6
No desert-snake with nursing grace
Should draw my fierce heart's fiercest glow;
No coward of my conqueror's race
Should offer me his blood, I know—
If I were a Queen."
'Very startling is the quaint epigram in the first stanza of "Marble or Dust?":—
With pretty wisdom very sadly just,
'That man is Mr. Lincoln, Mama. He
'Was made of marble; we are made of dust.'"
The Nation (Dublin), December 5, 188s.
'The titular poem in Mrs. Piatt's collection, "A Voyage to the Fortunate Isles," is an allegory whose lesson is, that in seeking for distant happiness we miss that which is within our grasp. The thought is an old one that has furnished food for meditation to the poet and philosopher since the earliest ages. Paradise itself was not free from these illusory ambitions. Love of change and desire of power and knowledge were what urged our first parents to their great transgression. It is no slight praise of Mrs. Piatt's poem, to say that, on a theme coeval with the world, and that in every generation has found its exponents among the greatest poets, our author has found a new and attractive figure by which to convey the old but ever necessary warning against restlessness and discontent. . . . In her description of children and their ways Mrs. Piatt could not be surpassed for accuracy and pathos. With intensified womanly fondness her whole heart goes out to them, as she watches their movements with the deep interest of her loving, sympathetic nature. . . . We would wish, did the limits of our space permit, to consider more at length these extraordinary and, with all their sadness, really beautiful poems, as they are well worthy of minute and careful study."
The Graphic, January 16, 1886.
'It is amply borne out by the present collected edition of her poems, the music and finish of which it is almost superfluous to praise. But, whilst acknowledging the author's great gifts, we cannot join in the chorus of unlimited praise which seems to be the rule in America. She has been compared to Mrs. Browning, and undoubtedly, the influence of the great English poet-woman is most apparent—one most powerful piece, "A Wall Between," is almost worthy of the author of "Bertha in the Lane." . . . The book is a striking one . . . and must not be neglected by any one who would form a just estimate of modern poetic art.'
The Scotsman, January 1, 1886.
'There is a fugitive beauty, a magical suggestiveness about her poetry.'
The Freeman's Journal, February 19, 1886.
'Her poetry is singularly pretty, tuneful and tender, and many of her pieces, especially the descriptive and narrative ones, rise to the highest level.'
KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH & CO., Publishers,
1 Paternoster Square, London.
