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She dwelt among th' untrodden ways
Beside the springs of Dove,

A Maid whom there were none to praise,

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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.

A slumber did my spirit seal;

I had no human fears:

She seemed a thing that could not feel The touch of earthly years.

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!





"Begone, thou fond presumptuous Elf,"

Exclaimed a thundering Voice,

"Nor dare to thrust thy foolish self
Between me and my choice!"

A falling Water swoln with snows
Thus spake to a poor Briar-rose,
That, all bespattered with his foam,
And dancing high, and dancing low,
Was living, as a child might know,
In an unhappy home.

"Dost thou presume my course to block?

Off, off! or, puny Thing!

I'll hurl thee headlong with the rock

To which thy fibres cling."

The Flood was tyrannous and strong;
The patient Briar suffered long,

Nor did he utter groan or sigh,

Hoping the danger would be past:

But seeing no relief, at last

He ventured to reply.

"Ah!" said the Briar, " blame me not;

Why should we dwell in strife?

We who in this, our natal spot,

Once lived a happy life!

You stirred me on my rocky bed

What pleasure through my veins you spread!

The Summer long from day to day

My leaves

you freshened and bedewed;

Nor was it common gratitude

That did your cares repay.

“When Spring came on with bud and bell,

Among these rocks did I

Before you hang my wreath, to tell

That gentle days were nigh!

And in the sultry summer hours

I sheltered you with leaves and flowers;
And in my leaves, now shed and gone,
The Linnet lodged, and for us two
Chanted his pretty songs, when You

Had little voice or none..

"But now proud thoughts are in your breast→

What grief is mine you see,

Ah! would you think, even yet how blest

Together we might be!

Though of both leaf and flower bereft,

Some ornaments to me are left

Rich store of scarlet hips is mine,

With which I in my humble way

Would deck

you many a winter's day,

A happy Eglantine!"

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