POETRY.
A NEW "LEGEND OF THE FORGET-ME-NOT." WHEN Psyche lost her Lord, the Lord of Love, Weeping alone she wandered, Listless by every well-known field and grove, And on her lost Love pondered.
Lastly by Lethe's stream her footsteps strayed ; And " Oh !" she said, in sighing, " That I might dip, and my past life be made Like dreams with daylight dying !"
The big tears from her blue eyes raining down Fell on earth's pitying bosom : Sudden there sprang amid the sedges brown Blue as her eyes a blossom.
And o'er her head, soft rustling sweet and low, As though some bird's wing fluttered, In those loved tones whose loss was all her woe, " Forget-me-not !" was uttered.
No more : no sight, no touch : these words alone : And " Ah !" she cried, " forget thee?
Nay, but half Love in our glad life was known ; Half Love is to regret thee.
" Forget thee ? Nay, these flowers my tears begot Shall be to me a token Of Love : they shall be called Forget-me-not, The name to cheer me spoken."
So well, sweet river-flowers, we welcome you, Earth with faint sadness scenting,—
Born of the tears from Psyche's eyes of blue, For her lost Love lamenting. F. W. B.
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