ABSTRACT
Some of the poems in Mr. Browning’s last volumes are open to criticism; but, like all his writings, they are thoroughly original in choice of subjects, in treatment, and in style. It may be thought an ambiguous form of praise to say that there is not a line which could have been written by any one but himself. It is highly satisfactory to find that after a poetical career which extends over nearly fifty years Mr. Browning’s characteristic vigour is in no degree abated. Some part of his deep, if not wide, popularity is undoubtedly owing to the enigmatic method which is closely connected with his habitual study of moral or intellectual complications and paradoxes. Complacency in the successful solution of a riddle facilitates appreciation of the imaginative skill with which it has been constructed. A careful and experienced student of Mr. Browning’s poetry can almost always ascertain his meaning, feeling meanwhile a just confidence that the result will be well worth the labour which it has cost. It is not known whether the odd Society which was formed to interpret Mr. Browning still maintains its existence. It may perhaps, notwithstanding the whimsical nature of the project, have served as a symbol of the special attraction which he exercises over minds in which the receptive faculty bears a certain relation to his genius. Possibly some of his admirers may find pleasure in gratuitous deviation into familiarity or doggerel. If the word Jocoseria were legitimately formed, it would express with some degree of accuracy the gravely playful element which is to be found in all Mr. Browning’s poems, and especially in those of the last ten years. It may be added, at the risk of provoking contempt on the part of the author, that there is no humour in putting into the mouth of the Queen of Sheba such a phrase as, Construe, or vulgo conster. He might even have omitted the address to Solomon which invites an absurd rhyme, as ‘World’s marvel, and well-nigh monster.’ If it was expedient to retain for the subject of a long and abstruse poem the uncouth name of Jochanan Hakkadosh, the final syllable need not have been placed at the end of a line. The inevitable consequence is the insertion of the inelegant ejaculation. ‘Scoffer, spare thy bosh!’ The word may possibly be admissible in
Brother, brother, I share the blame, Arcades sumus ambo! Darkling I keep my sunrise-aim, Lack not the critic’s flambeau, And look to my ways, yet, much the same, Offend with my tongue-like Pambo!
