Khovansky.

Through the silent evening hours, Musing on my cares, I roved; And amused me gathering flowers, Forming wreaths for him I loved. Pensively I wander’d round, Till the sun had left the plain; Many and many a flower I found, But one flower I sought in vain. Through the solitary even Every where that flower I sought; ’Tis a flower as blue as heaven— ’Twas in vain—I found it not. Mournful I was homeward going, When—a gentle rivulet nigh, I espied that flow’ret growing— Which I pluck’d in ecstasy. Sweet Forget-me-not! elated, Tears express’d my bursting thought, And I sigh’d, and I repeated, O my friend! Forget-me-not! Gold and glare to me are dim— He is dearer far than they; They can add no charm to him— ‘Maid! I love thee!’ charmer, say!