She his idol,--lend your rod,
Chamberlain!--ay, there they are--'_Quis
Separabit_?'--plain those two
Touching words come into view,
Apposite for me and you!"

_Mary Wollstonecraft and Fuseli_, a dramatic lyric of three verses, the
pathetic utterance of an unloved loving woman's heart, is not dissimilar
in style to _Cristina and Monaldeschi_. It would be unjust to Fuseli to
name him Bottom, but only fair to Mary Wollstonecraft to call her
Titania.

Of the remaining poems, _Donald_ ("a true story, repeated to Mr.
Browning by one who had heard it from its hero, the so-called Donald,
himself,"[59]) is a ballad, not at all in Browning's best style, but
certainly vigorous and striking, directed against the brutalising
influences of sport, as _Tray_ was directed against the infinitely worse
brutalities of ignorant and indiscriminate vivisection. Its noble human
sympathies and popular style appeal to a ready audience. _Solomon and
Balkis_, though by no means among the best of Browning's comic poems, is
a witty enough little tale from that inexhaustible repository, the
Talmud. It is a dialogue between Solomon and the Queen of Sheba, not
"solely" nor at all "of things sublime." _Pambo_ is a bit of pointed
fun, a mock-modest apology to critics. Finally, besides a musical little
love-song named _Wanting is--What?_ we have in _Never the Time and the
Place_ one of the great love-songs, not easily to be excelled, even in
the work of Browning, for strength of spiritual passion and intensity of
exultant and certain hope.

"NEVER THE TIME AND THE PLACE.

Never the time and the place
And the loved one all together!
This path--how soft to pace!
This May--what magic weather!
Where is the loved one's face?
In a dream that loved one's face meets mine,
But the house is narrow, the place is bleak
Where, outside, rain and wind combine
With a furtive ear, if I strive to speak,
With a hostile eye at my flushing cheek,
With a malice that marks each word, each sign!
O enemy sly and serpentine,
Uncoil thee from the waking man!
Do I hold the Past
Thus firm and fast
Yet doubt if the Future hold I can?
This path so soft to pace shall lead
Thro' the magic of May to herself indeed!
Or narrow if needs the house must be,
Outside are the storms