110 CRITICAL NOTICES OF NEW PUBLICATIONS. 



So pure, so holy, as their fragile forms ? 

 Earth's loveliest ofFsprine, whom the mighty sun 

 Looks on with smiles, an^ whom the careful sky 

 Nourishes with soft rain, and whom the dew 

 Delights to deck with her enclustered gems. 

 Which each, reflecting the soft tint it fights, 

 Gains, while it gives, new beauty. 



O ! they 're fair ! 

 Most wonderful and lovely are they all ! 

 From our own daisy, ' crimson-tipped,' that greets 

 Our English childhood with its lowly look. 

 To the proud giants of the western world 

 And gorgeous denizens of either Ind, 

 Towering in nature's majesty and might. 

 And lifting up their radiant heads to hail 

 The sun, their monarch, as he burns above. 

 Who does not love them ? Reader, if thine heart 

 Be one unblessed by such affection, turn 

 Far from these lays thy cold and careless eye. 

 For less than dull to thee the page will seem. 

 And if e'en Nature glads thee not, then Art, 

 With Nature for her model, will but tire. 

 But ye, creation's readers, O ! be mine : 

 If ye do love that glorious book whose leaves. 

 Interminably spread before our eyes. 

 Challenge our onward progress in its lore — 

 Small though our utmost grasp of it may be — 

 Then will ye listen to the simple lyre 

 That now, with changeful tone, or grave or gay. 

 Wakes its wild music to a gentle theme, 

 Gentle and sweet — 'tis the Homance of Flowers !" — pp. 5-6* 



And sweetly does she sing, in various keys and moods^ of the dif- 

 ferent flowers which form the subject of her verse, whether they 

 be the gems which form the sparkling coronet of spring, the gar- 

 land of summer, or the robe of autumn. In addition to her own 

 charming lays and fitful fancies, she provides her guests with a rich 

 banquet of the choicest fruits collected in the garden of the old 

 English poets, from Chaucer to Herrick, who was truly more di- 

 vine than human, and a selection from whose works she intends to 

 edit. 



In admiration of our old English poets. Miss Twamley and 

 Thomas Miller harmonize delightfully. Another point in which 

 they agree is in their intense regard for the scenes and charms of 

 their native land. 



" Beautiful," says Miss Twamley, "in their rich, calm, and sun-lit sum- 

 mer pride, are the rural scenes of our own dear England : beautiful, even, is 

 the memory of spots we have transiently beheld in such a season ; for though 

 we may dwell in them but an hour, we remember them for a life : and often 

 do they rise before the mind's eye like pictures, gladdening many a lonely 

 hour with their silent and dreamy eloquence; telling of the thousand 

 ' changes of time and tide' which we have seen and felt since we gazed on 

 the bright realities; and proving how precious is that spirit's wealth we 

 gain from communion, however brief, with the beauty, purity, and holiness 

 of Nature."_p. 130. 



