GIRTY'S ISLAND.
BY N. B. C. LOVE, DESHLER,
O.
Girty's Island, in the Maumee River, a
hundred years ago,
was the headquarters of the Indians and
was the home, for a time,
of Simon Girty.
*
* *
Rich in verdant foliage of varied green
And many kindred growth of stately
trees,
Plants, flowers and vines with nectar
for bees,
Blended in a quivering summer sheen;
And around the waters ebbying tide,
Bending low long boughs with vines
interlace
And reflect in the liquid mirror's face,
Scintillating, like moving pictures,
glide.
Here Girty's council fires light up the
scene,
And all is weird with songs of Indian
life,
The whoop and taunt of the savage, whose
spleen
Finds vent in imaginary battle strife.
Girty and his dusky aborigines,
Glory in bloody work beneath the trees.
THE NORTHWEST.
BY N. B. C. LOVE.
O'er the vast Northwest, the storms of
war
Had for ages long fearful havoc made,
With Chieftain bold and many a wildwood
maid,
And Squaw and warriors both near and
far.
Grand in its vastness reaching from the
height
Of the Alleghenies to the great River,
Which through the continent flowed ever,
From frozen North to Southern warmth and
light;
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