Page images
[ocr errors][ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors]

Tuys fins tvojimny star come io

1. del fons filleiten mms depa.. I had to be done so fast vinesthey fees,

A melna se sut the heart :

a pone and in a merry fit

P upstairs in gamesome race: 19 Infecteg by their mood, — 1 ou have joined the wanton chase.


past-and O, the change ! upon their beds they lie; sy limbs in perfect rest, dorted the sparkling eye.

friend" of TV orasmantha



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 afternoonThe 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 daybreak 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..

Half breathless 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 farther 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.

Wordsworth. WE ARE SEVEN.

A simple Child, That lightly draws its breath, And feels its life in every limb,

What should it know of death ?

I met a little cottage Girl :

She was eight years old, she said ; Her hair was thick with many a curl

That clustered round her head.

She had a rustic, woodland air,

And she was wildly clad ;
Her eyes were fair, and very fair,

-Her beauty made me glad.

“Sisters and brothers, little maid,

How many may you be ?” “How many ? Seven in all,” she said,

And wondering looked at me.

“And where are they? I pray you tell ;”.

She answered, “ Seven are we ; And two of us at Conway dwell,

And two are gone to sea.

« PreviousContinue »