But there was neither sound nor sight
To serve them for a guide.

At day-break on a hill they stood
That overlooked the moor;

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

They wept, and turning homeward, cried, "In heaven we all shall meet;

- When in the snow the mother spied The print of Lucy's feet.

Then downwards from the steep 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 crossed:

The marks were still the same;

They tracked them on, nor ever lost;
And to the bridge they came.

They followed from the snowy bank
Those footmarks, one by one,
Into the middle of the plank;

And further there were none !

- Yet some maintain that to this day

She is a living child;

That you may see sweet Lucy Gray
Upon the lonesome wild.

40

50

60

O'er rough and smooth she trips along,

And never looks behind;

And sings a solitary song

That whistles in the wind.

"ON NATURE'S INVITATION DO I COME.”

1800. 1850.

ON Nature's invitation do I come,

By Reason sanctioned. Can the choice mislead,
That made the calmest, fairest spot on earth,

With all its unappropriated good,

My own; and not mine only, for with me

Entrenched say rather peacefully embowered -
Under yon orchard, in yon humble cot,

A younger orphan of a name extinct,

The only daughter of my parents, dwells:

Aye, think on that, my heart, and cease to stir ;
Pause upon that, and let the breathing frame
No longer breathe, but all be satisfied.

Oh, if such silence be not thanks to God

For what hath been bestowed, then where, where then
Shall gratitude find rest? Mine eyes did ne'er

Fix on a lovely object, nor my mind.
Take pleasure in the midst of happy thought,
But either she, whom now I have, who now
Divides with me that loved abode, was there,
Or not far off. Where'er my footsteps turned,
Her voice was like a hidden bird that sang ;

IO

20

The thought of her was like a flash of light,
Or an unseen companionship; a breath
Or fragrance independent of the wind.
In all my goings, in the new and old
Of all my meditations, and in this

Favorite of all, in this the most of all. . .
Embrace me then, ye hills, and close me in.
Now in the clear and open day I feel
Your guardianship: I take it to my heart;
'T is like the solemn shelter of the night.
But I would call thee beautiful; for mild
And soft, and gay, and beautiful thou art,
Dear valley, having in thy face a smile,

Though peaceful, full of gladness. Thou art pleased,
Pleased with thy crags, and woody steeps, thy lake,
Its one green island, and its winding shores,

The multitude of little rocky hills,

Thy church, and cottages of mountain stone

Clustered like stars some few, but single most,
And lurking dimly in their shy retreats,
Or glancing at each other cheerful looks

Like separated stars with clouds between.

330

40

"BLEAK SEASON WAS IT, TURBULENT AND

WILD."

1800(?).

1850.

BLEAK season was it, turbulent and wild,

When hitherward we journeyed, side by side,

Through bursts of sunshine and through flying showers,

Paced the long vales, - how long they were, and yet
How fast that length of way was left behind!
Wensley's rich dale, and Sedberge's naked heights.
The frosty wind, as if to make amends

For its keen breath, was aiding to our steps,
And drove us onward as two ships at sea;

Or like two birds, companions in mid-air,
Parted and reunited by the blast.

Stern was the face of Nature; we rejoiced

In that stern countenance; for our souls thence drew
A feeling of their strength.

The naked trees,

The icy brooks, as on we passed, appeared

To question us, "Whence come ye, to what end?"

IO

HART-LEAP WELL.

Hart-Leap Well is a small spring of water, about five miles from Richmond in Yorkshire, and near the side of the road that leads from Richmond to Askrigg. Its name is derived from a remarkable Chase, the memory of which is preserved by the monuments spoken of in the second part of the following Poem, which monuments do now exist as I have there described them.

1800.- 1800.

THE Knight had ridden down from Wensley Moor
With the slow motion of a summer's cloud,

And now, as he approached a vassal's door,

'Bring forth another horse!" he cried aloud.

"Another horse!" That shout the vassal heard,
And saddled his best steed, a comely gray;
Sir Walter mounted him: he was the third
Which he had mounted on that glorious day.

Joy sparkled in the prancing courser's eyes;
The horse and horseman are a happy pair;
But, though Sir Walter like a falcon flies,
There is a doleful silence in the air.

A rout this morning left Sir Walter's Hall,
That as they galloped made the echoes roar;
But horse and man are vanished, one and all;
Such race, I think, was never seen before.

Sir Walter, restless as a veering wind,
Calls to the few tired dogs that yet remain :
Blanch, Swift, and Music, noblest of their kind,
Follow, and up the weary mountain strain.

The Knight hallooed, he cheered and chid them on
With suppliant gestures and upbraidings stern:
But breath and eyesight fail; and, one by one,
The dogs are stretched among the mountain fern.

Where is the throng, the tumult of the race,

The bugles that so joyfully were blown?
This chase it looks not like an earthly chase;

Sir Walter and the hart are left alone.

The poor hart toils along the mountain-side;

I will not stop to tell how far he fled,