But though, in this lofty apartness and self-unity, Browning and Tennyson may fairly be said to be at one, in themselves and in their song they were different.  There could scarcely be two characters, two musics, two minds, two methods in art, two imaginations, more distinct and contrasted than those which lodged in these men—­and the object of this introduction is to bring out this contrast, with the purpose of placing in a clearer light some of the peculiar elements in the poetry of Browning, and in his position as a poet.

1.  Their public fate was singularly different.  In 1842 Tennyson, with his two volumes of Collected Poems, made his position.  The Princess, in 1847, increased his reputation.  In 1850, In Memoriam raised him, it was said, above all the poets of his time, and the book was appreciated, read and loved by the greater part of the English-speaking world.  The success and popular fame which now followed were well deserved and wisely borne.  They have endured and will endure.  A host of imitators, who caught his music and his manner, filled the groves and ledges which led up to the peak on which he lived.  His side of Parnassus was thronged.

It was quite otherwise with his brother-poet.  Only a few clear-eyed persons cared to read Paracelsus, which appeared in 1835. Strafford, Browning’s first drama, had a little more vogue; it was acted for a while.  When Sordello, that strange child of genius, was born in 1840, those who tried to read its first pages declared they were incomprehensible.  It seems that critics in those days had either less intelligence than we have, or were more impatient and less attentive, for not only Sordello but even In Memoriam was said to be exceedingly obscure.

Then, from 1841 to 1846, Browning published at intervals a series of varied poems and dramas, under the title of Bells and Pomegranates.  These, one might imagine, would have grasped the heart of any public which had a care for poetry.  Among them were such diverse poems as Pippa Passes; A Blot in the ’Scutcheon; Saul; The Pied Piper of Hamelin; My Last Duchess; Waring.  I only mention a few (all different in note, subject and manner from one another), in order to mark the variety and range of imaginative power displayed in this wonderful set of little books.  The Bells of poetry’s music, hung side by side with the golden Pomegranates of thought, made the fringe of the robe of this high priest of song.  Rarely have imagination and intellect, ideal faith and the sense which handles daily life, passion and quietude, the impulse and self-mastery of an artist, the joy of nature and the fates of men, grave tragedy and noble grotesque, been mingled together more fully—­bells for the pleasure and fruit for the food of man.

Yet, on the whole, they fell dead on the public.  A few, however, loved them, and all the poems were collected in 1849. In Memoriam and this Collected Edition of Browning issued almost together; but with how different a fate and fame we see most plainly in the fact that Browning can scarcely be said to have had any imitators.  The groves and ledges of his side of Apollo’s mountain were empty, save for a few enchanted listeners, who said:  “This is our music, and here we build our tent.”