For ge t-me-no t. 
i75 
his exile adopted this blossom as his emblem, with the motto 
Souveigne vous de moi. 
The following lines appeared in the “New Monthly Maga¬ 
zine ” some years ago, and were addressed to a young lady, 
who, on the author handing her into a carriage, held out at 
the window a bouquet which he had presented to her, and 
which was chiefly composed of forget-me-nots : 
“I culled each flow’ret for my fair, 
The wild thyme and the heather bell: 
And round them twined a tendril rare— 
She said the posy pleased her well. 
But of the flowers that deck the field, 
Or grace the garden of the cot, 
Though others richer perfumes yield, 
The sweetest is forget-me-not. 
“We roamed the mead, we climbed the hill, 
We rambled o’er the breckan brae ; 
The trees that crowned the mossy rill, 
They screened us from the glare of day. 
She said she loved the sylvan bower, 
Was charmed with ev’ry rural spot; 
And when arrived the parting hour, 
Her last words were * forget me not! ’ ” 
The subject more than the treatment of this simple lay has 
secured it a place in this floral casket; but a brighter and 
more precious gem shall now be set herein. This pathetic 
and original poem, entitled “ Can you forget me ?” was contri¬ 
buted to a contemporary annual by L. E. L. Although it 
does not especially mention the emblem of which this chapter 
treats, its appropriateness will assuredly be unquestioned. 
“Can you forget me? I, who have cherish’d 
The veriest trifle that was memory’s link ; 
The roses that you gave me, although perish’d, 
Were precious in my sight; they made me think 
You took them in their scentless beauty stooping, 
From the warm shelter of the garden wall: 
Autumn, while into languid Winter drooping, 
Gave its last blossoms, opening but to fall. 
Can you forget them ? 
“ Can you forget me ? I am not relying 
On plighted vows—alas ! I know their worth. 
Man’s faith to woman is a trifle, dying 
Upon the very breath that gave it birth. 
