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I turn'd me to the rich man then,

For filently stood he,

You afk'd me why the Poor complain, And these have answer'd thee.

LUCY GRAY.

OFT I had heard of Lucy Gray,
And when I crofs'd the wild,
I chanc'd to fee at break of day
The folitary child.

No mate, no comrade Lucy knew ;
She dwelt on a wild moor,
The sweetest thing that ever grew
Befide a human door!

You yet may spy the fawn at play,
The hare upon the green;
But the fweet face of Lucy Gray
Will never more be seen.

"To-night will be a stormy night,
You to the town must go,
And take a lantern, child, to light
Your mother thro' the fnow."

"That, Father! will I gladly do; 'Tis fcarcely afternoonThe minster-clock has juft ftruck two, And yonder is the moon."

At this the father rais'd his hook
And fnapp'd 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 ftroke
Her feet disperse the powd'ry fnow
That rifes up like fmoke.

The storm came on before its time,
She wander'd up and down,
And many a hill did Lucy climb
But never reach'd the town.

The wretched parents all that night
Went fhouting far and wide;
But there was neither found nor fight
To ferve them for a guide.

At day-break on a hill they stood
That overlook'd the moor;

And thence they faw the bridge of wood
A furlong from their door.

And now they homeward turn'd, and cry'd, "In Heaven we all fhall meet !

When in the fnow the mother spy'd
The print of Lucy's feet.

Then downward from the steep hill's edge
They track'd the footmarks fmall;
And through the broken hawthorn-hedge,
And by the long stone-wall;

And then an open field they crofs'd,
The marks were ftill the fame;
They track'd them on, nor ever loft,
And to the bridge they came.

We faw a woman fitting down
Upon a stone to rest,

She had a baby at her back
And another at her breast;

I afk'd her why the loiter'd there
When the wind it was so chill:
She turn'd her head and bade the child
That scream'd behind, be still.

She told us that her husband served
A foldier, far away,

And therefore to her parish she
Was begging back her way.

We met a girl; her drefs was loofe
And funken was her eye,

Who with the wanton's hollow voice
Addrefs'd the paffers by ;

I afk'd her what there was in guilt
That could her heart allure

To fhame. disease, and late remorse?
She anfwer'd, fhe was poor.

I turn'd me to the rich man then,
For filently stood he,

You afk'd me why the Poor complain,
And these have answer'd thee.

LUCY GRAY.

OFT I had heard of Lucy Gray,
And when I crofs'd the wild,
I chanc'd to fee at break of day
The folitary child.

No mate, no comrade Lucy knew ;
She dwelt on a wild moor,
The sweetest thing that ever grew
Befide a human door!

You yet may spy the fawn at play,
The hare upon the green;
But the fweet face of Lucy Gray
Will never more be seen.

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