Before the certainty of genius and
deathless power, in the contemplation of consummate art, his position
changes: and well for him if he knows, and is contented it should be
so. Here he must follow, happy if he only follows and serves; and
while even here he will not shelve his doubts, or blindly refuse to
exercise a candid discrimination, his demur at unquestioning assent,
far from betraying any arrogance, will be discreetly advanced, and on
clearly stated grounds.
Of all poets, there is none more than Robert Browning, in approaching
whom diffidence is necessary. The mere extent of his information
cannot pass unobserved, either as a fact, or as a title to respect.
No one who has read the body of his works will deny that they are
replete with mental and speculative subtlety, with vivid and most
diversified conception of character, with dramatic incident and
feeling; with that intimate knowledge of outward nature which makes
every sentence of description a living truth; replete with a most
human tenderness and pathos. Common as is the accusation of
"extravagance," and unhesitatingly as it is applied, in a general
off-hand style, to the entire character of Browning's poems, it would
require some jesuitism of self-persuasion to induce any one to affirm
his belief in the existence of such extravagance in the conception of
the poems, or in the sentiments expressed; of any want of
concentration in thought, of national or historical keeping.
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