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,
-you have not deceived!

Dear volumes!

-

THE OASIS.

THE avellers 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.

WOMAN MAN'S BEST FRIEND.

WHEN Woman smiles, she has the power
To heal our griefs, and calm our fears;
Should sickness wound, should fortune lower,
She shares our sorrows, dries our tears.

And she can soothe the cares of age,
As rolls time's furrowing course along;
Can cheer us with the classic page,
Or lull us with the magic song.

When stretched upon the bed of death
Departing nature struggling lies,
At that dread pause, when the next breath
May waft our spirit to the skies,-

When the soul views the narrow verge,
Close on the confines of the grave;
And now it longs its flight to urge,
Now wishes for an arm to save ;·

Who cheers that dreary scene of woe?

Who speaks of peace, and joy, and love? Who wipes the tear-drops as they flow?

'Tis woman

sent from Heaven above!