The Well of Oblivion

There is, they say, a secret well,
In Ardennes' forest grey,
Whose waters boast a numbing spell,
That memory must obey.

Who tastes the rill so cool and calm
In passion's wild distress,
Their breasts imbibe the sullen balm
Of deep forgetfulness.

And many a maid has sought the grove,
And bowed beside the wave;
But few have borne to lose the love"
That wore them to the grave.

No! by these tears, whose ceaseless smart
My reason chides in vain;
By all the secret of a heart
That never told its pain;

By all the walks that once were dear,
Beneath the greenwood bough;
By all the songs that soothed his ear
Who will not listen now;

By every dream of hope gone by
That haunts my slumber yet, —
A love-sick heart may long to die,
But never to forget.