The Poetical Works of Elizabeth Margaret Chandler/Oh Tell Me Not, I Shall Forget

Oh Tell Me Not, I Shall Forget
Oh! tell me not I shall forget, Amid the scenes of nature's reign, The cheeks with bitter tear-drops wet, The hearts whose every throb is pain.

The wood-bird's merry notes may ring, Exulting ‘neath the clear blue sky: But louder still the breezes bring The echo of a sister's cry.

The forest brook may sparkle fair, And win my heart to love its sheen; But still it shows me, mirror'd there, The image of a distant scene.

The verdant sod around my feet, The treasure of its flowers may spread, And close embowering branches meet, In fresh'ning coolness, o'er my head.

Yet not for these, oh! not for these, Can I forget the Afric's woe,— The sighs that float on every breeze, The streaming tears that ceaseless flow.

No! though the loveliness of earth Hath touch'd my spirit like a spell, And sooth'd me back to joy and mirth, When darkness else had round it fell.

Though not the simplest bud, that droops Beneath its weight of morning dew, When light the orient zephyr stoops To trifle with its petals blue;

Though not a breeze that stirs the grove, Or wing that cleaves the summer air, But hath a link upon my love, Or strikes some chord of feeling there;

Yet think not they can lull my heart, To carelessness of human woe; Or bid the bitter tears that start For Afric's wrongs, no longer flow.