oses. The odes _To Cuba_, to the _Shade of her Child_,
and all her other lyrics, have, in a word, a very remarkable movement,
and are full of mysterious inquietudes and inexplicable burnings. We
cannot have an idea of the sweetness, and at the same time the
impetuosity which mingle in her verses, without thinking of the
impossible combination of the eagle and the dove--a dove with the stroke
of an eagle's wing, and which would yet, in spite of its power, retain
the timid nature of the dove, be frightened at its own strength, and
tremble in looking upward to the sun. Her compositions are full of
daring ideas imperfectly expressed, as if she were afraid of the
boldness of her heart. Often, however, her thoughts fall into the
_alambique_, the abstract and metaphysical. Her love to her child
inspired the best lines she ever composed. The sports of the little one,
whom she should see no more, associated with the remembrance of forests,
plains, and cataracts, give to that love the grandeur and infinitude of
American Nature. Of all the female poets of the new world, Maria Brooks
seems to possess most the sibylline inspirations of the celebrated women
of contemporaneous Europe. Yet she has none of that Byronean spirit that
reigns so much among them; and if we would indicate the European poetry
school to which she should be attached, we would cite, rather than that
of Byron, the names of Southey, her admirer, of Coleridge, and of John
Wilson, the author of the _City of the Plague_.

Maria Brooks is the only brilliant exception that we have met in the
collection of Mr. Griswold. All her poetic companions draw their
inspirations, not from their individual life, but their education, and
as this education is the same for all, it is not astonishing that their
works are uniform and monotonous. Yet, we do not complain, as we have
already intimated, for we are thus enabled to see some of the features
of American character more easily than if an original genius inspired
each of the poetesses. The religious sentiment, for example, is every
where uttered in these verses, but indeed it is the same that we find in
the writings of American essayists--a sort of Christian theism which is
becoming more the character of Protestantism in America. The spirit of
Christ breathes indeed in these pages, but the person itself is seldom
seen: Christ is always the teacher and saviour of the world, but the
crucified Redeemer is well nigh forgotten. The Son