r-hearted Regan, like the lady
of _The Laboratory_, or some poor crushed and writhing worm, like the
girl of _The Confessional_, utter their callous cynicism or their
deathbed torment, the snarl of petty spite, the low fierce cry of
triumphant malice, the long-drawn shriek of futile rage. There was
commonly an element of unreason, extravagance, even grotesqueness, in
the hatreds that caught his eye; he had a relish for the gratuitous
savagery of the lady in _Time's Revenges_, who would calmly decree that
her lover should be burnt in a slow fire "if that would compass her
desire." He seized the grotesque side of persecution; and it is not
fanciful to see in the delightful chronicle of the Nemesis inflicted
upon "Sibrandus Schafnaburgensis" a foretaste of the sardonic
confessions of _Instans Tyrannus_. And he seized the element of sheer
physical zest in even eager and impassioned action; the tramp of the
march, the swing of the gallop in the fiery Cavalier Tunes, the crash of
Gismond's "back--handed blow" upon Gauthier's mouth; the exultant lift
of the "great pace" of the riders who bring the Good News.

Of love poetry, on the other hand, there was little in these first
Lyrics and Romances. Browning had had warm friendships with women, and
was singularly attractive to them; but at thirty-three love had at most
sent a dancing ripple across the bright surface of his life, and it
apparently counted for nothing in his dreams. His plans, as he told Miss
Barrett, had been made without any thought of "finding such a one as
you." That discovery introduced a new and unknown factor into his scheme
of things. The love-poetry of the Dramatic Lyrics and Romances is still
somewhat tentative and insecure. The beautiful fantasia _In a Gondola_
was directly inspired by a picture of his friend Maclise. He paints the
romance of the lover's twilight tryst with all his incisive vigour; but
his own pulse beats rather with the lover who goes forth at daybreak,
and feels the kindling summons of the morning glory of sea and sunlight
into the "world of men." His attitude to women is touched with the
virginal reserve of the young Hippolytus, whose tragic fate he had told
in the lofty _Prologue_ of Artemis. He approaches them with a kind of
delicate and distant awe; tender, even chivalrous, but accentuating
rather the reserves and reticences of chivalry than its rewards. The
lady of _The Flower's Name_ is beautiful, but her beauty is only shyly
hint