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Shut close the door; press down the latch;
Sleep in thy intellectual crust;
But who is He, with modest looks,
He is retired as noontide dew,
The outward shows of sky and earth,
Have come to him in solitude.
In common things that round us lie
That broods and sleeps on his own heart.
But he is weak; both Man and Boy,
-Come hither in thy hour of strength; Come, weak as is a breaking wave! Here stretch thy body at full length; Or build thy house upon this grave.
LUCY GRAY; OR, SOLITUDE.
Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray:
No mate, no comrade Lucy knew;
-The sweetest thing that ever grew
You yet may spy the fawn at play,
'To-night will be a stormy night-
'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,
He plied his work ;-and Lucy took
Not blither is the mountain roe:
The storm came on before its time:
And many a hill did Lucy climb,
The wretched parents all that night
But there was neither sound nor sight
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,
Then downwards from the steep hill's edge
And then an open field they crossed;
They followed from the snowy bank
-Yet some maintain that to this day
That you may see sweet Lucy Gray
O'er rough and smooth she trips along,
She dwelt among the untrodden ways
A Maid whom there were none to praise
A violet by a mossy stone
Half hidden from the eye!
-Fair as a star, when only one
She lived unknown, and few could know
But she is in her grave, and, oh,
Three years she grew in sun and shower, Then Nature said, 'A lovelier flower
On earth was never sown;
This Child I to myself will take,
She shall be mine, and I will make
Myself will to my darling be
Both law and impulse: and with me
The Girl, in rock and plain,
In earth and heaven, in glade and bower,
Shall feel an overseeing power
To kindle or restrain.
She shall be sportive as the fawn
That wild with glee across the lawn
And hers shall be the breathing balm,
The floating clouds their state shall lend
Nor shall she fail to see
Even in the motions of the Storm
Grace that shall mould the Maiden's form
The stars of midnight shall be dear
To her; and she shall lean her ear
In many a secret place
Where rivulets dance their wayward round,
And vital feelings of delight
Shall rear her form to stately height,
Her virgin bosom swell;
Such thoughts to Lucy I will give
While she and I together live
Here in this happy dell.'
Thus Nature spake-The work was done-
She died, and left to me
This heath, this calm, and quiet scene;
And never more will be.
A slumber did my spirit seal;
I had no human fears:
She seemed a thing that could not feel
No motion has she now, no force;