For ge t-me-no t. 
173 
takes its suggestive title. When Lord Scales, brother to Eliza¬ 
beth Woodville, wife of Edward IV., tilted against a French 
knight of Burgundy, the ladies of the Court playfully presented 
him with a collar of gold, brilliantly enamelled with these little 
blossoms, as a fitting reward for an English knight’s emprise 
of arms either on horseback or on foot. This historical in¬ 
cident proves the admiration in which this simple wild flower 
was held even in olden times. 
The forget-me-not flourishes in great luxuriance on the 
banks of a beautiful rivulet in the vicinity of Luxembourg ; 
and one particular portion of this stream, facing the sunny 
south, is known by the title of “ The Fairies’ Bath.” Hither 
in the summer come the young city maidens to hold their 
merry meetings and dances upon the bloomy sward; and, 
should any modern Actaeon presume to peep through the 
leafy branches, he may behold them innocently diverting 
themselves by wreathing garlands of, and crowning each other 
with, the blue-petalled forget-me-nots that line the brooklet’s 
banks. 
In many parts of France this little flower is carefully culti¬ 
vated for transplantation to the city markets, where its ap¬ 
pealing looks readily procure purchasers for it. 
The following verses, entitled “ Forget me not,” appeared 
some few years ago : 
“Dear girl, I send this spray of flowers—- 
All withered now, once brightest bine— 
To call to mind those happy hours, 
Those happy hours I pass’d with you. 
Forget me not ! though others win 
The glorious right to call thee ‘ theirs; ’ 
Forget me not! that might have been 
The answer to my fervid prayers. 
“For I have had thy hand in mine, 
And once our ways in life seem’d blended; 
And once I thought our loves might twine, 
But now, alas ! that dream is ended. 
Forget me not! for I am lonely, 
And stranded on Life’s desert shore ; 
Forget me not!—I ask that only— 
• For now our paths may meet no more. 
“Could I but think you don’t forget, 
Though all my hopes of life should perish, 
I’d pass them by without regret, 
So that that thought I still might cherish. 
