Where were the roofs that flecked the green! The smoke-wreaths curling high? He calls—he shouts—the cherished names, But Echo makes reply. “Where art thou, Ellinor! my child! And sweet Virginia Dare! O, silver cloud, that cleaves the blue Like angel’s wing—_say where!_ “Where is the glorious Saxon vine We set so strong and fair?” The stern gray rocks in mockery smiled, And coldly answered “_where!_” “Ho! flitting savage! stay thy step, And tell—” but light as air He vanished, and the falling stream Responsive murmured—“_where!_” So, o’er the ruined palisade, The blackened threshold-stone, The funeral of colonial hope, That old man wept—alone! And mournful rose his wild lament, In accents of despair, For the lost daughter of his love, And young Virginia Dare. * * * * * =REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS.= _The Poetical Works of Fitz Greene Halleck. New Edition. Redfield: Clinton Hall, New York._ This is a new and very beautiful edition, the most beautiful that has ever been published, of one of the sweetest, most elaborately finished, most expressive and original poets of America. No one can read Halleck, without being at once impressed with the sense that he is a writer entirely _sui generis_ and most peculiar; not merely imitating no one, but resembling no one, and— “Si liceat magnis componere parva”— Like the notorious Andrew Jackson Allen, himself alone.