Page:The Poets and Poetry of the West.djvu/355

 1840-50.] LEWIS J. CIST. 339 And, mother, dear, it grieves my soul To think that, day by day, Thou'rt reaching nearer to thy goal, And soon must pass away ! Mother ! in sooth it filleth me With sorrow sharp and keen. When I look back and think, to thee How wayward I have been. Oh ! could I but live o'er again My life from infancy, I think how much of care and pain. Mother, I'd spare to thee! Ah, vain the wish ! for time, once gone, Can never more return ; And as it still is hurrying on, Still onward we are borne. And deeds once done, are done for aye, Whate'er they may betoken ; And we may utter words to day. Can never be unspoken ! But, mother, though I cannot now Recall the years long past, — Remove the shadows from thy brow. That time and grief have cast, — Yet it may be my sweetest care, Each care of thine t' assuage. And soothe thine every future year Of earthly pilgrimage ! LOVE AT AUCTION. O Yes ! O Yes ! O Yes !— For sale. At auction to the highest bidders. Without reserve — pray list the tale. Ye " nice young men," and tender wid- ows, — A lot of sundries, of all sorts Of gentle gifts, of love the token ; — Rings, chains and cupids, darts and hearts, Some sound and whole, some cracked and broken ; Watch-guards, watch-papers, and watch- seals ; Rings, plain and fanciful, in plenty ; Breast-pins, pen-wipers, and grace-quills ; With miniatures, perhaps some twenty ; Pincushions, fifty odd, or more ; Shppers, with love-knots, several pair ; Of valentines, at least a score ; And some few hundred locks of hair ! And to begin the sale : — Here's this Small lot — a ring, with chain and locket. All of pure pinchbeck — from a Miss Who once drew largely on my pocket : To balls, to concerts, to the play. And rides I freely used to treat her ; The cut direct, the other day. She gave me, when I chanced to meet her ! Here is a little fancy seal. With Cupid flying to his mam, on; The motto French — Toujours Jidele ! That's French, I take it, for " all gam- mon ! " The girl who gave it me, next day Denied my suit with jest and laughter ; And with her cousin ran away — Toujours Jidele ! — some three weeks after ! This was the gift of one I loved, God knows how fervently and truly ! I should have so, if she had proved One half the thing I thought her wholly; She turned out but a fair coquette. And when she laid me on the shelf. With this dark braid — I have it yet — Her gift, I thought to hang myself: — I didn't though ! I laid it by Until, with years, my love is cool ; And looking now upon it, I Can wonder I was such a fool. Poor girl ! she's wedded since, to one Who loved her dearly — for her pelf!