VI.

A thing of real beauty, with a shape of airy grace,
Floats out of Isaacs' storehouse, as the genii from the vase,
And, oh! I gaze upon it with a pair of loving eyes,
As glowing as the summer and as tender as the skies!

* * * * *

VII.

But, ah! my dream is broken when I gaze upon that chair,
For my eyes are now wide open and--the same old hat is there;
And reluctantly and sadly all my visions I resign
To know that I must wear again that old straw hat of mine!

TOM BARBEE'S POND.

I.

O sweet are the memories when backward we gaze
Through the vista of years to our schoolboy days,
When faces now vanished to the vision appear
And the music of voices long hushed we can hear,
As together we romped where the school-house stood,
Or joyfully wended our way through the wood
Where placidly lay, in the valley beyond,
The moss-covered waters of Tom Barbee's pond!

II.

Though scattered by Time o'er the face of the earth,
And sorrow and anguish have succeeded to mirth,
Still many there be whose mist-bedewed eye
Looks longingly back, while the breast heaves a sigh,
To that far-away time, when together we played
In the school-house yard, or on Saturdays strayed
Where the knots in our sleeves were tied tight as a bond,
As we splashed and we dived in Tom Barbee's pond!

III.

The "pleasures of memory" by Rogers were lined,
With rhythm as sweet as in verse you will find,
But could he e'er picture one-half of the joys
We had when we wandered as barefooted boys
Through the woods and the fields and the meadows out there,
With our sun-blistered backs and the burrs in our hair,
Or recall to the mind a remembrance more fond
Than bathing and swimming in Tom Barbee's pond?

WHERE?

I.

O, where are the friends that in youth we once knew,
Whose smiles were like sunshine, whose hearts were so true?
Alas! they are lost in the darkness and gloom
That veils them from sight in the cold, silent tomb!

II.

O, where are the years that forever have fled,
And over Life's morning their radiance shed?
With the Past written down on the unending scroll
Where Time--grim destroyer--his victims enroll!

III.

O, where are the fancies, the visions, the dreams,
That filled the young breast--with which memory teems?
They have faded away--from life they have passed--
Like stars blotted out when the sky's overcast!

IV.

O, where are the hopes that have beckon