I'll follow you across the snow; You travel heavily and slow: In spite of all my weary pain, I'll look upon your tents again. -My fire is dead, and snowy white And he has stolen away my food. For ever left alone am I, Then wherefore should I fear to die? My journey will be shortly run, I shall not see another sun; I cannot lift my limbs to know If they have any life or no. For once could have thee close to me, I shall not see another day. 3 LUCY GRAY. Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray: I chanced to see at break of day The solitary Child. No Mate, no comrade Lucy knew ; She dwelt on a wide Moor, -The sweetest thing that ever grew Beside a human door! You yet may spy the Fawn at play, The Hare upon the Green; But the sweet 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 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, 3 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 |