human
giving their individual testimonies and
gpt
He avails himself remorselessly of all the pretexts for verbosity, for iteration, for sophistical invention, afforded by the cumbrous machinery of the law, and its proverbial delay. Every detail is examined from every point of view. Little that is sordid or revolting is suppressed. But then it is assuredly a mistake to represent, with one of the liveliest of Browning's recent exponents, that the story was for him, even at the outset, in the stage of
human
merely a common and sordid tale like a hundred others, picked up
gpt
from a rubbish-heap to be subjected to the alchemy of imagination by way of showing the infinite worth of
human
Rather, he thought that on that broiling June day, a providential
gpt
Hand had
human
him to the discovery, in that unlikely place, of a forgotten treasure, which he forthwith pounced upon with ravishment as a
gpt
He saw in it from the first something rare, something exceptional, and made wondering inquiries at Rome, where ecclesiasticism itself scarcely credited the truth of a story which told
human
[51] The metal which went to the making of the _Ring_, and on which he poured his imaginative alloy, was crude and untempered, but it was gold. Its disintegrated particles gleamed obscurely, as if with a challenge to the restorative cunning of the craftsman. Above all, of course, and beyond all else, that arresting gleam lingered about the bald record of the romance of Pompilia and Caponsacchi. It was upon these two that Browning's divining imagination fastened. Their relation was the crucial point of the whole story, the point at which report stammered most lamely, and where the interpreting spirit of poetry was most needed
gpt
This process was itself, however, not sudden or simple. This first inspiration was superb, visionary, romantic,--in keeping with
human
All was sure, Fire laid and cauldron set, the obscene ring traced, The victim stripped and prostrate: what of God? The cleaving of a cloud, a cry, a crash, Quenched lay their cauldron, cowered i' the dust the crew, As, in a glory of armour like Saint George, Out again sprang the young good beauteous priest Bearing away the lady in his arms Saved for a splendid minute and no more.
gpt
I have got on, he writes to Miss Blagden,