New-York daily tribune., 1861-01-19
MISS TERRY'S POEMS.

POEMS B1 hOoE IBhhI; LIMO Pp- %'A' A"~NN' -
Few of our readers probably, need an intro
duction to the graceful poete,s from whose pro-
ductions selection is presented in this striking
volume. A considerable portion Of its contents
appeared for the first time, within several years
past. in our own columns, where they have
attracted the attention of the lovers OF poetry BY
their beauty and originality of conception, their
EXQUISITE delcacy Of feeling, their refined and
tender expression, and the genial skill with which
they presented natural pictures in sweet and
touching rhythm. In some instances We THINK
Miss Terry has failed to exhibit her thought IN
sufficiently clear and harmonious proportions;
vail of soft mist, 10 certain degree, IS permit
ted TO cloud, and perhaps TO magnify, Its signlh'
canoe; but che never writes without distinct
aim and earnest purpose her fancy Is subordi-
nate TO her intellect; her tone of mind is never
trivial or commonplace; poetry with her Is EVIL
IDENTIFY n noble art and serious pursuit, rather
tban an amusement or an adjunct to ambition
or vanity; and her compositions therefore pos
cess depth of character, as well as an exterior
beauty, which indicates both natural endowments
and personal experience Of rare and peculiar
order. In presenting one or two specimens OF
the quality of this volume, we are very likely 70
pitch upon those with which our readers are al
ready familiar, but they will not object to rep
etiton of the pleasure which attended their
original perusal.
The following lines illustrate the power Of deli
cate blending of light and shade, and gently In
snuatipg a lesson of ethics, in which Miss Terry
has not many superiOrs among female poets;
STORY.
In CLEAN Of sunshine gentian stood,
Dreaming her life away, WOOD,
While the leaves danced merriy through the
And rode on the wind for play.
She stood in the light and looked at the sky,
Till her leaves were as fair blues
But she shut her heat from the butterfly
And the coaxing drops OF dew.
Dreaming and summing that Autumn noon,
She stay ed tire dlest bee
That ever fingered TO hear the tune
OF the wind IN q rusthng tree.
He had golden cuirass on
And surcoat black as night,
And he wandered ever from shade TO sun,
Seeking his own delight.
Now were the blossoms of Summer fed,
And the bumble-bee felt the frost;
lie krew that the asters all lay dead, en-
And the honey vine cups were lost.
so he poised and futtered above the flower,
And tried his tenderest arts,
With whispers and kisses, weary hour,
Til he opened its heart Of hearts
Not Sor love of the gentan blue,
But for his own wild Will
All he wanted was honey-dew,
And there he drank his hll.
No more dreaming in sun or shade
II never could close again
The gentian witbered, alone, dismayodi
The bee flew over the plain.
The tranquil pathos OF the subjoined piece finds
IN appropriate expression in the sweet and placid
flow Of the yersfcation:
THE TWO VILLAGES.
Over the river, on the hill,
Lieth village white and still .u
All around IL the forest trees
Shiver and whisper in the breeze;
Over it sailing shadows 80
or soaring hawk and screaming crow,
And mountain grasses low and sweet,
Grow in the middle Of every street.
Over the river, under the hill,
Another village leth still;
There nee in the cloudy night
Twinkling stars Of household light.
Fires that CLEAN from the smithys door,
Mists that curl on the river shore;
And In the read no grasses grow,