%images;]> lchtml-000904 From an unpublished poem, "Eillill." [Poem]. ...: a machine readable transcription. Lewis Carroll Scrapbook, Library of Congress Selected and converted. American Memory, Library of Congress.

Washington, DC, 2003.

Preceding element provides place and date of transcription only.

For more information about this text and this American Memory collection, refer to accompanying matter.

 Rare Book & Special Collections Division, Library of Congress. Public Domain

The National Digital Library Program at the Library of Congress makes digitized historical materials available for education and scholarship.

This transcription is intended to have an accuracy rate of 99.95 percent or greater and is not intended to reproduce the appearance of the original work. The accompanying images provide a facsimile of this work and represent the appearance of the original.

 2004/05/06
0001

FROM AN UNPUBLISHED POEM, “EILLIL.”

I sing the song of a thousand years, A music that cannot die; I open the springs of upbraiding tears; I dry them in many an eye: To the crowded ball, to the lonely bower, I carry the spell of a charmed flower, The Faërie Forget-me-not.

The Lily was given a wealthy dower— It dies, and its scent is gone; The cold dead Rose is a nobler flower, Prized high when life is done: But richer by far in storied fame Than Lily or Rose is my charmèd name— My words are never forgot.

Uncultured—a wildling of Nature's birth— Nor beauty nor scent are my dower; And little care I what nook in the earth Be decked with my delicate flower; Look deep, look long: in that wee blue well Lurketh the charm of a wizard spell That never can be forgot.

I dare when sicklier hearts delay; I bring the distant near; I fly with the unvoiced words away And whisper them in the ear; In the message I breathe is a living power; I sing the song of the charmèd flower, Never to be forgot.

The Song of the Forget-me-not.

The home of thy childhood, the scenes that awoke A tale in each stone and repeopled each nook, May all be forgot—

The father that cherished, the mother that bare, The friend of thy youth, and thy one sister's care, May all be forgot—

The enemy's blow, and the slanderer's breath, The grief that struck keenest, the first blank of death; May all be forgot—

But oh! forget thee—how shall I Forget thee, Lady, till I die? And whither, whither can I fly Out of my haunting memory? Oh! how can I forget?

The night, that shadows all the earth, In slumber gives thy dream-form birth: The dawning wakes me to a dearth— A vanished hope—a lonely hearth— Oh! how can I forget?

As birds trill o'er and o'er their strain, My dying hope, revived in vain, Battles while yielding its domain, Like shores which greedy waves regain— Oh! how can I forget?

Though the steed thou ridest be swift as wind, I'll follow o'er hill and dell: I'll spring from the hoof-flung sods, and find Rich room for my secret spell. The thoughts I quicken can never die, For I breathe a charm on the memory, That nothing may be forgot.

Though thou sailest the sea, I'll wait on the shore, Where'er thou shalt set thy feet: I'll haunt thy path for evermore, Still whispering when we meet— “From the heart of thy lover that loveth thee well My flower shall carry its deathless spell, My Faërie Forget-me-not,”

Theta.