Lucy Gray
Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray, And when I cross’d the Wild. I chanc’d 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 a 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 thro’ the snow.” “That, Father! Will I gladly do; ‘Tis scarcely afternoon - The Minister-clock has just struck two, And yonder is the Moon!” At this the Father rais’d his hook, And snapp’d a faggot-band; He plied his work, and Lucy tii The lantern in her hand. Not blither is the mountain roe, With many a wanton stroke Her feet disperse the powd’ry snow, That rises up like smoke. The storm came on before its time, She wander’d up and down, And many a hill did Lucy climb: But never reach’d 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. […] They follow’d from the snow bank Those footmarks, one by one, Into the middle of the plank, 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. O’er though and smooth she trips along. And never looks behind; And sings a solitary song That whistles in the wind. 1800
