Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray: And, when I crossed the wild, I chanced to see at break of day The solitary child.
No mate, no comrade Lucy knew;5 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;10 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 light15 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!"20
At this the father raised his hook, And snapped a faggot-band; He plied his work;—and Lucy took The lantern in her hand.
Not blither is the mountain roe:25 With many a wanton stroke Her feet disperse the powdery snow, That rises up like smoke.
The storm came on before its time: She wandered up and down;30 And many a hill did Lucy climb, But never reached the town.
The wretched parents all that night Went shouting far and wide; But there was neither sound nor sight35 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.40