Lyrical Ballads with Other Poems, 1800 Volume Ii Part 5

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 wild Moor, The sweetest Thing that ever grew Beside a human door!

You yet may spy the 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 Minster-clock has just struck two, And yonder is the Moon."

At this the Father rais'd his hook And snapp'd a f.a.ggot-band; He plied his work, and Lucy took 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.

At day-break on a hill they stood That overlook'd the Moor; And thence they saw the Bridge of Wood 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.

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, 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, 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 rough and smooth she trips along, And never looks behind; And sings a solitary song That whistles in the wind.

_The IDLE SHEPHERD-BOYS_,

OR

_DUNGEON-GILL FORCE_, [5]

_A PASTORAL_.

[Footnote 5: 'Gill', in the dialect of c.u.mberland and Westmoreland, is a short and for the most part a steep narrow valley, with a stream running through it. Force is the word universally employed in these dialects for Waterfall.]

I.

The valley rings with mirth and joy, Among the hills the Echoes play A never, never ending song To welcome in the May.

The Magpie chatters with delight;

The mountain Raven's youngling Brood Have left the Mother and the Nest, And they go rambling east and west In search of their own food, Or thro' the glittering Vapors dart In very wantonness of Heart.

II.

Beneath a rock, upon the gra.s.s, Two Boys are sitting in the sun; It seems they have no work to do Or that their work is done.

On pipes of sycamore they play The fragments of a Christmas Hymn, Or with that plant which in our dale We call Stag-horn, or Fox's Tail Their rusty Hats they trim: And thus as happy as the Day, Those Shepherds wear the time away.

III.

Along the river's stony marge The sand-lark chaunts a joyous song; The thrush is busy in the Wood, And carols loud and strong.

A thousand lambs are on the rocks, All newly born! both earth and sky Keep jubilee, and more than all, Those Boys with their green Coronal, They never hear the cry, That plaintive cry! which up the hill Comes from the depth of Dungeon-Gill.

IV.

Said Walter, leaping from the ground, "Down to the stump of yon old yew I'll run with you a race."--No more-- Away the Shepherds flew.

They leapt, they ran, and when they came Right opposite to Dungeon-Gill, Seeing, that he should lose the prize, "Stop!" to his comrade Walter cries-- James stopp'd with no good will: Said Walter then, "Your task is here, 'Twill keep you working half a year."

V.

"Till you have cross'd where I shall cross, Say that you'll neither sleep nor eat."

James proudly took him at his word, But did not like the feat.

It was a spot, which you may see If ever you to Langdale go: Into a chasm a mighty Block Hath fallen, and made a bridge of rock; The gulph is deep below, And in a bason black and small Receives a lofty Waterfall.

VI.

With staff in hand across the cleft The Challenger began his march; And now, all eyes and feet, hath gain'd The middle of the arch.

When list! he hears a piteous moan-- Again! his heart within him dies-- His pulse is stopp'd, his breath is lost, He totters, pale as any ghost, And, looking down, he spies A Lamb, that in the pool is pent Within that black and frightful rent.

VII.

The Lamb had slipp'd into the stream, And safe without a bruise or wound The Cataract had borne him down Into the gulph profound, His dam had seen him when he fell, She saw him down the torrent borne; And while with all a mother's love She from the lofty rocks above Sent forth a cry forlorn, The Lamb, still swimming round and round Made answer to that plaintive sound.

VIII.

When he had learnt, what thing it was, That sent this rueful cry; I ween, The Boy recover'd heart, and told The sight which he had seen.

Both gladly now deferr'd their task; Nor was there wanting other aid-- A Poet, one who loves the brooks Far better than the sages' books, By chance had thither stray'd; And there the helpless Lamb he found By those huge rocks encompa.s.s'd round.