1

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 over-looked the moor;

And thence they saw the bridge of wood,

A furlong from their door.

They wept and, turning homeward, cried,1

"In heaven we all shall meet;"

-When in the snow the mother spied
The print of Lucy's feet.

1827.

And now they homeward turned, and cryed,
And, turning homeward, now they cried,

1800.

1815.

Then downwards from the steep hill's edge 1
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.

This poem was illustrated by Sir George Beaumont, in a picture of some merit, which was engraved by P. C. Bromley, and published in the collected editions of 1815 and 1820.-ED.

1 1845.

Then downward from the steep hill's edge

Half breathless from the steep hill's edge

1800.

1832.

[Written in Germany, 1799. Suggested by an account I had of a

wanderer in Somersetshire.]

WHEN Ruth was left half-desolate,

Her Father took another Mate;
And Ruth, not seven years old,
A slighted child, at her own will1
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,

1 1802.

2

As if she from her birth had been
An infant of the woods.2

Beneath her father's roof, alone

She seemed to live; her thoughts her own;

3 1827.

Herself her own delight;

Pleased with herself, nor sad, nor gay;

And, passing thus the live-long day,

She grew to woman's height.3

There came a Youth from Georgia's shore

A military casque he wore,

A slighted child,

This Stanza not in edition 1800.

She passed her time; and in this way

Grew up to woman's height.

1800.

1802.

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; 1

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.

He spake of plants divine and strange
That every day their blossoms change,
Ten thousand lovely hues !

every hour

Magnolia grandiflora. 1800.

1800.

1802.

+ The splendid appearance of these scarlet flowers, which are scattered with such profusion over the Hills in the southern parts of North America, is frequently mentioned by Bartram in his travels. 1800.