FORGE T-ME-NO T. 
With outstretched arms upon the shore she stood, 
With tearful eye she gazed upon the flood, 
Whose swelling tide now seemed as if Wild sever 
Her faithful lover from her arms for ever. 
Still through the surge he panting strove to gain 
1 he welcome strand—but, ah 1 he strove in vain ! 
Yet once the false stream bore him to the spot 
Where stood his bride in muteness of despair: 
And scarcely had he said, “ Forget me not!” 
And flung the dearly ransomed flowerets there, 
When the dark wave closed o’er him, and no more, 
Was seen young Rodolph on the Danube’s shore. 
Aghast she stood; she saw the tranquil stream 
Pass o er him—could it be a fleeting dream ? 
Ah, no ! the last fond words, “Forget me not!” 
Told it was all a sad reality. 
With frantic grasp the dripping flowers she prest, 
Too dearly purchased, to her aching breast. 
Alas ! her tears, her sorrows now were vain, 
For him she loved she ne’er shall see again ! 
Is this then a bridal, where, sad in her bower, 
The maid weeps alone at the nuptial hour; 
Where hushed is the harp, and silent the lute_ 
Ah ! why should their thrilling strains be mute ? 
And where is young Rodolph ? where stays the 
bridegroom ? 
Go, ask the dark waters, for there is his tomb. 
Often at eve when maidens rove 
Beside the Danube’s wave, 
I 
