FORGET-ME-NOT. 
185 
It springs where Avon gently flows 
In wild simplicity, 
And ’neath my cottage-window grows, 
Sacred to love and thee. 
This pretty little flow’ret’s dye 
Of soft cerulean blue, 
' Appears as if from Ellen’s eye 
It had received its hue. 
Though oceans now betwixt us roar, 
Though distant beourlot, 
Ellen ! though we should meet no more. 
Sweet maid, Forget me not! 
'I'he Myosotii pahistris is no where found in 
greater perfection and abundance than on the bank 
of a stream near Luxemburg, which springs from 
the foot of an oak, that appears as old as the world, 
and, forming a number of little cascades, descends 
into an extensive plain. It is only the bank most 
exposed to the south that is thickly bordered by the 
Forget-me-not, and the plants hanging down seem 
to delight in looking dt themselves in the chrystal 
mirror of the stream, which is called The Fairies’ 
bath, or the Cascade of the Enchanted Oak. To 
this favourite spot the young females often descend 
from the ramparts of the city, on holidays, to dance 
S’te 
