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,*

A PASTORAL.

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;

*Gill in the dialect of Cumberland 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.

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 grass,
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