[Composed 1799.-Published 1800.1
Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray: And, when I crossed the wild, I chanced to see at break of day The solitary child.
No mate, no comrade Lucy knew; She dwelt on a wide moor, -The sweetest thing that ever grew Beside a human door!
You yet may spy the fawn at play, The hare upon the green; But the sweet face of Lucy Gray Will never more be seen.
"To-night will be a stormy night- You to the town must go; And take a lantern, Child, to light Your mother through the snow."
"That, Father; will I gladly do: "Tis scarcely afternoon
The minster-clock has just struck two, And yonder is the moon!"
At this the Father raised his hook, And snapped a faggot-band; He plied his work;-and Lucy took The lantern in her hand.
Not blither is the mountain roe: With many a wanton stroke Her feet disperse the powdery snow, That rises up like smoke.
The storm came on before its time: She wandered up and down; And many a hill did Lucy climb: But never reached the town.
The wretched parents all that night Went shouting far and wide; But there was neither sound nor sight To serve them for a guide.
At day-break on a hill they stood That overlooked the moor;
And thence they saw the bridge of wood, A furlong from their door.
They wept-and, turning homeward, cried, "In heaven we all shall meet;" -When in the snow the mother spied The print of Lucy's feet.
Then downwards from the steep hill's edge They tracked the footmarks small; And through the broken hawthorn hedge, And by the long stone-wall;
And then an open field they crossed: The marks were still the same; They tracked them on, nor ever lost; And to the bridge they came.
They followed from the snowy bank Those footmarks, one by one,
Into the middle of the plank;
And further there were none!
-Yet some maintain that to this day She is a living child;
That you may see sweet Lucy Gray Upon the lonesome wild.
O'er rough and smooth she trips along, And never looks behind; And sings a solitary song
That whistles in the wind.
[Composed 1799.-Published 1800.]
When Ruth was left half desolate, Her Father took another Mate; And Ruth, not seven years old, A slighted child, at her own will Went wandering over dale and hill, In thoughtless freedom, bold.
And she had made a pipe of straw, And music from that pipe could draw Like sounds of winds and floods; Had built a bower upon the green, As if she from her birth had been An infant of the woods.
Beneath her father's roof, alone She seemed to live; her thoughts her own; Herself her own delight;
Pleased with herself, nor sad, nor gay; And, passing thus the live-long day, She grew to woman's height.
There came a Youth from Georgia's shore
A military casque he wore,
With splendid feathers drest;
He brought them from the Cherokees; The feathers nodded in the breeze,
And made a gallant crest.
From Indian blood you deem him sprung: But no; he spake the English tongue, And bore a soldier's name;
And, when America was free From battle and from jeopardy, He 'cross the ocean came.
With hues of genius on his cheek In finest tones the Youth could speak: -While he was yet a boy,
The moon, the glory of the sun, And streams that murmur as they run, Had been his dearest joy.
He was a lovely Youth! I guess The panther in the wilderness
Was not so fair as he;
And, when he chose to sport and play, No dolphin ever was so gay
Upon the tropic sea.
Among the Indians he had fought, And with him many tales he brought Of pleasure and of fear;
Such tales as told to any maid
By such a Youth, in the green shade,. Were perilous to hear.
He told of girls-a happy rout!
Who quit their fold with dance and shout, Their pleasant Indian town, To gather strawberries all day long; Returning with a choral song
When daylight is gone down.
He spake of plants that hourly change Their blossoms, through a boundless range
Of intermingling hues;
With budding, fading, faded flowers They stand the wonder of the bowers
From morn to evening dews.
He told of the magnolia, spread High as a cloud, high over head! The cypress and her spire;
-Of flowers that with one scarlet gleam Cover a hundred leagues, and seem To set the hills on fire.
The Youth of green savannahs spake, And many an endless, endless lake, With all its fairy crowds Of islands, that together lie As quietly as spots of sky Among the evening clouds.
"How pleasant," then he said, "it were A fisher or a hunter there,
In sunshine or in shade
To wander with an easy mind; And build a household fire, and find A home in every glade!
"What days and what bright years! Ah me! Our life were life indeed, with thee
So passed in quiet bliss,
And all the while," said he, "to know That we were in a world of woe, On such an earth as this!"
And then he sometimes interwove Fond thoughts about a father's love: "For there," said he, "are spun Around the heart such tender ties, That our own children to our eyes Are dearer than the sun.
"Sweet Ruth! and could you go with me My helpmate in the woods to be,
Our shed at night to rear; Or run, my own adopted bride, A sylvan huntress at my side, And drive the flying deer!
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