if it expressed only such an uncertain
note; but his greatest poem thus records his belief in the value of
life's struggle and gives a hint of final victory:--

"Say not the struggle naught availeth,
The labor and the wounds are vain,
The enemy faints not, nor faileth,
And as things have been they remain.

"If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars;
It maybe, in yon smoke concealed,
Your comrades chase e'en now the fliers,
And, but for you, possess the field."

Although he paid too little attention to the form of his verse, some
of his poems have the vitality of an earnest, thoughtful sincerity.

Two poets, W. E. Henley (1849-1903) and Robert Bridges (1844- ),
although they do not possess Robert Browning's genius, yet have much
of his capacity to inspire others with joy in "the mere living."
Henley, a cripple and a great sufferer, was a poet, critic, and London
editor. His message is "the joy of life ":--

"...the blackbird sings but a box-wood flute,
But I lose him best of all
For his song is all of the joy of life."

His verse, which is elemental, full of enthusiasm and beauty, often
reminds us of the work of the thirteenth-century lyrists.

Robert Bridges, an Oxford graduate, physician, critic, and poet, also
had for his creed: "Life and joy are one." His universe, like
Shelley's, is an incarnation of the spirit of love:--

"Love can tell, and love alone,
Whence the million stars were strewn,
Why each atom knows its own,
How, in spite of woe and death,
Gay is life, and sweet is breath."

He wishes for no happier day than the present one. Bridges has been
called a classical poet because he often selects Greek and Roman
subjects for his verse, and because he writes with a formality,
purity, and precision of style. He is, however, most delightful in
such volumes as _Shorter Poems_ and _New Poems_.[3] wherein he
describes in a simple, artless manner English rural scenes and
fireside joys. In 1913 he was appointed poet laureate, to succeed
Alfred Austin.

John Davidson (1857-1909), a Scotch poet, who came to London and
wrestled with poverty, produced much uneven work. In his best verse,
there is often a pleasing combination of poetic beauty and vigorous
movement. Lines like these from his _Ballad of a Nun_ have been much
admired:--

"On many a mountain's happy head
Dawn lightly laid her rosy hand.
The adventurous son took heaven by storm,
Clouds scattere