"Reft, little young one, reft; thou haft forgot the day
When my father found thee firft in places far away:
Many flocks were on the hills, but thou wert owned by none,
And thy mother from thy fide for evermore was gone.

"He took thee in his arms, and in pity brought thee home A bleffed day for thee! then whither would'ft thou roam? A faithful nurfe thou haft; the dam that did thee yean Upon the mountain-tops no kinder could have been.

"Thou know'ft that twice a day I have brought thee in this

can

Fresh water from the brook, as clear as ever ran;

And twice in the day, when the ground is wet with dew,
I bring thee draughts of milk, warm milk it is, and new.

"Thy limbs will shortly be twice as fout as they are now, Then I'll yoke thee to my cart like a pony in the plough ; My playmate thou shalt be; and, when the wind is cold, Our hearth shall be thy bed, our houfe fhall be thy fold.

"It will not, will not reft !-Poor creature, can it be That 'tis thy mother's heart which is working so in thee? Things that I know not of, belike to thee are dear,

And dreams of things which thou can'st neither see nor hear.

"Alas, the mountain-tops that look fo green and fair!
I've heard of fearful winds and darkness that come there;
The little brooks that seem all pastime and all play,
When they are angry, roar like lions for their prey.

"Here thou need'ft not dread the raven in the sky;
Night and day thou art fafe,-- our cottage is hard by.
Why bleat so after me? Why pull so at thy chain ?
Sleep-and at break of day I will come to thee again!”

-As homeward through the lane I went with lazy feet,
This fong to myself did I oftentimes repeat;

And it seemed, as I retraced the ballad line by line,
That but half of it was hers, and one-half of it was mine.

Again, and once again did I repeat the fong;

"Nay," said I, "more than half to the damfel must belong, For fhe looked with fuch a look, and fhe fpake with such a

tone,

That I almoft received her heart into my own."

LUCY GRAY;

OR SOLITUDE.

Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray;
And when I croffed the wild,
I chanced 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 ftormy night-
You to the town must go;
And take a lantern, child, to light
Your mother through the fnow."

"That, father, I will 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 fnow,
That rifes up like smoke.

The ftorm 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 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 overlooked the moor;

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

And, turning homeward, now they cried,
"In heaven we all fhall meet !"
When in the fnow the mother spied
The print of Lucy's feet.

Then downward from the fteep 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 croffed:
The marks were still the fame ;
They tracked them on, nor ever loft;
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 were none !

Yet fome maintain that to this day

She is a living child:

That you may fee fweet Lucy Gray
Upon the lonesome wild.

O'er rough and smooth fhe trips along,

And never looks behind;

And fings a folitary song

That whiftles in the wind.

THREE YEARS SHE GREW IN SUN AND SHOWER.

Three years fhe grew in fun and fhower,

Then Nature faid " a lovelier flower

On earth was never fown;

This child I to inyfelf will take:

She shall be mine, and I will make
A lady of my own.

X