Five minutes past, and O the change! 1807. VIII. ALICE FELL; OR, POVERTY. THE post-boy drove with fierce career, As if the wind blew many ways, I heard the sound, - and more and more; At length I to the boy called out; The boy then smacked his whip, and fast Forthwith alighting on the ground, "Whence comes," said I, "this piteous moan?" And there a little Girl I found, Sitting behind the chaise, alone. "My cloak!" no other word she spake, But loud and bitterly she wept, As if her innocent heart would break; And down from off her seat she leapt. "What ails you, child?" She sobbed, "Look here!" I saw it in the wheel entangled, A weather-beaten rag as e'er From any garden scarecrow dangled. There, twisted between nave and spoke, "And whither are you going, child, Insensible to all relief Sat the poor girl, and forth did send Could never, never have an end. "My child, in Durham do you dwell?" She checked herself in her distress, And said, "My name is Alice Fell; I'm fatherless and motherless. "And I to Durham, Sir, belong." Again, as if the thought would choke Her very heart, her grief grew strong; And all was for her tattered cloak ! The chaise drove on; our journey's end Up to the tavern door we post; "And let it be of duffel gray, As warm a cloak as man can sell!" Proud creature was she the next day, The little orphan, Alice Fell! IX. LUCY GRAY; OR, SOLITUDE. OFT I had heard of Lucy Gray: No mate, no comrade Lucy knew ; The sweetest thing that ever grew You yet may spy the fawn at play, But the sweet face of Lucy Gray "To-night will be a stormy night, - "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 raised his hook, He plied his work ;- and Lucy took The lantern in her hand. Not blither is the mountain roe: Her feet disperse the powdery snow, The storm came on before its time: And many a hill did Lucy climb: 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 the hill they stood That overlooked the moor; And thence they saw the bridge of wood, A furlong from their door. When in the snow the mother spied |