The wretched parents all that night, But there was neither sound nor sight At day-break on a hill they stood And thence they saw the bridge of wood, They wept-and turning homeward, cried, -When in the snow the mother spied Then downwards from the steep hill's edge And then an open field they crossed: They followed from the snowy bank -Yet some maintain that to this day That you may see sweet Lucy Gray O'er rough and smooth she trips along And never looks behind; And sings a solitary song That whistles in the wind. IX. THE TWO APRIL MORNINGS. WE walked along, while bright and red, And Matthew stopped, he looked, and said, 1799. A village schoolmaster was he, And on that morning, through the grass, We travelled merrily, to pass A day among the hills. Our work," said I, "was well begun ; Then from thy breast what thought, Beneath so beautiful a sun, So sad a sigh has brought?" A second time did Matthew stop, Upon the eastern mountain-top, "Yon cloud with that long purple cleft A day like this, which I have left And just above yon slope of corn "With rod and line I sued the sport Which that sweet season gave, And, to the church-yard come, stopped short Beside my daughter's grave. Nine summers had she scarcely seen, The pride of all the vale; And then she sang: she would have been A very nightingale. "Six feet in earth my Emma lay; And yet I loved her more, For so it seemed, than till that day “And, turning from her grave, I met, A blooming girl, whose hair was wet A basket on her head she bare; Her brow was smooth and white; To see a child so very fair, It was a pure delight! "No fountain from its rocky cave "There came from me a sigh of pain Matthew is in his grave; yet now, As at that moment, with his bough X. THE FOUNTAIN. A CONVERSATION. WE talked with open heart, and tongue A pair of friends, though I was young, We lay beneath a spreading oak, Beside a mossy seat; And from the turf a fountain broke, And gurgled at our feet. Now, Matthew!" said I, "let us match This water's pleasant tune With some old Border song, or catch That suits a summer's noon; "Or of the church-clock and the chimes In silence Matthew lay, and eyed 1799. No check, no stay, this streamlet fears How merrily it goes! "Twill murmur on a thousand years, And flow as now it flows. "My eyes are dim with childish tears, For the same sound is in my ears "Thus fares it still in our decay; "The blackbird amid leafy trees, The lark above the hill, Let loose their carols when they please, Are quiet when they will. With Nature never do they wage A foolish strife: they see A happy youth, and their old age Is beautiful and free: "But we are pressed by heavy laws; We wear a face of joy, because "If there be one who need bemoan, His kindred laid in earth, The household hearts that were his own! It is the man of mirth. "My days, my friend, are almost gone, My life has been approved, And many love me; but by none "Now both himself and me he wrongs, The man who thus complains; I live and sing my idle songs Upon these happy plains; "And, Matthew, for thy children dead At this he grasped my hand, and said, 44 We rose up from the fountain-side, And, ere we came to Leonard's Rock, About the crazy old church-clock, XI. THE AFFLICTION OF MARGARET. WHERE art thou, my beloved son, Where art thou, worse to me than dead? Seven years, alas! to have received He was among the prime in worth, Ah! little doth the young one dream, 1799. |