, it is, that in an age of
revolutions in opinion, the co-temporary poets, those at least who
deserve the name, those who have any individuality of character, if
they are not before their age, are almost sure to be behind it. An
observation curiously verified all over Europe in the present century.
Nor let it be thought disparaging. However urgent may be the necessity
for a breaking up of old modes of belief, the most strong-minded and
discerning, next to those who head the movement, are generally those
who bring up the rear of it.

WALTER BAGEHOT

1826-1877

WORDSWORTH, TENNYSON, AND BROWNING

OR

PURE, ORNATE, AND GROTESQUE ART IN ENGLISH POETRY (1864)

_Enoch Arden, &c._ By Alfred Tennyson, D.C.L., Poet Laureate.

_Dramatis Personae._ By Robert Browning.

We couple these two books together, not because of their likeness, for
they are as dissimilar as books can be, nor on account of the eminence
of their authors, for in general two great authors are too much for
one essay, but because they are the best possible illustration of
something we have to say upon poetical art--because they may give to
it life and freshness. The accident of contemporaneous publication has
here brought together two books, very characteristic of modern art,
and we want to show how they are characteristic.

Neither English poetry nor English criticism have ever recovered the
_eruption_ which they both made at the beginning of this century into
the fashionable world. The poems of Lord Byron were received with an
avidity that resembles our present avidity for sensation novels, and
were read by a class which at present reads little but such novels.
Old men who remember those days may be heard to say, 'We hear nothing
of poetry nowadays; it seems quite down.' And 'down' it certainly is,
if for poetry it be a descent to be no longer the favourite excitement
of the more frivolous part of the 'upper' world. That stimulating
poetry is now little read. A stray schoolboy may still be detected in
a wild admiration for the _Giaour_ or the _Corsair_ (and it is
suitable to his age, and he should not be reproached for it), but the
_real_ posterity--the quiet students of a past literature--never read
them or think of them. A line or two linger in the memory; a few
telling strokes of occasional and felicitous energy are quoted, but
this is all. As wholes, these exaggerated stories were worthless; they
taught nothing, and, therefore, they are