s received less appreciation
than it deserves, both at the time of its publication and since, is that
it stands rather apart from all the recognised species of poetry, and is
hard to classify and criticise. Its political and contemporary character
cut it off from the imaginative and historical subjects which form in
general the matter of poetry, while its genuinely poetic emotion and
language separate it from the political pamphlet or the occasional
verse. It is a poetic treatment of a political subject raised to a high
level by the genuine enthusiasm and fire with which it is inspired, and
these give it a value which lasts far beyond the moment of the events
which gave it birth. The execution, too, shows an advance on most of
Mrs. Browning's previous work. The dangerous experiments in rhyming
which characterised many of the poems in the volumes of 1844 are
abandoned; the licences of language are less frequent; the verse runs
smoothly and is more uniformly under command. It would appear as if the
heat of inspiration which produced the 'Sonnets from the Portuguese'
had left a permanent and purifying effect upon her style. The poem has
been neglected by those who take little interest in Italy and its
history, and adversely criticised by those who do not sympathise with
its political and religious opinions; but with those who look only to
its poetry and to its warm-hearted championship of a great cause, it
will always hold a high place of its own among Mrs. Browning's writings.

* * * * *

_To Miss I. Blagden_

Florence: May 1, [1851].

I am writing to you, dearest Miss Blagden, at last, you see; though you
must have excommunicated me before now as the most ungrateful of
correspondents and friends. Do forgive what you can--and your kindness
is so great that I believe you can, and shall go on to write as if you
did. We have been in the extremity of confusion and indecision. Remember
how the fairy princes used to do when they arrived at the meeting of
three roads, and had to consider what choice to make. How they used to
shake their heads and ponder, and end sometimes by drawing lots! Much in
the like perplexity have we been. Everything was ready for Rome--the day
fixed, the packing begun, the vettura bargained for. Suddenly, visions
of obstacles rose up. We were late in the season. We should be late for
the festas. May would be hot in Rome for Wiedeman. Then two journeys,
north and south