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She dwelt among the untrodden ways

Beside the springs of Dove,
A maid whom there were none to praise

And very few to love.

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!


I TRAVELLED among unknown men,

In lands beyond the sea :
Nor, England ! did I know till then

What love I bore to thee.

'Tis past, that melancholy dream !

Nor will I quit thy shore
A second time ; for still I seem

To love thee more and more.

Among the mountains did I feel

The joy of my desire ;
And she I cherish'd turned her wheel,

Beside an English fire.

Thy mornings showed, thy nights concealed

The bowers where Lucy played :
And thine is too the last green field

That Lucy's eyes surveyed.


Her eyes are wild, her head is bare,
The sun has burnt her coal-black hair,
Her eyebrows have a rusty stain,
And she came far from o'er the main.
She has a baby on her arm,
Or else she were alone;
And underneath the haystack warm,
And on the greenwood stone,
She talked and sung the woods among,
And it was in the English tongue.

“Sweet babe ! they say that I am mad,
But nay, my heart is far too glad;
And I am happy when I sing
Full many a sad and doleful thing :
Then, lovely baby, do not fear!
I pray thee have no fear of me,
But, safe as in a cradle here,
My lovely baby ! thou shalt be ;
To thee I know too much I owe;
I cannot work thee any woe.

"A fire was once within my brain ;
And in my head a dull, dull pain ;
And fiendish faces, one, two, three,
Hung at my breasts, and pulled at me.

But then there came a sight of joy ;
It came at once to do me good :
I waked, and saw my little boy,
My little boy of flesh and blood :
O joy for me that sight to see !
For he was here, and only he.

“Suck, little babe, oh suck again !
It cools my blood ; it cools my brain :
Thy lips I feel them, baby! they
Draw from my heart the pain away.
Oh ! press me with thy little hand;
It loosens something at my chest ;
About that tight and deadly band
I feel thy little fingers prest.
The breeze I see is in the tree;
It comes to cool my babe and me.

“Oh ! love me, love me, little boy !
Thou art thy mother's only joy ;
And do not dread the waves below,
When o'er the sea-rocks' edge we go :
The high crag cannot work me harm,
Nor leaping torrents when they howl ;
The babe I carry on my arm,
He saves for me my precious soul :
Then happy lie, for bless'd am I:
Without me my sweet babe would die.

“Then do not fear, my boy ! for thee Bold as a lion I would be ;


And I will always be thy guide
Through hollow snow and rivers wide,
I ll build an Indian bower; I know
The leaves that make the softest bed ;
And if from me thou wilt not go,
But still be true till I am dead,
My pretty thing ! then thou shalt sing
As merry as the birds in spring.

“Thy father cares not for my breast,
'Tis thine, sweet baby, there to rest ;
'Tis all thine own !--and if its hue
Be changed, that was so fair to view,
'Tis fair enough for thee, my dove !
My beauty, little child, is flown;
But thou wilt live with me in love,
And what if my poor cheek be brown?
'Tis well for me thou canst not see
How pale and wan it else would be.

“Dread not their taunts, my little life ;
I am thy father's wedded wife;
And underneath the spreading tree
We two will live in honesty.
If his sweet boy he could forsake,
With me he never would have stayed :
From him no harm my babe can take,
But he, poor man ! is wretched made ;
And every day we two will pray
For him that's gone and far away.

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