England, 1770-1850
Lucy Gray
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 light 15
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, 5
And snapped a fagot-band;
He plied his work;—and Lucy took
The lantern in her hand.
Not blither is the mountain roe:
With many a wanton stroke 10
Her feet disperse the powdery snow,
That rises up like smoke.
The storm came on before its time,
She wandered up and down;
And many a hill did Lucy climb, 15
But never reached 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. 20
At daybreak 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, 5
"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; 10
And through the broken hawthorn hedge,
And by the low stone wall:
And then an open field they crossed;
The marks were still the same;
They tracked them on, nor ever lost; 15
And to the bridge they came.
They follow from the snowy bank
Those footmarks, one by one,
Into the middle of the plank;
And further there were none! 20
—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. 5
And never looks behind;
And sings a solitary song
That whistles in the wind.
WILLIAM BRIGHTLY RANDS
England, 1823-1880
The Wonderful World
Great, wide, wonderful, beautiful world,
With the beautiful water about you curled, 10
And the wonderful grass upon your breast—
World, you are beautifully dressed!
The wonderful air is over me,
And the wonderful wind is shaking the tree;
It walks on the water and whirls the mills, 15
And talks to itself on the tops of the hills.
You friendly earth, how far do you go,
With wheat fields that nod, and rivers that flow,
And cities and gardens, and oceans and isles,
And people upon you for thousands of miles?
Ah, you are so great and I am so small, 5
I hardly can think of you, world, at all;
And yet, when I said my prayers to-day,
A whisper within me seemed to say:
"You are more than the earth, though you're such a dot;
You can love and think, and the world cannot." 10