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"To die for thee, my love, is sweet;
Yet quickly me pursuing,

O'er yon bright star soon let us meet,
And love have sweet renewing;

And hear me, ere the waters blot
Thee from my sight, Forget-me-not!"
He said, and sunk forever.

But gently from his sinking hand
The waters washed the flower,
Which drifted to the neighboring strand,
Drawn by magnetic power.

She raised it thence, and weeping pressed
The fatal blossom to her breast,

In woe that mocked controlling.

Then turning from her lover's grave,
The mourning one departed,
To fade like the last gift he gave,
All lone and broken hearted.
Now both in heaven have happier lot,
And called since then Forget-me-not

Has been that small blue flower.

WHAT SHALL I DO?"

BY J. S. A.

"O, WHAT shall I do?" said Rosell, with a sigh, With a smile on her lip, and a tear in her eye; "For, lo, he hath sent for my miniature now, And soon he will send for the pearls on my brow; Then he will want that which no one has got Save myself- what is it?

what.

Ah, you must guess

"Here is his letter- 'tis really provoking;
I almost believe the fellow is joking:
He praises my form, calls my face very fair,
Expatiates some on the shade of my hair;
He talks of my eyes in a rapture of bliss,
And wonders if I would refuse him

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a kiss.

And, O, what a flatterer! I can't understand

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Why he should call mine a lily-white hand.'
My eyes so enchanting,' my 'features so true,'
I don't think them any thing extra-do you?

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