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d. No mate, no comrade Lucy knew; She dwelt on a wide moor, The sweetest thing that ever grew Beside a human door! You yet may spy the fawn at play, The hare upon the green; But the sweet face of Lucy Gray Will never more be seen. 'To-night will be a stormy night-- You to the town must go; And take a lantern, Child, to light Your mother through the snow.' 'That, Father! will I gladly do: 'Tis scarcely afternoon-- The minster-clock has just struck two, And yonder is the moon!' At this the father raised his hook, And snapp'd a faggot-band; He plied his work;--and Lucy took The lantern in her hand. Not blither is the mountain roe: With many a wanton stroke Her feet disperse the powdery snow, That rises up like smoke. The storm came on before its time: She wander'd up and down; And many a hill did Lucy climb: But never reach'd the town. The wretched parents all that night Went shouting far and wide; But there was neither sound nor sight To serve them for a guide. At day-break on a hill they stood That overlook'd 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 track'd the footmarks small; And through the broken hawthorn hedge, And by the long stone-wall: And then an open field they cross'd: The marks were still the same; They track'd them on, nor ever lost; And to the bridge they came: They follow'd 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. O'er rough and smooth she trips along, And never looks behind; And sings a solitary song That whistles in the wind. _W. Wordsworth_ CCXXVII _JOCK OF HAZELDEAN_ 'Why weep ye by the tide, ladie? Why weep ye by the tide? I'll wed ye to my youngest son, And ye sall be his bride: And ye sall be his bride, ladie, Sae comely to be seen'-- But aye she loot the tears down f
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