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FRIENDSHIP'S

FORGET-ME-NOT.

THE FORGET-ME-NOT.

To flourish in my favourite bower,
To blossom round my cot,
I cultivate the little flower

They call Forget-me-not.

It springs where Avon gently flows
In wild simplicity;

And 'neath my cottage-window grows,
Sacred to love and thee.

This pretty little flow'ret's dye

Of soft cerulean blue, Appears as if from Ellen's eye

It had received its hue.

Though oceans now betwixt us roar,

Though distant be our lot,

Ellen though we should meet no more,

Sweet maid, Forget-me-not.

ANON.

ON A FORGET-ME-NOT.

BROUGHT FROM SWITZERLAND.

FLOWER of the mountain! by the wanderer's hand

Robbed of thy beauty's short-lived sunny day; Didst thou but blow to gem the stranger's way, And bloom, to wither in the stranger's land! Hueless and scentless as thou art,

How much that stirs the memory,

How much, much more that thrills the heart,

Thou faded thing, yet lives in thee!

Where is thy beauty? in the grassy blade

There lives more fragrance, and more fresh

ness now;

Yet oh! not all the flowers that bloom and fade
Are half so dear to memory's eye as thou.
The dew that on the mountain lies,
The breeze that o'er the mountain sighs,
Thy parent stem will nurse and nourish;
But thou-not e'en those sunny eyes
As bright, as blue, as thine own skies,
Thou faded thing! can make thee flourish.

FRANCES ANNE BUTLER.

PARTING WORDS.

FAREWELL! I must not look again on thee! Thou who hast been what none may tell or

know

Unto my weary soul, shedding a light of joyA gleam of sunshine, o'er my path below.

Farewell! and dream not of the past again-
I would not wish thy gentle spirit wrung
With bitter thoughts, such memories as these
Are not for those whose hopes and hearts are
young.

The world-the breathing world of light and flowers,

To thee is fair; no darkening shade has

passed

O'er thy young visions, or no blight of tears Has o'er thy brow a shade of suffering cast.

Ah, no-thou art too beautiful by far

Thou must be loved by all where'er thou art; By all who feel as I have felt, and know

The warmth, the love, of thy young trusting heart.

Vain idle words! can any know or feel

The love which binds my spirit unto thine! That power which lights and glorifies my way, This vain, yet pure, idolatry of mine!

And yet I go-the baseless dream is gone-
The dream of fitful life is waning fast;
Say, shall we meet again in other worlds,
We who have loved so fondly to the last!

And as the wings of time glide swiftly on
Their free fleet course, on to eternity,
If aught awakes one dream of bygone years,
Or brings thee back one memory of me;

Chide not such thoughts; it will not dim thy

brow

To linger then on dreams of vanished hours— These free and vernal days when life was young,

And every hope was fair as opening flowers.

But dream not now-send back each wandering thought,

Back to the heart's most lonely hidden cell; They only waken sad and bitter tears,-

Bid the sad conflict cease--farewell! farewell!

MRS. WARNER.

THE FORGET-ME-NOT.

FROM THE GERMAN OF GOETHE.

NOT on the mountain's shelving side,
Nor in the cultivated ground,
Nor in the garden's painted pride,
The flower I seek is found.

Where time or sorrow's page of gloom
Has fixed its envious lot,

Or swept the record from the tomb,
It says Forget me not.

And this is still the loveliest flower,
The fairest of the fair,

Of all that deck my lady's bower,

Or bind her floating hair.

LORD FRANCIS I. GOWER.

THE ANCIENT TOMBS.

THEY rise on isle and ocean shore,
They stand by lake and stream,
And blend with many a shepherd's tale,
And many a poet's dream;

B

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