“Through underwood of laurel, and across A little lawn, _shoe-deep with sweetest moss,_ I passed, and found the lake, _which, like a shield_ _Some giant long had ceased to wield,_ _Lay with its edges sunk in sand and stone,_ _With ancient roots and grasses overgrown._” The descent of the mystic spirit of the lake is thus pictured: “Then noiselessly as moonshine falls Adown the ocean’s crystal walls, And with no stir or wave attended, Slowly through the lake descended; _Till from her hidden form below_ _The waters took a golden glow,_ _As if the star which made her forehead bright_ _Had burst and filled the lake with light._” Observe the beautiful melancholy, and the slow, swaying versification of the following description of a deserted quay:— “The old, old sea, as one in tears, Comes murmuring with his foamy lips, And knocking at the vacant piers, Calls for his long-lost multitude of ships.” We would gladly extend this imperfect notice to twice its prescribed length; for we are aware that in our limited bounds we can do but partial justice to merits so conspicuous; and, perhaps, in our bungling haste to pluck that which caught our fancy, we have passed by beauties which would have arrested the eyes of others. We are conscious of having bestowed on this volume the most unmixed praises; and the censorious may ask us, what has become of our critical gall? The province of criticism is two-fold—to cheer with praise, or to correct with censure; and we belong to that good-natured portion who exercise the former calling. What is deliberately done can be followed by no apology. Whatever we have said, has been supported with solid material from the work before us; and our readers may judge by the extracts, whether we have done our author that worst of all injustice which arises from over commendation. * * * * * _Poems. By Oliver Wendall Holmes. A New Edition. Boston: Wm. D. Ticknor & Co. 1 vol. 16mo._ It gives us great pleasure to announce the appearance of a new and revised edition of Dr. Holmes’s poems, printed in a style of simplicity and elegance creditable to the publishers and appropriate to him. It contains a large number of pieces which have never before appeared in any collection of his poems, and also a number which are now printed for the first time. A volume which is so emphatically “a nest of spicery,” which sparkles on every page with wit, fancy, and imagination, and which contains some of the most perfect specimens of versification and true poetical expression ever produced in the country, will be sure of a rapid and a large circulation. The author has been literally mobbed for many years to prepare an edition of his poems, and we now have one which fairly reflects his character and powers.