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Literary Gazette, 3rd January, 1835, Pages 11-12
The Knight.
I love the gentle Violet, so modest and so sweet,
Still it is not the darling one my eyes desire to greet—
The little love on this steep rock, alas, you may not meet.
Beside a brook the truest maid now roams with many a tear—
She seeks a little azure flower amid the waters clear—
She gathers it, and I can feel its influence even here!
Strong is the faith of loving hearts it whispereth to me!
Though long within a prison's walls my heavy lot must be,
Yet am I borne in mem'ry by the true and by the free.
Oh, were I sinking to the grave I often ask in vain,
And welcome Death stood by to loose the wasted captive's chain—
Ah, name me the Forget-me-not, I'd wake to life again!
