And now we reached the orchard plot; In one of those sweet dreams I slept, My horse moved on; hoof after hoof What fond and wayward thoughts will slide "O mercy!" to myself I cried, "If Lucy should be dead!" SHE dwelt among the untrodden ways A maid where there were none to praise, A violet by a mossy stone -Fair as a star, when only one She lived unknown, and few could know But she is in her grave, and, oh, The difference to me! I TRAVELL'D among unknown men, "Tis past, that melancholy dream! Among thy mountains did I feel And she I cherished turned her whcel Beside an English fire. |