The lamb had slipped into the stream, And safe without a bruise or wound The cataract had borne him down His Dam had seen him when he fell, 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. When he had learnt what thing it was, He drew it gently from the pool, And brought it forth into the light : The shepherds met him with his charge, An unexpected sight! Into their arms the lamb they took, Said they, "He's neither maimed nor scarred." Then up the steep ascent they hied, And placed him at his mother's side; Those idle shepherd-boys upbraid, And bade them better mind their trade. "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, Not blither is the mountain roe: 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 But there was neither sound nor sight At day-break on a hill they stood And thence they saw the bridge of wood They wept, and turning homeward, cried, Half breathless 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 They followed from the snowy bank Into the middle of the plank; Yet some maintain that to this day |