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have closely reviewed her experience, because it is inseparable from her lyrical career. The English love to call her Shakespeare's Daughter, and in truth she bears to their greatest poet the relation of Miranda to Prospero. Her delicate genius was purely feminine and subjective, attributes that are made to go together. Most introspective poetry, in spite of Sidney's injunction, wearies us, because it so often is the petty or morbid sentiment of natures little superior to our own. Men have more conceit, with less tact, than women, and, as a rule, when male poets write objectively they are on the safer side. But when an impassioned woman, yearning to let the world share her poetic rapture or grief, reveals the secrets

of her burning heart, generations adore her, literature is enriched, and grosser beings have glimpses of a purity with which we invest our conceptions of disenthralled spirits in some ideal sphere.

I therefore regard Mrs. Browning as the representative of her sex in the Victorian era, and a luminous example of the fact that "woman is not undeveloped man, but diverse"; as the passion-flower of the century; the conscious medium of some power beyond the veil. For, if she was wanting in reverence for the form and body of the poet's art, she more than all her tuneful brethren revered the poet's inspiration. To her poets were

"the only truth-tellers now left to God; The only speakers of essential truth,

Opposed to relative, comparative,

And temporal truths; the only holders by
His sun-skirts"

And this in a period when technical refinement has caused the mass of versemakers to forget that art is vital chiefly as a means of expression. Like her Hebrew poets, she was obedient “to the heavenly vision," and I think that the form of her religion, which was in sympathy with the teachings of Emanuel Swedenborg, enables us clearly to understand her genius and works. I have no doubt that she surrendered herself to the play of her imagination, as if some angelie voice were speaking through her, -and of what other modern poet can this be said? With equal powers of expres

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sion, such a faith exalts the bard to an apocalyptic prophet, - to the consecrated interpreter, of whom Plato said in "Ion," "A poet is a thing light, with wings, and unable to compose poetry until he becomes inspired and is out of his sober senses, and his imagination is no longer under his control; for he does not compose by art but through a divine power."

At the close of the first summer month of 1861, a memorable year for Italy, the land of song was free, united, once more a queen among the nations; but the voice of its sweetest singer was hushed, the golden harp was broken; the sibylline minstrel lay dying in the City of Flowers. She was at the last, as

Opposed to relative, comparative,

And temporal truths; the only holders by His sun-skirts."

And this in a period when technical refinement has caused the mass of versemakers to forget that art is vital chiefly as a means of expression. Like her Hebrew poets, she was obedient "to the heavenly vision," and I think that the form of her religion, which was in sympathy with the teachings of Emanuel Swedenborg, enables us clearly to understand her genius and works. I have no doubt that she surrendered herself to the play of her imagination, as if some angelic voice were speaking through her,

and of what other modern poet can this be said? With equal powers of expres

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