Summary

Portrait of S. S. Curry S. S. Curry Browning and the Dramatic Monologue

Shakespeare was of us, Milton was for us,
Burns, Shelley, were with us,—they watch from their graves!
He alone breaks from the van and the freemen,
He alone sinks to the rear and the slaves!
We shall march prospering,—not thro’ his presence;
Songs may inspirit us,—not from his lyre;
Deeds will be done,—while he boasts his quiescence,
Still bidding crouch whom the rest bade aspire;
Blot out his name, then, record one lost soul more,
One task more declined, one more footpath untrod,
One more devil’s-triumph and sorrow for angels,
One wrong more to man, one more insult to God!
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of S. S. Curry S. S. Curry Browning and the Dramatic Monologue

The forests had done it; there they stood; we caught for a moment the powers at play: they had mingled us so, for once and good, their work was done—we might go or stay, they relapsed to their ancient mood. How the world is made for each of us! how all we perceive and know in it tends to some moment’s product thus, when a soul declares itself—to wit, by its fruit, the thing it does! Be hate that fruit or love that fruit, it forwards the general deed of man: and each of the Many helps to recruit the life of the race by a general plan; each living his own, to boot.
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of S. S. Curry S. S. Curry Browning and the Dramatic Monologue

There is nobody on the house-tops, and only a few too old to go to the scaffold have crept to the windows. The great crowd is at the gate or at the scaffold’s foot. He goes in the rain, his hands tied behind him, his forehead bleeding from the stones that are hurled at him. The closing thought, so abruptly expressed, the most difficult one in the poem, is a mere hint of what might have happened had he triumphed in the world’s sense of the word. He might have fallen dead,—dead in a deeper sense than the loss of life; his soul might have become dead to truth, to noble ideals, and to aspiration.
Source: Gutenberg

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