Page:Forget Me Not 1836.pdf/3



I pray thee, father, do not turn That dark and angry brow on me— How can I, father, bear a frown? I never met but smiles from thee!

I pray thee pardon if my heart Has owned another love than thine: I pray thee for my mother's sake— You often say her eyes are mine.

I have no memory of those eyes, I never saw my mother's brow— And yet I look to heaven and feel That she is pleading for me now.

She loved you, father, as I love The Earl whose name you will not hear— A love that trembles while it owns That nought on earth can be so dear.

I'll tell you how it was we met: 'Twas when you waited on the king. Of eighteen years that I have known I never saw so sweet a spring.

I staid but little in our halls, The woods around us were so fair; The young leaves seemed like flowers, so bright, So fragrant, and so soft, they were.

The maiden-hair flung o'er the banks Its long, green tresses, and beneath, Hid in its little world of leaves, The violet hung its purple wreath.

The hawthorn spread its perfumed boughs, A very Araby of snow; And sunshine through the aspen flung A trembling shower of gold below.

You know, my father, you first taught My steps to love these wanderings wild; The leaf, the brook, the singing bird, Were your first lessons to your child.