ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING was born in London in 1809, and she died at her home in Italy, June 29, 1861. Her father, Mr. Barrett, was an English country gentleman. Being wealthy, he was enabled to give Miss Barrett a fine classical education. At the age of seventeen she published the Essay on Mind, and other Poems. In 1838, she published The Seraphim, and other Poems, and in 1839, she appeared in The Romance of the Page. The Drama of Exile, containing many fine passages, Aurora Leigh, probably her greatest poem, Cowper's Grave, A Child Asleep, He Giveth His Beloved Sleep, are among her excellent poems. Her sustained eloquence and originality, together with a peculiar tenderness which breathes through her writings, makes her the most distinguished poetess England has ever produced. In her thirty-seventh year, Miss Barrett became the wife of Robert Browning, a poet both original and intellectual. The union was a fortunate one. The happy couple took up their home beneath the sunny skies of Italy. In person, she is described by her intimate friend, Miss Mitford, as a "slight, delicate figure, with a shower of dark curls falling on each side of a most expressive face, large tender eyes, richly fringed by dark eye-lashes, and a smile like a sunbeam." Added to her poor health, she met with several calamities, such as the bursting of a blood vessel in her lungs, which endangered her life, and the loss of her favorite brother and two friends by the sinking of a small pleasure boat. These accidents were followed by many years of seclusion. They also gave the impress of deep and melancholy thought to many of her poems. In front of her home in Italy, Florence has placed a marble tablet as a memorial. It records that within the house "wrote. and died Elizabeth Barrett Browning, who, by her songs, created a golden link between Italy and England." Cowper's Grave. T is a place where poets crowned may feel the hearts' decay. ing It is a place where happy saints may weep amid their praying: Yet let the grief and humbleness, as low as silence languish! Earth surely now may give her calm to whom she gave her anguish. O poets! from a maniac's tongue was poured the deathless sing ing! O Christians! at your cross of hope a hopeless hand was cling ing! O men! this man in brotherhood your weary paths beguiling, Groaned inly while he taught you peace, and died while ye were smiling! And now, what time ye all may read through dimming tears his story, How discord on the music fell, and darkness on the glory, And how, when, one by one, sweet sounds and wandering lights departed, He wore no less a loving face because so broken-hearted. He shall be strong to sanctify the poet's high vocation; |