Then leave the poor finches,
Nor rifle their treasure,
To build on their ruins
Thy own savage pleasure.
FORGET ME NOT.
(MYOSOTIS PALUSTRIS.)
Pour exprimer l'amour, ces fleurs semblent éclorre;
Leur langage est un mot-mais il est plein d'appas !
Dans la main des amans elles disent encor:
Aimez moi, ne m'oubliez pas.
A knight and lady walk'd beside
Yon crystal lake, in days of yore,
And on the farther bank espied
A lovely flow'r.
The Summer eve was calm and clear,
Its parting rays the bud illum'd;
Shone many flow'rs, but no one near
So sweetly bloom'd.
The lady's eyes seem'd there to rest;
She wish'd to have a gem so rare,
To sparkle on her virgin breast,
She told her wish :—the gallant knight Plung'd in the stream, and reach'd the He bore it o'er the waters bright, [flower; Till near the shore.
But ah! to land in vain he tried ;
His eye love's fervours brightly shot; He flung the flower, and, sinking, cried "FORGET ME NOT."*
* See WITHERING's Arrangement of British Plants, vol. ii. p. 276. Seventh Edition.
(GYRINUS NATator.)
GAY creature, gliding full of glee
O'er the smooth bosom of the stream,
Array'd in burnish'd panoply,
That glitters in the sunny beam :
How exquisitely shap'd art thou,
With form and faculties complete;
Sportive while lasts the Summer's glow,
And hush'd when Wintry tempests beat.
Lightly thou skimm'st th' unconscious tide,
In zig-zag lines and varying round;
So have I seen the skater glide
O'er untried stream and depth profound.
But ah! how far thy simplest feats
His labour'd efforts still transcend,
With nature thus vain art competes,
And thus th' unequal contests end.
THERE where the wild bee hums amongst rude flowers,
That dip their pensile foliage in the stream, Whose breast reflects that straw-roof'd cot, whose base
Is lash'd by the white billows, which are flung
Incessant from the wheel of yonder mill,
That with its motion fills the air all day
With sounds monotonous-there from the dawn
Of life till its decline has DORINE liv'd,
The mistress of that little fertile spot.
Each change for many a year her eye has mark'd;
Whether young Spring, profuse of bounty, threw
Forth bud and blossom, or stern Winter laid
Their beauty in the dust. Through storm and calm
There has she dwelt, and led her offspring forth
To make their eyes familiar with the scene
Which spread its charms to court her infant gaze.
Four pledges of her love the matron bore,
Three smiling damsels and a rosy boy-
And watch'd with most maternal tenderness
Their varying progress; but her care was vain,
For in the churchyard three have lain them down,
Wrapt round with grave-clothes-though her doating heart
Fed on their beauty, and her bitter tears
Rain'd on the turf like dew-drops. Many a day,
And long, long sleepless night has she bewail'd
Their loss; and now the sickliest but most fair
Alone survives-she who from youth's gay prime
Was deem'd too delicate to bear the brunt
Of storms that often ravage life. In her
The affections of her heart are all combin'd:
But sad mishap has fall'n upon her-Grief,
Long working like a miner at her vitals,
Hath sapp'd their healthful current, and impair'd
The functions of her brain. Distraught, a wild
Deep melancholy hath absorb'd her mind;
Yet well she loves to guide the tott'ring steps
Of her fond sightless parent to that bower,
And mingle tears with her fast heaving sighs.-
Poor CONSTANCE, her first years were happy; she
Would tread the margin of that ling'ring stream,
Plucking the water-lilies, and entwine
Them in a garland, like the nobler gems
Which sparkle in the circlet of a crown;
And revel in the freshness and the sweets
Of nature with a lover's joy.—And when
Instruction's page was offer'd to her view
She seiz'd its treasures with that ardent zeal
Which made the charms of every bard her own.
Then passion's reign began, and her young breast
Became the seat of tenderest sentiment.
Alone and moody in deep solitude
She spent each leisure hour, conning the tale
Of some disastrous lover-Werter, Paul,
Juliet, or Gertrude. Thus young ALLAN
Found her, and-smitten-delicately prest
His suit. The youth was comely, and the maid
With secret pleasure heard his well-urg'd plea ;
Then warmer hopes fill'd her fond breast,
The softer sensibilities assum'd
Their highest tone, and all that fancy 'd feign'd
Seem'd ripening fast into reality.
Their genuine feelings each reveal'd in terms
Which truth supplied, unknowing or to feign
Or flatter. Then pleasant to them that knoll
Sprinkl'd with daisies o'er, and that soft bank
Beside the spring where primrose buds appear;
There would they linger as detain'd by charms;
And when staid Autumn threw her varying tints
O'er bush and tree they'd seek the woodland walk,
Or that still garden bower, to watch the leaves
Float down the eddying stream, and moralize
On life and its vicissitudes. But all
Is past-Int'rest hath snapt the golden chain,
Woven by Nature in her kindliest mood,
And ev'ry charm's dissolv'd. Forc'd from these
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