Now at the foot of a mountain In the silence and shadow he stood, By the brink of the charmed fountain Whose dark and sullen flood Doth bring forgetfulness to those Who drink its wave, of all their woes. For thence he took The magic flower, And three times shook Its leaves of power, {101} And muttered the word Which in our clime Hath not been heard Since the birth of Time-- This done, 'tis said, If the youth or the maid Of thy heart be untrue, The leaves will fade And fall where they grew; Alas! he knew By this same never-erring token, That the faith of his ocean-love was broken. In mute surprise and grief the youth remained, Gazing upon the stalk unleaved and bare, Which still his hand unconsciously retained, Then proudly tossed it on the green sward there-- "Thus," said he, "from my heart, false one, I cast The memory of thee and of the past." Now o'er the fountain's brim he stooped to lave His eager lip in the oblivious wave; But ere he had approached so near, his breath Might break the mirror sleeping calm beneath, Her image, in the beauty of a dream, Between him and the waters seemed to swim, And memories which his heart unconsciously Had garnered up, came o'er him hurriedly, In sweet succession, 'till his soul of feeling Thrilled like harp-strings o'er which the winds are stealing. He drew back, undecided--in dismay, And as, whene'er he strove, the vision smiled, So was he ever baffled and beguiled, Until at last he rose and went his way-- Unhappy howsoe'er, he fancied yet _Nought could so joyless be as to forget_. MORAL There must be something beautiful in wo That springs from love, else what is it that makes The heart, cling to its veriest sorrows so, And will not part with them until it breaks? Indeed love's pleasure with its pain so blends Like the warm sunset glow, and 'mid heaven's blue, We cannot tell where one begins or ends, Tho' each so totally unlike in hue. ENGLISH POETRY. CHAPTER III.