The maiden took the tiny flower And nursed it with her tears: Lo! he who left her in that hour Came not in after years. Unto a hero's death he rode 'Mid shower of fire and shot; But in the maiden's heart abode The flower, forget-me-not. And when _he_ came not with the rest From out the years of blood, Closely unto her widowed breast She pressed a faded bud; Oh, there is love and there is pain, And there is peace, God wot,-- And these dear three do live again In sweet forget-me-not. 'T is to an unmarked grave to-day That I should love to go,-- Whether he wore the blue or gray, What need that we should know? "He loved a woman," let us say, And on that sacred spot, To woman's love, that lives for aye, We'll strew forget-me-not. 1887. HORACE TO MELPOMENE Lofty and enduring is the monument I've reared,-- Come, tempests, with your bitterness assailing; And thou, corrosive blasts of time, by all things mortal feared, Thy buffets and thy rage are unavailing! I shall not altogether die; by far my greater part Shall mock man's common fate in realms infernal; My works shall live as tributes to my genius and my art,-- My works shall be my monument eternal! While this great Roman empire stands and gods protect our fanes, Mankind with grateful hearts shall tell the story, How one most lowly born upon the parched Apulian plains First raised the native lyric muse to glory. Assume, revered Melpomene, the proud estate I've won, And, with thine own dear hand the meed supplying, Bind thou about the forehead of thy celebrated son The Delphic laurel-wreath of fame undying! AILSIE, MY BAIRN Lie in my arms, Ailsie, my bairn,-- Lie in my arms and dinna greit; Long time been past syn I kenned you last, But my harte been allwais the same, my swete. Ailsie, I colde not say you ill, For out of the mist of your bitter tears, And the prayers that rise from your bonnie eyes Cometh a promise of oder yeres. I mind the time when we lost our bairn,-- Do you ken that time? A wambling tot, You wandered away ane simmer day, And we hunted and called, and found you not. I promised God, if He'd send you back, Alwaies to keepe and to love you, childe; And I'm thinking again of that promise when I see you creep out of the storm sae wild. You came back then as you come back now,-- Your kirtle torn and your face all white; And you stood outside and knockit and cried, Just as you, dearie, did to-night. Oh, never a word of the cruel wrang, That has faded your cheek and dimmed your ee; And never a word of the fause, fause lord,-- Only a smile and a kiss for me. Lie in my arms, as long, long syne, And sleepe on my bosom, deere wounded thing,-- I'm nae sae glee as I used to be, Or I'd sing you the songs I used to sing. But Ile kemb my fingers thro' y'r haire, And nane shall know, but you and I, Of the love and the faith that came to us baith When Ailsie, my bairn, came home to die.