And now we reached the orchard plot ; The moon descended still. In one of those sweet dreams I slept, My horse moved on; hoof after hoof What fond and wayward thoughts will slide "O mercy!" to myself I cried, 66 'If Lucy should be dead!" II. SHE dwelt among the untrodden ways A maid whom there were none to praise A violet by a mossy stone Half hidden from the eye! -Fair as a star, when only one Is shining in the sky. She lived unknown, and few could know When Lucy ceased to be; But she is in her grave, and, oh, The difference to me! III. I TRAVELLED among unknown men, Nor, England! did I know till then 'Tis past, that melancholy dream! 1799. 1799. Among thy mountains did I feel The joy of my desire; And she I cherished turned her wheel Thy mornings showed, thy nights concealed, The bowers where Lucy played; And thine is too the last green field That Lucy's eyes surveyed. IV. THREE years she grew in sun and shower, On earth was never sown: This child I to myself will take : 'Myself will to my darling be Both law and impulse; and with me The girl, in rock and plain, In earth and heaven, in glade and bower To kindle or restrain. She shall be sportive as the fawn, That, wild with glee across the lawn, Or up the mountain springs: And hers shall be the breathing balm, And hers the silence and the calm Of mute, insensate things. "The floating clouds their state shall lend To her; for her the willow bend; Nor shall she fail to see E'en in the motions of the storm Grace that shall mould the maiden's form By silent sympathy. "The stars of midnight shall be dear To her; and she shall lean her ear In many a secret place Where rivulets dance their wayward round, Shall pass into her face. 1799. "And vital feelings of delight Such thoughts to Lucy I will give Here in this happy dell." Thus Nature spake-The work was done- She died, and left to me This heath, this calm and quiet scene; The memory of what has been, And never more will be. V. A SLUMBER did my spirit seal; I had no human fears: She seemed a thing that could not feel No motion has she now, no force; She neither hears nor sees; Rolled round in earth's diurnal course, With rocks and stones and trees. SOME POEMS RELATING TO MRS. WORDSWORTH. I. 1799. 1799. A FAREWELL. COMPOSED IN THE YEAR 1802, BEFORE THE MARRIAGE OF WORDSWORTH. FAREWELL, thou little nook of mountain-ground, Of that magnificent temple which doth bound The loveliest spot that man hath ever found, Farewell! we leave thee to Heaven's peaceful care, Thee, and the cottage which thou dost surround. Our boat is safely anchored by the shore, And there will safely ride when we are gone : The flowering shrubs that deck our humble door Will prosper, though untended and alone. Fields, goods, and far-off chattels we have none: These narrow bounds contain our private store Of things earth makes, and sun doth shine upon; Here are they in our sight-we have no more. Sunshine and shower be with you, bud and bell! For two months now in vain we shall be sought; We leave you here in solitude to dwell With these our latest gifts of tender thought; Thou, like the morning, in thy saffron coat, Bright gowan, and marsh-marigold, farewell! Whom from the borders of the lake we brought, And placed together, near our rocky well. We go for one to whom ye will be dear; Dear spot! which we have watched with tender heed, Hast taken gifts which thou dost little need. And O most constant yet most fickle place, That hast thy wayward moods, as thou dost show To them who look not daily on thy face; Who, being loved, in love no bounds dost know, And sayest, when we forsake thee, “Let them go!” Thou easy-hearted thing, with thy wild race Of weeds and flowers, till we return be slow, And travel with the year at a soft pace. Help us to tell her tales of years gone by, And this sweet spring, the best beloved and best; Joy will be flown in its mortality; Something must stay to tell us of the rest. Here, thronged with primroses, the steep rock's breast Glittered at evening like a starry sky; And in this bush our sparrow built her nest, Of which I sang one song that will not die. O happy garden! whose seclusion deep Hath been so friendly to industrious hours; And to soft slumbers that did gently steep Our spirits, carrying with them dreams of flowers, And wild notes warbled among leafy bowers; Two burning months let summer overleap, And, coming back with her who will be ours, Into thy bosom we again shall creep. 1802. II. "SHE WAS A PHANTOM OF DELIGHT." SHE was a phantom of delight When first she gleamed upon my sight; To be a moment's ornament. Her eyes as stars of twilight fair; Like twilight's, too, her dusky hair; From May-time and the cheerful dawn- I saw her upon nearer view, A countenance in which did meet |