"Art thou near me? nearer? so! Kiss me close upon the eyes-- That the earthly light may go Sweetly as it used to rise-- When I watch'd the morning-gray Strike, betwixt the hills, the way He was sure to come that day. "So--no more vain words be said! The hosannas nearer roll-- Mother, smile now on thy Dead-- I am death-strong in my soul! Mystic Dove alit on cross, Guide the poor bird of the snows Through the snow-wind above loss! "Jesus, Victim, comprehending Love's divine self-abnegation-- Cleanse my love in its self-spending, And absorb the poor libation! Wind my thread of life up higher, Up through angels' hands of fire!-- I aspire while I expire!" The following extract from a little poem entitled "Sleeping and Watching," is very touching in its simplicity. Miss Barrett is watching over a slumbering child. How softly does the spirit of the watcher overshadow the cradle with the purest influences of its own sanctified sorrows, while she thus speaks!-- "_I_, who cannot sleep as well, Shall I sigh to view you? Or sigh further to foretell All that may undo you? Nay, keep smiling, little child, Ere the sorrow neareth,-- _I_ will smile too! Patience mild Pleasure's token weareth. Nay, keep sleeping, before loss; I shall sleep though losing! As by cradle, so by cross, Sure is the reposing. "And God knows, who sees us twain, Child at childish leisure, I am near as tired of pain As you seem of pleasure;-- Very soon too, by his grace Gently wrapt around me, Shall I show as calm a face, Shall I sleep as soundly! Differing in this, that _you_ Clasp your playthings sleeping, While my hand shall drop the few Given to my keeping; "Differing in this, that _I_ Sleeping, shall be colder, And in waking presently, Brighter to beholder! Differing in this beside (Sleeper, have you heard me? Do you move, and open wide Eyes of wonder toward me?)-- That while I draw you withal From your slumber, solely,-- Me, from mine, an angel shall, With reveillie holy!" After having perused these extracts, it must be impossible for any one to deny that Miss Barrett is a person gifted with very extraordinary powers of mind, and very rare sensibilities of heart. She must surely be allowed to take her place among the female writers of England as a poetess of no ordinary rank; and if she does not already overtop them all, may she one day stand forth as the queen of that select and immortal sisterhood! It is in her power to do so if she pleases.