But enough of _Ai ai Heosphoros_. It may be very right for ladies to learn Greek--not, however, if it is to lead them to introduce such expressions as this into the language of English poetry. Nor do we think that Miss Barrett's lyrical style improves when she descends to themes of more human and proximate interest, and makes the "earth-spirits" and the "flower-spirits" pour their lamentations into the ears of the exiled pair. The following is the conclusion of the _layment_ (as Miss Barrett pronounces the word _lament_) of the "flower-spirits:"-- "We pluck at your raiment, We stroke down your hair, We faint in our _lament_, And pine into air. Fare-ye-well--farewell! The Eden scents, no longer sensible, Expire at Eden's door! Each footstep of your treading Treads out some fragrance which ye knew before: Farewell! the flowers of Eden Ye shall smell never more." Would not Miss Barrett's hair have stood on end if Virgil had written "Arma virumque _canto_?" Yet surely that false quantity would have been not more repugnant to the genius of Latin verse than her transposition of accent in the word _lament_ is at variance with the plainest proprieties of the English tongue. The "earth-spirits" deliver themselves thus:-- _Earth Spirits._ "And we scorn you! there's no pardon Which can lean to you aright! When your bodies take the guerdon Of the death-curse in our sight, Then the bee that hummeth lowest shall transcend you. Then ye shall not move an eyelid Though the stars look down your eyes; And the earth, which ye defiled, She shall show you to the skies,-- Lo! these kings of ours--who sought to comprehend you.' _First Spirit._ And the elements shall boldly All your dust to dust constrain; Unresistedly and coldly, I will smite you with my rain! From the slowest of my frosts is no receding. _Second Spirit._ And my little worm, appointed To assume a royal part, He shall reign, crown'd and anointed, O'er the noble human heart! Give him counsel against losing of that Eden!" In one of the lyrical effusions, man is informed that when he goes to heaven-- "Then a _sough of glory_ Shall your entrance greet, Ruffling round the doorway The smooth radiance it shall meet." We wonder what meaning Miss Barrett attaches to the word _sough_! It is a term expressive of the dreary sighing of autumnal winds, or any sound still more disconsolate and dreary; and therefore, to talk of a "sough of glory," is to talk neither more nor less than absolute nonsense. What can be more unlyrical than this verse? "Live, work on, oh, Earthy! By the Actual's tension Sped the arrow worthy Of a pure ascension."