"To-night will be a stormy nightYou to the Town must go; And take a lantern, Child, to light Your Mother through 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 raised his hook And snapped a faggot-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 powdery snow, The storm came on before its time: She wandered up and down; And many a hill did Lucy climb, But never reached 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 overlooked the Moor; And thence they saw the Bridge of wood, A furlong from their door. And now they homeward turned, and cried 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 tracked the footmarks small; And through the broken hawthorn-hedge, And by the long stone-wall: And then an open field they crossed : The marks were still the same; They tracked them on, nor ever lost; And to the Bridge they came. They followed from the snowy bank The footmarks, one by one, Into the middle of the plank; And further there was none. Yet some maintain that to this day She is a living Child; That you may see sweet Lucy Gray O'er rough and smooth she trips along, And never looks behind ; And sings a solitary song That whistles in the wind. "Tis said, that some have died for love : And here and there a church-yard grave is found In the cold North's unhallowed ground, Because the wretched Man himself had slain, His love was such a grievous pain. And there is one whom I five years have known; He dwells alone Upon Helvellyn's side: He loved the pretty Barbara died, And thus he makes his moan: Three years had Barbara in her grave been laid When thus his moan he made: |