William Wordsworth
Lucy Gray
from Lyrical Ballads (Volume II, 1800)
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. | ||
5 | No Mate, no comrade Lucy knew; | |
She dwelt on a wild Moor, | ||
The sweetest Thing that ever grew | ||
Beside a human door! | ||
You yet may spy the Fawn at play, | ||
10 | 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, | ||
15 | And take a lantern, Child, to light | |
Your Mother thro' the snow. | ||
That, Father! will I gladly do; | ||
'Tis scarcely afternoon-- | ||
The Minster-clock has just struck two, | ||
20 | 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 took | ||
The lantern in her hand. | ||
25 | 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, | ||
30 | 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; | ||
35 | But there was neither sound nor sight | |
To serve them for a guide. | ||
At day-break on a hill they stood | ||
That overlook'd the Moor; | ||
And thence they saw the Bridge of Wood | ||
40 | A furlong from their door. | |
And now they homeward turn'd, and cry'd | ||
In Heaven we all shall meet! | ||
When in the snow the Mother spied | ||
The print of Lucy's feet. | ||
45 | Then downward from the steep hill's edge | |
They track'd the footmarks small; | ||
And through the broken hawthorn-hedge, | ||
And by the long stone-wall; | ||
And then an open field they cross'd, | ||
50 | The marks were still the same; | |
They track'd them on, nor ever lost, | ||
And to the Bridge they came. | ||
They follow'd from the snowy bank | ||
The footmarks, one by one, | ||
55 | 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 | ||
60 | 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. | ||
First published 1800
Robert Clark