The volume whose title forms the heading of this article embraces one hundred and seventy-three poems. The longest, but not the best, of these is Zinzendorff. "It owes its existence," says the author, "to a recent opportunity of personal intercourse with that sect of Christians who acknowledge Zinzendorff as their founder; and who, in their labors of self-denying benevolence, and their avoidance of the slight, yet bitter causes of controversy, have well preserved that sacred test of discipleship 'to love one another.'" Most of the other pieces were "suggested by the passing and common incidents of life,"--and we confess that we find no fault, with their "deficiency in the wonderful and wild." Not in these mountainous and stormy regions--but in the holy and quiet valley of the beautiful, must forever consent to dwell the genius of Mrs. Sigourney. The poem of Zinzendorff includes five hundred and eighty lines. It relates, in a simple manner, some adventures of that man of God. Many passages are very noble, and breathe the truest spirit of the Muse. At page 14, for example. --------------The high arch Of the _cloud-sweeping forest_ proudly _cast_ (casts) A solemn shadow, for no sound of axe Had taught the monarch Oak dire principles Of Revolution, or brought down the Pine Like haughty baron from his castled height. Thus dwelt the kings of Europe--ere the voice Of the crusading monk, with whirlwind tone Did root them from their base, with all their hosts, _Tossing the red-cross banner to the sky_. Again at page 21, we have something equally beautiful, in a very different way. The passage is however much injured by the occurrence of the word 'that' at the commencement of both the sixth and seventh line. ------Now the infant morning raised Her rosy eyelids. But no soft breeze moved The forest lords to shake the dews of sleep From their green coronals. The curtaining mist Hung o'er the quiet river, and it seemed _That Nature found the summer night so sweet_ _That 'mid the stillness of her deep repose_ _She shunned the wakening of the king of day_. All this is exquisite, and in Zinzendorff there are many passages of a like kind. The poem, however, is by no means free from faults. In the first paragraph we have the following: ------Through the _breast_ Of that fair vale the Susquehannah roam'd, Wearing its _robe_ of _silver_ like a bride. Now with a noiseless current gliding slow, Mid the rich _velvet_ of its _curtaining_ banks It seemed to sleep.