BOEAGE TRIBE 259 



" For the lady fair of the Kniglit so true 

 Still i-eniember'd his hapless lot ; 

 And she cherish'd the flower of brilliant hue, 

 And she braided her hair with the blossoms blue, 

 And she call'd it, 'Forget me not.' " 



Miss Strickland's narrative of the origin of the name is almost as 

 interesting as this, and we must confess to believing it more probable. Henry 

 of Lancaster, she considers, was the first who gave to the Forget-me-not its 

 mblematic and poetic meaning, by uniting it, at the period of his exile, one 

 his collar of S S with the initial letter of his mot or watchword, Souveigne-vous 

 de moi Henry exchanged this token of good-will and remembrance with his 

 hostess, who was at that time the wife of the Duke of Bretagne. Mrs. Abdy 

 has written some verses for our volume, embodying this narrative : — 



" Forget me-not— thou flower to poets dear, 



They ever place thee in a sylvan scene, 

 Amid the reeds that fringe the streamlets clear, 



Or on STuooth meadow banks of vernal green : 

 Few bear in mind that regal pride and power 

 Were once connected with the simple flower. 

 "For me, the page of History I scan, 



And give to thee, sweet flower, distinction due ; 

 Henry of Lancaster, a banish'd man, 



Arises in his exile to my view, 

 Condemn'd by royal Richard's stern command 

 Awhile to quit his home and native land. 

 " Yet were his daring hopes unchanged, unquell'd ; 



Eager the ruler of our realm to be. 

 Counsel with friends and followers he held 



In secrecy : — his token-flower was thee ; 

 Link'd with a watchword, meet for court or cot, 

 The touching, deep appeal. Forget me not. 

 " Time pass'd ; again he sought his native land. 



Not, as of old, oppress'd by Fortune's frown ; 

 'Mid bold adherents, a devoted band. 



He fought — and won the prize of England's crown, 

 A crown in part attain'd, sweet flower, through thee 

 By thy mute spell, thy mystic agency. 

 "Those times are gone— and now the passing throng 



Connect thee with the sighs of those who part, 

 With the sweet burden of a plaintive song, 



With the soft breathings of a loving heart : 

 Nor deem that once thy lowly blossom met 

 The favoiu' of a proud Plantagenet ! 

 "Perchance 'tis better thus : — Earth's lofty things — 



The laurel trophy gain'd in battle -strii'e. 

 The pomp of courts, the pageantry of kings — 



Pervade not our familiar walks of life ; 

 But Love and Truth difluse their gentle sway 

 O'er the calm course of each returning day. 

 "I will not number thee with regal flowers, — 



No, still remain in meek and humble grace, 

 A dweller in green vales and leafy bowers, 



A silent witness of the fond embrace. 

 When friends or lovers part in some lone spot, 

 And sigh in faltering tones, ' Forget me not.' "' 



The plant is as much prized all over the Continent as in this kingdom., 

 and is generally regarded throughout Europe as the Forget-me-not. The 

 Danes call it Fargjaci mij ej, Coleridge remarks of it, " It has the same name, 



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