ject. Christianity has gradually infused itself into our literature, and given it a deeper spiritualism. At the very head of this class of spiritual poets we should place Elizabeth Barrett. There are no two qualities more manifest in her than intensity, and deep religious feeling. One of the most gifted of our American writers calls her the "strongest woman that has yet written." We not only agree with this praise, but think intensity the fitter word to characterize her power; and esteem her without a rival in this quality among our living poets of either sex. The impress of Christianity is on almost every piece in the volumes before us; while the main poem is on a mighty theme, akin to that for which, in solemn prayer, Milton invoked the inspiration of the heavenly muse. It is most eminently true of Miss Barrett, as evinced in all her works, that "Sion hill Delights her most, and Siloa's brook that flow'd She is the most subjective and personal of our poets; and at the same time has been but recently known at all beyond the immediate circle of her friends. As she says herself, her poetry is "the completest expression of her being;" and it is therefore necessary to a full enjoyment of it, that we should know something of her history. Fortunately, in addition to what we can learn from her preface and from her poems, Mr. Horne, in his "Spirit of the Age," has furnished us with the main facts of her life. And, certainly, had her poems no other interest, we should hope to enlist the reader's sympathy for them, when we state that they are the productions of one, confined for years by a hopeless sickness to her solitary chamber, scarcely seen by any but her own family, and compelled often to pass days, and even weeks, in almost total darkness. Those who have themselves enjoyed, or perhaps still better, have im parted to some poor invalid the holy consolation and heroic cheer of Miss Martineau's "Life in a Sick Room,' will be interested to know that the friend to whom the letters are addressed is one who was then her companion in affliction, and, unlike her, seems destined yet to pass long years in the vale of sorrow,-Miss Barrett. Yet from her sick-room she has sent forth her poems, written with no feebleness of spirit, but with a strength to which suffering seems to have lent a stimulus,-though she herself tells us, "If this art of poetry had been a less earnest object to me, it must have dropped from exhausted hands before this day." Of the variety and extent of her acquirements, authorities concur in saying that she is one of the most learned and accomplished scholars among the writers of England; having a thorough knowledge of Greek, even to the mastering of the immortal Plato; a critical knowledge of the oriental languages, necessary to a thorough reading of the Bible in its original tongues; and at the same time "as wide and diffuse acquaintance with literature, that of the present day inclusive, as any living individual." It is with such varied attainments and extensive culture, with the influence of suffering in developing her genius and character, sanctified by the deepest religious faith, that she has devoted herself with unwearied labor to those poetical productions which, at the same time, have consoled her in her own affliction and elevated her thoughts above the body's sufferings; while they have secured her a loving memory and an affectionate gratitude among a circle of friends daily increasing in number, and established a poetic reputation which time will largely increase. With the exception of a few miscellaneous articles, translations, etc., in various periodicals, her first publication was entitled, "The Seraphim, and other Poems ;" and was issued in 1838. Of this there has been no American edition. Her other work, which we propose to notice, was given to the American public,-for whom, she says, "I have felt a love and admiration as long as I have felt proud of being an Englishwoman, and almost as long as I have loved poetry itself,”—some little time in anticipation of its publication in England. The "DRAMA OF EXILE" is a poem of about one hundred and twenty pages: the foundation being blank verse, interspersed with chants and choruses of irregular metres. The object of the work, as stated by herself, is, "the new and strange experience of the fallen humanity, as it went forth from Paradise: with a peculiar reference to Eve's allotted grief, which, considering that selfsacrifice belonged to her womanhood, and the consciousness of being the organ of the fall, to her offense,-appeared to me imperfectly apprehended hitherto, and more expressible by a woman than a man." The time occupied is the twilight after their expulsion from Eden; and the action of the drama is not too long