LUCY.

I.

She dwelt among the untrodden ways
Beside the springs of Dove,

A Maid whom there were none to praise
And very few to love:

A violet by a mossy stone

Half hidden from the eye!

-Fair as a star, when only one
Is shining in the sky.

She lived unknown, and few could know
When Lucy ceased to be;

But she is in her grave, and, oh,
The difference to me!

(1799.)

2.

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
A Lady of my own.

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
Or up the mountain springs;
And hers shall be the breathing balm,
And hers the silence and the calm
Of mute insensate things.

The floating clouds their state shall lend
To her; for her the willow bend;

Nor shall she fail to see

Even in the motions of the Storm

Grace that shall mould the Maiden's form By silent sympathy.

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 beauty born of murmuring sound
Shall pass into her face.

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 doneHow soon my Lucy's race was run!

She died, and left to me

This heath, this calm, and quiet scene;
The memory of what has been,

And never more will be.

(1799.)

3.

A slumber did my spirit seal;

I had no human fears:

She seemed a thing that could not feel
The touch of earthly years.

No motion has she now, no force;
She neither hears nor sees;
Rolled round in earth's diurnal course,
With rocks, and stones, and trees.

(1799.)

THE TWO APRIL MORNINGS.

We walked along, while bright and red
Uprose the morning sun;

And Matthew stopped, he looked, and said, 'The will of God be done!'

A village schoolmaster was he,
With hair of glittering grey;

As blithe a man as you could see
On a spring holiday.

And on that morning, through the grass,

And by the steaming rills,

We travelled merrily, to pass

A day among the hills.

" Our work,' said I, 'was well begun : Then, from thy breast what thought, Beneath so beautiful a sun,

So sad a sigh has brought?'

A second time did Matthew stop,
And fixing still his eye

Upon the eastern mountain-top,
To me he made reply:

'Yon cloud with that long purple cleft
Brings fresh into my mind

A day like this which I have left
Full thirty years behind.

And just above yon slope of corn
Such colours, and no other,
Were in the sky, that April morn,
Of this the very brother.

With rod and line I sued the sport

Which that sweet season gave,

And, to the church-yard come, stopped short Beside my daughter's grave.

Nine summers had she scarcely seen,

The pride of all the vale;

And then she sang;-she would have been A very nightingale.

Six feet in earth my Emma lay;

And yet I loved her more,

For so it seemed, than till that day
I e'er had loved before.

And, turning from her grave, I met,
Beside the churchyard yew,

A blooming Girl, whose hair was wet
With points of morning dew.

A basket on her head she bare;
Her brow was smooth and white:
To see a child so very fair,
It was a pure delight!

No fountain from its rocky cave
E'er tripped with foot so free ;
She seemed as happy as a wave
That dances on the sea.

There came from me a sigh of pain
Which I could ill confine;

THE FOUNTAIN. A CONVERSATION.

We talked with open heart, and tongue
Affectionate and true,

A pair of friends, though I was young,
And Matthew seventy-two.

We lay beneath a spreading oak,

Beside a mossy seat;

And from the turf a fountain broke,

And gurgled at our feet.

Now, Matthew!' said I, 'let us match This water's pleasant tune With some old border-song, or catch That suits a summer's noon;

Or of the church-clock and the chimes
Sing here beneath the shade,
That half-mad thing of witty rhymes
Which you last April made!'

In silence Matthew lay, and eyed
The spring beneath the tree;
And thus the dear old Man replied,
The grey-haired man of glee :

'No check, no stay, this Streamlet fears:

How merrily it goes!

'Twill murmur on a thousand years, And flow as now it flows.

And here, on this delightful day,
I cannot choose but think

How oft, a vigorous man, I lay
Beside this fountain's brink.

My eyes are dim with childish tears,

My heart is idly stirred,

For the same sound is in my ears
Which in those days I heard.