FABLES OF FLORA. 93 
Within this wood, a deep blue lake was hid, 
And little islands gemmed its peaceful breast; 
One, with Clematis vines o’ercanopied, 
And in its robe of summer blossoms dressed, 
Lay scarce a footstep from the ground they 
pressed. 
‘ Those little blue-eyed flowers!’ the maiden cried; 
‘ O, see them, Ernest, drooping o’er the brink 
Of that sweet isle! Now shall thy love be tried, 
Thou gallant knight! So swear that, “ swim 
or sink,” 
Those flowers around my brow thy hand shall 
link! > 
The lover, smiling, vowed it o’er and o’er, 
And leaped right gayly toward the flowery plot; 
But fell, alas! and sunk — yet not before 
He grasped the flowers, and threw them 
toward the spot 
Where Mary sat, crying, ‘ Forget-me-not! ’ 
Forget thee! Years and years have passed 
since then, 
Yet still poor Mary o’er one memory broods. 
She speaks not — smiles not — shuns the paths 
of men, 
And haunts alone the streamlets and the woods, 
Not wild, but sad, even in her calmest moods. 
