Fable of the Wood Rose and the Laurel..Anon...................

243

The Voice of Spring and Autumn ........Anon.............

I go, sweet Friends

Good By

History of Life ...................

Home where the Heart is

A Name in the Sand.......

248

THE

OASIS;

OR,

GOLDEN LEAVES

OF

FRIENDSHIP.

MY BOOKS.

GOLDEN volumes! richest treasures!
Objects of delicious pleasures!
You my eyes rejoicing please,
You my hands in rapture seize,
Brilliant wits and musing sages,
Lights who beamed through many ages!
Left to your conscious leaves their story,
And dared to trust you with their glory;
And now their hope of fame achieved,
Dear volumes! you have not deceived!

THE OASIS.

THE travellers passed o'er a desert drear, 'Neath scorching suns, o'er scorching sands; Few fertile spots the vision cheer,

Few welcome shades invite their bands:

Day after day they travelled on,

Till fell exhaustion claimed the breath; When fainting, at the setting sun,

A broad Oasis saved from death:

They ate, they drank-forgot their fears;
Again the future bright appears.

Not far unlike it is this age

Of red and yellow novel reading;
Fiction and trash are all the rage;
Sense to be heard in vain is pleading;
The mind, in error's mazes lost,

Sickens for want of solid duty;

It finds it. but at what a cost!

Perceptions dulled to truth and beauty: But here's a pure Oasis spread,

To purify both heart and head.

PRESENTATION TO A LADY.

I BEG thee keep this simple gift
For one who oft will think of thee,
And feel most happy should it bring
Some passing memory of me.
Not when the smile is on that brow,

Though then thou seem'st some spirit bright; Not when the tears of sorrow flow,

To chase away that spirit's light;

Not in the crowd, that hollow cheat,
Where grief is decked in festal flowers,
And the free heart forgets to beat,
And folly draws insipid hours;
Nor would I have thee think of me
When morning wears her robes of dew,
And wild birds wake their reveille,
And thou hast caught the morning's hue.
No! let it be the twilight hour,

When musing memory loves to reign,
And gather up each germ and flower
That scatter o'er life's travelled plain.
No matter where my steps may stray,
How dark or bright my fate may be;
Yet still through life's unmeasured way,
Believe me a true friend to thee.