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TO ROBERT BROWNING.

THERE is delight in singing, though none hear

Beside the singer and there is delight

In praising, though the praiser sit alone
And see the praised far off him, far above.
Shakspeare is not our poet, but the world's,
Therefore on him no speech! and brief for thee,
Browning! Since Chaucer was alive and hale,
No man hath walkt along our roads with step
So active, so inquiring eye, or tongue

So varied in discourse. But warmer climes

Give brighter plumage, stronger wing: the breeze
Of Alpine heights thou playest with, borne on
Beyond Sorrento and Amalfi, where

The Siren waits thee, singing song for song.

WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR.

BY

ROBERT BROWNING.

IN TWO VOLUMES.

VOL. I.

A NEW EDITION.

BOSTON:

TICK NOR, REED, AND FIELDS.

M DCCC L.

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MANY of these pieces were out of print, the rest had been withdrawn from circulation, when the corrected edition, now submitted to the reader, was prepared. The various Poems and Dramas have

received the author's most careful revision.

DECEMBER, 1848.

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