for this space, when we consider that we have scientific reasons for believing twilight before the flood to have been longer than at present; besides, Miss Barrett's poetic excuse, that she can "never, for her part, believe in an Eden without the longest of purple twilights." The scene commences where Milton closes; when the guilty pair -"hand in hand with wand'ring steps and slow, Through Eden took their solitary way." They are seen in the distance, flying along from the sword-glare which shut them for ever out of Paradise, and seeking the wilderness before them. Lucifer opens the poem with a taunt on Gabriel, the keeper of the gate. Gabriel bids him depart. Lucifer claims the earth for his; and exclaims, Gabriel. Lucifer. "Here's a brave earth to sin and suffer on! It holds fast still-it cracks not under curse : Burnt on my forehead, which you taunt me with, The reply of Gabriel to the boasted independence of Satan, is, for its metaphysical acumen, (though Miss Barrett has generally chosen more to display feeling than logic,) worthy of Milton-we had almost said worthy of the personage who uses it. "Spirit of scorn! I might say, of unreason! I might say, That who despairs, acts; that who acts, connives That who elects, assumes a something good Which God made possible; that who lives, obeys At length Gabriel asks Lucifer whether he knows aught of the future of mankind; he replies, Gabriel. "Only as much as this: That evil will increase and multiply Without a benediction. Nothing more! Lucifer. Why so the angels taunt! What should be more? Gabriel. God is more. Lucifer. Proving what? Gabriel. That he is God, And capable of saving." Unheeding this intimation of God's gracious providence, Satan at length goes his way, leaving this terrible threat behind him: "I assert my will. And peradventure in the after years, When thoughtful men bend slow their spacious brows Upon the storm and strife seen everywhere To ruffle their smooth manhood, and break up With lurid lights of intermittent hope Their human fear and wrong,-they may discern Now is heard the "chorus of Eden spirits ;" and the "spirit of the trees," the "river-spirits," the "bird-spirits," and the "flowerspirits," chant their mournful, plaintive farewell, and the awful "never-more," to the hearts of the exiles. This imbodiment of the feelings suggested to Adam and Eve by the thought of the joys of nature left for ever behind in Paradise, and its expression in the spirits' voices is most exquisitely beautiful and pathetic; while it is full of poetic power. Adam and Eve are now first introduced as pausing a moment in their flight as they reach the extremity of the sword-glare. Here Eve bitterly bewails her transgression, and especially reproaches herself as the cause of the curse to Adam. She beseeches him to put her straight away and seek God's mercy thereby ;-" thy wrath against the sinner giving proof of inward abrogation of the sin." Adam replies, that he is "deepest in the guilt, if last in the transgression;" having also sinned against the "last best gift of God," his Eve; and comforts her, declaring it is God's will they should bear the curse together. Eve recovers her strength, and tells him, "Because I comprehend This human love, I shall not be afraid Of any human death." Yet she now confesses that all day long in their desolate journey this prayer had trembled on her lips: "O Lord God! ("Twas so I prayed) I ask Thee by my sin, Where peradventure I might sin anew Adam. And was it good for such a prayer to pass My unkind Eve, betwixt our mutual lives? Eve confesses that "twas an ill prayer; it shall be prayed no more;" and taking courage, the woman's heart within made strong by Adam's love, she declares, "Since I was the first In the transgression, with a steady foot As they go on, a faint song of the "invisible angels," the love-angels that ministered to them in Paradise, breathes a sad lament; but yet with tender pity assures them, that though "this pure door of opal God hath shut between us," that still, "Yet across the doorway, As the tones of the angels die away, Satan meets Adam and Eve. Most beautifully, with a single stroke of the pen, has Miss Barrett here delineated the trusting, confiding nature of woman, and her instinctive disposition, since she was first overcome, to ever cling closer to man in the hour of danger. Eve calls to Adam, "Adam! hold My right hand strongly. It is Lucifer And we have love to lose." Lucifer proceeds to taunt them; his first salutation is, "Now may all fruits be pleasant to thy lips, Beautiful Eve! The times have somewhat changed Albeit ye are not gods yet." It is here that we are almost inclined to place the greatest power of the drama; in this picture of Satan coming to taunt the guilty |