The sweetest thing that ever grew You yet may spy the fawn at play, "To-night will be a stormy night- And take a lantern, child, to light "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: But never reached the town. The wretched parents all that night At day-break on a hill they stood And thence they saw the bridge of wood And turning homeward, now they 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 And then an open field they crossed They followed from the snowy bank Into the middle of the plank; And further there were none ! Yet some maintain that to this day O'er rough and smooth she trips along, And never looks behind; And sings a solitary song That whistles in the wind. |