"What ails you, Child?" she sobb'd, "Look here!" I saw it in the wheel entangled, A weather beaten Rag as e'er From any garden scare-crow dangled. 'Twas twisted betwixt nave and spoke; "And whither are you going, Child, "Then come with me into the chaise." She sate like one past all relief; Sob after sob she forth did send "My Child, in Durham do you dwell?" She check'd herself in her distress, And said, "My name is Alice Fell; And I to Durham, Sir, belong." And then, as if the thought would choke Her very heart, her grief grew strong; And all was for her tatter'd Cloak. The chaise drove on; our journey's end She wept, nor would be pacified. Up to the Tavern-door we post; "And let it be of duffil grey, As warm a cloak as man can sell!" Proud Creature was she the next day, The little Orphan, Alice Fell! There was a roaring in the wind all night; And all the air is fill'd with pleasant noise of waters. All things that love the sun are out of doors; The grass is bright with rain-drops; on the moors And with her feet she from the plashy earth Runs with her all the way, wherever she doth run. I was a Traveller then upon the moor; I saw the Hare that rac'd about with joy; The pleasant season did my heart employ : But, as it sometimes chanceth, from the might Of joy in minds that can no farther go, As high as we have mounted in delight |