340 LEWIS J. CIST. [1840-50. The wretch to Texas late has gone, And left her now to hang herself! This valentine was sent by one Whose name's " a poet's passion," Mary. Once graceful as a bounding fawn, And mischievous as any fairy : She's married, too, and fat — ye gods ! I scarcely can contain my laughter, When in the street I sometimes meet Her, with her ducklings waddling after ! A miniature ! of her, my first. My warmest love — perhaps my only ! How has my heart her image nursed, A light unto my pathway lonely ! She weds another soon — her vow To me all lightly hath she broken ; Her gift — aye, let it go, for now, 'Tiri of her falsehood but the token ! This tress of hair of golden hue (Some call it red — 'tis not, 'tis auburn ! For the distinction 'twixt the two, A poet ask, or ask Grant Thorburn !) Belonged to one — a glorious girl — I loved as brother may a sister ; Smoothed o'er her brow each sunny curl. And sometimes chid, and sometimes — kissed her ! Ah, those were happy days to me ! — Dear Ella, do you ne'er regret them ? — Yet hopeless though the task may be. How have I striven to forget them ! The bitterest sting in love that's lost. Is memory of its by-gone pleasures ; liut how must that lone heart be crossed "Which longs to yield thus up such treas- ures ! No more ! — the sale must close, lest I Each firm resolve should reconsider ; Throw in one; lot the rest — who'll buy ? I'll knock it to the highest bidder ; I thought it not so hardly done, Each long-cemented tie to sever ; But now they're going — going — gone ! " And Love and I here part — forever ! OHIO'S PILGRIM BAND. New England well may boast The band that on her coast. Long years ago, Their Pilgrim anchor cast — Their Pilgrim bark made fast — Mid winter's howling blast And driven snow. Long since iiath passed away Each Pilgrim, hoar and gray. Of that lone band : Yet, where their ashes lie. Sprang seeds that shall not die, While ever yon blue sky Shall arch our land! Sons of that Pilgrim race Were they from whom we trace Our Buckeye blood: Ohio's Pilgrim band, Lo ! on yon shore they stand. Their footsteps on the land, Their trust in God ! Not with the bold array Of armies dread, came they Proud conquest on ; Through a long warfare rude. With patient hardihood, By toil, and strife, and blood, The soil was won. Won from the Red-man's lair. To be an Eden fiir To us and ours : Won, as the peaceful home Of age, and beauty's bloom,
