92 FABLES OF FLORA. 
FABLE XXVI. 
The Forget-me-not. 
From a wood-fountain springs a silvery rill; 
It winds through sunny meadows, near a cot 
That stands upon the green slope of a hill; 
And its swift course is checked in many a spot, 
By the luxuriant, blue Forget-me-not. 
Within that cot, an aged dame abides ; 
And sometimes, in the warm and sunny days, 
She creeps along the rivulet’s grassy sides, 
And, by her staff supported, oft essays 
To reach the heaven-eyed flowers that tempt 
her gaze. 
Long will she stand, and fix her faded eye 
Upon the fairy blossoms; then will press 
Her lean hands on her aged heart, and sigh ; 
While o’er her face, now pale and motionless, 
Will pass a vivid flush of keen distress. 
Long years ago, when that dim eye was bright 
With youth, and joy, and fondly plighted love, 
She, with her chosen, o’er a grassy height 
Had wandered far, until they reached a grove, 
All flowers and moss beneath, and leaves above. 
