* *

Albeit softly in our ears her silver song was ringing,
The foot-fall of her parting soul is softer than her singing."

Miss Barrett's fugitive poems of this time tell much of the story of her
days. She sees Haydon's portrait of Wordsworth, and it suggests the sonnet
beginning:

"Wordsworth upon Helvellyn!..."

The poems written previously to "A Drama of Exile" do not at all indicate
the power and beauty and the depth of significance for which all her
subsequent work is so remarkable. "The Seraphim," "Isobel's Child," "The
Virgin Mary to the Child Jesus," however much they may contain occasional
glimpses of poetic fire, would never have established her rank. Yet "The
Sleep" belongs to this period, and that poem of exquisite pathos,
"Cowper's Grave." Anticipating a little, there came that poem which
awakened England and the modern world, indeed, to a sense of the suffering
of children in factory life, "The Cry of the Children," which appeared
almost simultaneously with Lord Shaftesbury's great speech in Parliament
on child labor. The poem and the statesman and philanthropist together
aroused England.

A poem called "Confessions" is full of a mysterious power that haunts the
reader in a series of pictures:

"Face to face in my chamber, my silent chamber, I saw her:
God and she and I only, there I sate down to draw her
Soul through the clefts of confession--'Speak, I am holding thee fast,
As the angel of resurrection shall do at the last.'"

And what touching significance is in these lines:

"The least touch of their hands in the morning, I keep it by day and
by night;
Their least step on the stair, at the door, still throbs through me,
if ever so light."

There were the "Crowned and Wedded" that celebrated the marriage of
England's beloved queen; "Bertha in the Lane," which has been one of the
most universal favorites of any of her lyrics; still later, "The Dead
Pan," which essentially embodies her highest convictions regarding the
poetic art: that Poetry must be real, and, above all, true.

"O brave poets, keep back nothing,
Nor mix falsehood with the whole!

* * * *

Hold, in high poetic duty,
Truest Truth the fairest Beauty!"

In such lines as these she expressed her deepest feeling.

Then appeared "Comfort," "Futurity," and "An Apprehension"; the dainty
little picture of her childish days in "Hector in the Garden"; th