| |
| 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; | 5 |
| 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; | 10 |
| 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 | 15 |
| 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!’ | 20 |
| |
| At this the Father raised his hook, | |
| And snapped a fagot-brand: | |
| He plied his work;—and Lucy took | |
| The lantern in her hand. | |
| |
| Not blither is the mountain roe: | 25 |
| 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; | 30 |
| 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 | 35 |
| 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. | 40 |
| |
| 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 | 45 |
| 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; | 50 |
| 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; | 55 |
| 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. | 60 |
| |
| O’er rough and smooth she trips along, | |
| And never looks behind; | |
| And sings a solitary song | |
| That whistles in the wind. | |
| |
