope, beholding with unwavering vision, "That God, which ever lives and loves, And one far-off, divine event, To which the whole creation moves." Tennyson's ultimate place in English poetry is, of course, a matter of individual conjecture. He has not that fresh and original power which makes the poetry of Shakespeare, Wordsworth, or Browning the breath of a new revelation, but it seems probable that he will hold a high place among the poets of the second rank. With an art that is well nigh flawless, with a lofty and beautiful ideal of life, he has worn worthily the “laurel greener from the brows Of him who uttered nothing base." § "Locksley Hall." From poem beginning “You ask me why tho' ill at ease." "In Memoriam," conclusion. "Dedication to the Queen." Robert Browning. While no recent English poet is so broadly representative as Tennyson, Robert Browning (1812-1889) has been a guide and an inspiration to many, especially in the latter part of our era, fulfilling as no other has done the deepest spiritual needs of his generation. From the first, Browning's genius has been more bold, irregular, and independent than that of Tennyson; he has been less responsive to the changing mood of his time; he has rather proved the leader of it, taking his own way unmoved by praise or blame, and at last compelling others to follow him. Browning has been one of the most prolific of English poets. His work covers more than half a century of almost incessant production (Pauline, 1833-Asolando, 1889), and in sheer bulk and intellectual vigor shows a creative energy hardly surpassed by any English poet since Shakespeare. This vast body of poetry forms a unique contribution to literature. It is consistent in aim, apparently uninfluenced by the changing phases of contemporary thought; in the main it is built up round a few central ideas, clearly grasped at the start and adhered to until the end. It is independent and often eccentric in style, composed in defiance of the prevailing theory of art; it rises solitary, abrupt, rugged, and powerful, from an age of fluent, graceful, and melodious verse. Browning is no "idle singer of an empty day," but a profound and original genius, facing in deadly earnest men's "obstinate questionings" of life and of death. To Browning the only explanation of the mystery of this present life is to be found in its relation to a future one. To him, God, the soul, and personal immortality are the fundamental and all-important facts. Life and the development of the soul are to be studied in their relations to future regions of activity, and only thus do the uses of error and of suffering become intelligible. The study of the individual soul, especially at some crisis in its development, the habitual interpretation of life from the eternal rather than the temporal or earthly aspect, are accordingly characteristic of Browning's work. The spirit of such poetry is directly opposite to that of Shakespeare, who planted himself firmly on the solid earth, and this difference is illustrative of the contrast between Elizabethan and Victorian England. Men and Women (1855) contains many of the best of Browning's shorter poems, while The Ring and the Book (1868) is the most considerable and surprising poetic achievement of the century. As a master of verse Browning is distinctly inferior to Tennyson, yet hostile and careless readers are apt to greatly undervalue his purely poetic gifts. In the songs in Paracelsus (1835) and Pippa Passes (1841), and in many other charming lyrics, he has shown us that " He who blows through bronze may breathe through silver." * But his greatest triumphs have been won in quite different poetic forms from those to which the smooth and facile art of the day has made us accustomed. His shorter narrative poems, Ivàn Ivànovitch, Martin Relph, Muleykèh, have often a graphic vigor unequaled by any recent poet, and few poets of any age can approach him. in the subtle art with which he makes a soul naturally reveal its inmost recesses. He has enlarged the province of poetry by the daring originality of his poetic methods, and his view of life is the most stimulating and spiritual of any English poet, not excepting Milton. Browning is a thinker and teacher in verse, and in many cases argument and philosophy are suffered to crowd out *"One Word More," in "Men and Women." that beauty which is the soul of true art. But in spite of his intellectual force and intense moral purpose, he has the poet's sensuousness and the poet's intensity. He is no mere reasoner in verse, but the most profoundly passionate singer of his time, and while much of his work will doubtless decline in importance, he has made great and permanent additions to the literature of his country. Thus in a great English poet of our own day we find that deep religious earnestness, that astounding force, which we noted in those English tribes who nearly fifteen centuries ago began to possess themselves of the land of Britain. Henry Morley reminds us that the opening lines of Cadmon's Creation, the first words of English literature on English soil, are words of praise to the Almighty Maker of all things. After reviewing in outline the long and splendid history of the literature thus solemnly begun, we find in the two greatest poet voices of our own day, Alfred Tennyson and Robert Browning, the note of an invincible faith, an undiminished hope, we find them affirming in the historic spirit of the English race, "Thy soul and God stand sure.” SELECTION FROM CARLYLE. ROBERT BURNS. From "Heroes and Hero Worship." It was a curious phenomenon, in the withered, unbelieving, secondhand eighteenth century, that of a Hero starting up, among the artificial pasteboard figures and productions, in the guise of a Robert Burns. Like a little well in the rocky desert places,—like a sudden splendour of Heaven in the artificial Vauxhall! People knew not what to make of it. They took it for a piece of the Vauxhall fire-work ; alas, it let itself be so taken, though struggling half-blindly, as in bitterness of death, against that! Perhaps no man had such a false reception from his fellow-men. Once more a very wasteful life-drama was enacted under the sun. |