I saw her but a moment Beneath the apple tree; There was no one to listen, No eyes were there to see. I heard her soft voice singing, Her song was one of love; Her bright eyes seemed to borrow Light from the stars above. I saw her but a moment As ’neath the tree she sat; I threw at her the poker―― (She was――my neighbour’s cat). ――――:o:―――― OH! NO, WE NEVER MENTION HER. Oh! no, we never mention her, her name is never heard, My lips are now forbid to speak, that once familiar word; From sport to sport they hurry me, to banish my regret, And when they win a smile from me they think that I forget. They bid me seek in change of scene the charms that others see, But were I in a foreign land, they’d find no change in me. ’Tis true that I behold no more the valley where we met, I do not see the hawthorn tree, but how can I forget? For oh! there are so many things recall the past to me, The breeze upon the sunny hills, the billows of the sea; The rosy tint that decks the sky before the sun is set, Aye, every leaf I look upon forbids that I forget. They tell me she is happy now, the gayest of the gay, They hint that she forgets me too, but I heed not what they say; Perhaps like me she struggles with each feeling of regret, But if she loves as I have loved, she never can forget. THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY. ―――― ANSWER TO “OH! NO, WE NEVER MENTION HER!” Oh! am I then remembered still, Remembered too by thee! Or am I quite forgot by one, Whom I no more shall see? Yet, say not so, for that would add Fresh anguish to my lot. I dare not hope to be recall’d, Yet would not be forgot. Had they who parted us but known How hearts like our’s can feel, They would have spared us both a pang, Beyond their power to heal. I know not if my heart retains, Its wonted warmth or not; Though I’m forbid to think of thee, Thou’lt never be forgot. May’st thou enjoy that peace of mind, Which I can never know, If that’s denied my prayer shall be, That I may share thy woe. Where’er thou art my every wish, Will linger o’er that spot, My every thought will be of thee, Though I may be forgot. If we should meet in after years, Thou’lt find that I am changed; My eyes grow dim, my cheeks grow pale, But not my faith estrang’d: From mem’ry’s page the hand of death, Alone thy name shall blot, Forget, forsake me, if thou wilt, Thou’lt never be forgot. ―――― Lines suggested by the failure of Mr. Thomas Haynes Bayly’s Farce, “Decorum.”