Yet may my plaintive strain unite
      And mingle with your dreaming,
    And through the visions of the night
      Just interweave my seeming. 
    Yet no! sleep on with fancy free
      In that untroubled breast;
    No song of mine, no thought of me,
      Deserves to break your rest!

MAIDEN WITH THE GIPSY LOOK.

    Maiden with the gipsy look,
    Dusky locks and russet hue,
    Open wide thy Sybil’s book,
    Tell my fate and tell it true;
    Shall I live? or shall I die? 
    Timely wed, or single be? 
    Maiden with the gipsy eye,
    Read my riddle unto me!

    Maiden with the gipsy face,
    If thou canst not tell me all,
    Tell me thus much, of thy grace,
    Should I climb, or fear to fall? 
    Should I dare, or dread to dare? 
    Should I speak, or silent be? 
    Maiden with the gipsy hair,
    Read my riddle unto me!

    Maiden with the gipsy hair,
    Deep into thy mirror look,
    See my love and fortune there,
    Clearer than in Sybil’s book: 
    Let me cross thy slender palm,
    Let me learn my fate from thee;
    Maiden with the gipsy charm,
    Read my riddle unto me.

AH!  WOULD I COULD FORGET.

    The whispering water rocks the reeds,
    And, murmuring softly, laps the weeds;
    And nurses there the falsest bloom
    That ever wrought a lover’s doom. 
      Forget me not!  Forget me not! 
        Ah! would I could forget! 
      But, crying still, “Forget me not,”
        Her image haunts me yet.

    We wander’d by the river’s brim,
    The day grew dusk, the pathway dim;
    Her eyes like stars dispell’d the gloom,
    Her gleaming fingers pluck’d the bloom. 
      Forget me not!  Forget me not! 
        Ah! would I could forget! 
      But, crying still, “Forget me not,”
        Her image haunts me yet.

    The pale moon lit her paler face,
    And coldly watch’d our last embrace,
    And chill’d her tresses’ sunny hue,
    And stole that flower’s turquoise blue. 
      Forget me not!  Forget me not! 
        Ah! would I could forget! 
      But, crying still, “Forget me not,”
        Her image haunts me yet.

    The fateful flower droop’d to death,
    The fair, false maid forswore her faith;
    But I obey a broken vow,
    And keep those wither’d blossoms now! 
      Forget me not!  Forget me not! 
        Ah! would I could forget! 
      But, crying still, “Forget me not,”
        Her image haunts me yet.

    Sweet lips that pray’d—­“Forget me not!”
    Sweet eyes that will not be forgot! 
    Recall your prayer, forego your power,
    Which binds me by the fatal flower. 
      Forget me not!  Forget me not! 
        Ah! would I could forget! 
      But, crying still, “Forget me not,”
        Her image haunts me yet.