cal poetic soul: the narrative of the
incidents in the development of this soul is adapted to the historical
setting furnished by the aforesaid Chronicles. Sordello is a far more
profound study than Aprile in "Paracelsus," in whom, however, he is
obviously foreshadowed. The radical flaw in his nature is that indicated
by Goethe of Heine, that "he had no heart." The poem is the narrative
of his transcendent aspirations, and more or less futile accomplishment.

It would be vain to attempt here any adequate excerption of lines of
singular beauty. Readers familiar with the poem will recall passage
after passage--among which there is probably none more widely known than
the grandiose sunset lines:--

"That autumn eve was stilled:
A last remains of sunset dimly burned
O'er the far forests,--like a torch-flame turned
By the wind back upon its bearer's hand
In one long flare of crimson; as a brand,
The woods beneath lay black." ...

What haunting lines there are, every here and there--such as those of
Palma, with her golden hair like spilt sunbeams, or those on Elys, with
her

"Few fine locks
Coloured like honey oozed from topmost rocks
Sun-blanched the livelong summer," ...

or these,

"Day by day
New pollen on the lily-petal grows,
And still more labyrinthine buds the rose----"

or, once more,

"A touch divine--
And the sealed eyeball owns the mystic rod;
Visibly through his garden walketh God----"

But, though sorely tempted, I must not quote further, save only the
concluding lines of the unparalleled and impassioned address to Dante:--

"Dante, pacer of the shore
Where glutted hell disgorgeth filthiest gloom,
Unbitten by its whirring sulphur-spume,
Or whence the grieved and obscure waters slope
Into a darkness quieted by hope;
Plucker of amaranths grown beneath God's eye
In gracious twilights where his chosen lie----"
* * * * *

It is a fair land, for those who have lingered in its byways: but, alas,
a troubled tide of strange metres, of desperate rhythms, of wild
conjunctions, of panic-stricken collocations, oftentimes overwhelms it.
"Sordello" grew under the poet's fashioning till, like the magic vapour
of the Arabian wizard, it passed beyond h