Of trespasses, affected to provoke Not less if unattended and alone Than when both young and old sit gathered round And take delight in its activity; Even so this happy Creature of herself Is all-sufficient; solitude to her Is blithe society, who fills the air Light are her sallies as the tripping fawn's Of the soft breeze ruffling the meadow-flowers, LUCY GRAY ;* OR, SOLITUDE. OFT I had heard of Lucy Gray: No mate, no comrade Lucy knew ; -The sweetest thing that ever grew Written at Goslar, in Germany, 1798-99. 1811. You yet may spy the fawn at play, But the sweet face of Lucy Gray "To-night will be a stormy night- And take a lantern, Child, to light 66 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 : Her feet disperse the powdery snow, The storm came on before its time: She wandered up and down; And many a hill did Lucy climb : The wretched parents all that night Went shouting far and wide ; But there was neither sound nor sight At day-break on a hill they stood And thence they saw the bridge of wood, 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 They tracked the footmarks small; And through the broken hawthorn hedge, And by the long stone-wall; And then an open field they crossed: They tracked them on, nor ever lost; They followed from the snowy bank And further there were none ! - -Yet some maintain that to this day That you may see sweet Lucy Gray * And turning homeward, now they cried.-Edit. 1815. O'er rough and smooth she trips along, And never looks behind; That whistles in the wind.* ALICE FELL;† OR, POVERTY. THE post-boy drove with fierce career, Was smitten with a startling sound. As if the wind blew many ways, I heard the sound,—and more and more; At length I to the boy called out; "The way in which the incident is treated, and the spiritualising of the character, might furnish hints for contrasting the imaginative influences which I have endeavoured to throw over common life, with Crabbe's matter of fact style of handling subjects of the same kind."-W. W. This poem was written at Grasmere, February, 1802. The incident occurred with a Mr. Graham, brother of the Poet, who wrote "The Sabbath. The poem has been omitted from some editions of Mr. Wordsworth's works, but he restored it to the latest editions at the request of some friends, and particularly his son-in-law, Mr. Edward Quillinan. When suddenly I seemed to hear A moan, a lamentable sound.-Edit. 1815. The boy then smacked his whip, and fast Forthwith alighting on the ground, "Whence comes," said I, "this piteous moan? And there a little Girl I found, Sitting behind the chaise, alone. My cloak!" no other word she spake, As if her innocent heart would break; "What ails you, child?"—she sobbed "Look here!" I saw it in the wheel entangled, A weather-beaten rag as e'er From any garden scare-crow dangled. There, twisted between nave and spoke, "And whither are you going, child, *Said I, alighting on the ground, What can it be this piteous moan?-Edit. 1815. A wretched, wretched rag indeed.-Edit. 1815. |