118 ^crs-et-mr-not. 
For the waves prevail, and his stout arms fail, 
Though cheered by his lady’s sight. 
Then the blossoms blue to the bank he threw, 
Ere he sank in the eddying tide; 
And “Lady, I’m gone, thine own knight true, 
Forget me not,” he cried. 
This farewell pledge the lady caught; 
And hence, as legends say, 
The flower is a sign to awaken thought' 
In friends who are far away. 
For the lady fair of her knight so true, 
Still remembered the hapless lot: 
And she cherished the flower of brilliant hue, 
And she braided her hair with the blossoms blue 
And then called it “Forget-me-not!” 
Mant. 
To flourish in my favourite bower, 
To blossom round my cot, 
I cultivate the little flower 
They call Forget-me-not. 
This pretty little floweret’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. 
