ing of Cavour, and her noble
aspirations for Italy.

In the late afternoon of July 1, 1861, a group of English and American,
with many Italian friends gathered about the little casket in the lovely
cypress-shaded English cemetery of Florence, and as the sun was sinking
below the purple hills it was tenderly laid away, while the amethyst
mountains hid their faces in a misty veil.

"What would we give to our beloved?
The hero's heart to be unmoved,
The poet's star-tuned harp to sweep.

* * * * *

God strikes a silence through you all,
And giveth His beloved, sleep."

Almost could the friends gathered there hear her poet-voice saying:

"And friends, dear friends, when it shall be
That this low breath is gone from me,
And round my bier ye come to weep,
Let One, most loving of you all,
Say 'Not a tear must o'er her fall!
He giveth His beloved, sleep.'"

CHAPTER IX

1861-1869

"Think, when our one soul understands
The great Word which makes all things new,
When earth breaks up and heaven expands,
How will the change strike me and you
In the house not made with hands?

"Oh, I must feel your brain prompt mine,
Your heart anticipate my heart,
You must be just before, in fine,
See and make me see, for your part,
New depths of the divine!"

THE COMPLETED CYCLE--LETTERS TO FRIENDS--BROWNING'S DEVOTION TO HIS SON--
WARWICK CRESCENT--"DRAMATIS PERSONAE"--LONDON LIFE--DEATH OF THE POET'S
FATHER--SARIANNA BROWNING--OXFORD HONORS THE POET--DEATH OF ARABEL
BARRETT--AUDIERNE--"THE RING AND THE BOOK."

"The cycle is complete," said Browning to the Storys, as they all stood in
those desolate rooms and gazed about. The salon was just as she had left
it; the table covered with books and magazines, her little chair drawn up
to it, the long windows open to the terrace, and the faint chant of nuns,
"made for midsummer nights," in San Felice, on the air. "Here we came
fifteen years ago," continued Mr. Browning; "here Ba wrote her poems for
Italy; here Pen was born; here we used to walk up and down this terrace on
summer evenings." The poet lingered over many tender reminiscences, and
after the Storys had taken leave, he and his son yielded to the
entreaties of Isa Blagden to stay with her in her villa on Bellosguardo
during the time that he was preparing to leave Florence, which he never
looked upon again.

When all matte