‘Forgive, forgive!’ I wailed, the wild tears streaming, As, ’mid the moaning trees, I stood alone; ‘Love, let thy kisses wake me from my dreaming.’ Thy pleading voice, thy tortured face, was gone. That angry word, I may recall it never; For o’er thy narrow grave, rank weeds have grown. ‘Remember, love, that it may be for ever.’ Ah, words prophetic! love, had I but known! My locks are gray, my eyes are dim with weeping, The face once loved by thee, no longer fair; Beneath the daisies, thou art calmly sleeping: There, a lone woman often kneels in prayer. Ah, sweetheart mine, thou art so lowly lying, Thou canst not hear the tearful voice above, That with the night-wind evermore is sighing: ‘I spoke in anger! oh, forgive me, love!’ FANNY FORRESTER. * * * * * Printed and Published by W. & R. CHAMBERS, 47 Paternoster Row, LONDON, and 339 High Street, EDINBURGH. * * * * * _All Rights Reserved._