XIII.

XIV.

XV.

She dwelt among the untrodden ways
Beside the springs of Dove;

A maid whom there were none to praise,
And very few to love.

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!

W. Wordsworth.

I travell❜d among unknown men
In lands beyond the sea;

Nor, England! did I know till then
What love I bore to thee.

"Tis past, that melancholy dream!

Nor will I quit thy shore
A second time; for still I seem
To love thee more and more.

CCXX.

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10

CCXXI:

5

Among thy mountains did I feel

The joy of my desire;

10

And she I cherish'd turn'd her wheel

Beside an English fire.

Thy mornings show'd, thy nights conceal'd
The bowers where Lucy play'd;

And thine too is the last green field

That Lucy's eyes survey'd.

15

W. Wordsworth.

THE EDUCATION OF NATURE.

Three years she grew in sun and shower;
Then Nature said, 'A lovelier flower

On earth was never sown :

CCXXII.

The girl, in rock and plain,

In earth and heaven, în glade and bower,

10

Grace that shall mould the maiden's form
By silent sympathy.

'The stars of midnight shall be dear

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25

To her; and she shall lean her ear

In many a secret place

Where rivulets dance their wayward round,

And beauty born of murmuring sound

Shall pass into her face.

Such thoughts to Lucy I will give

Her virgin bosom swell;

While she and I together live

Here in this happy dell.'

Thus Nature spake-The work was done-
How soon my Lucy's race was run!

She died, and left to me

This heath, this calm and quiet scene;
The memory of what has been,
And never more will be.

W. Wordsworth.

5

XVI.

A slumber did my spirit seal;

I had no human fears:

She seem'd a thing that could not feel
The touch of earthly years.

No motion has she now, no force;
She neither hears nor sees;

Roll'd round in earth's diurnal course
With rocks, and stones, and trees.

CCXXIII.

W. Wordsworth.

XVII.

A LOST LOVE.

I meet thy pensive, moonlight face;
Thy thrilling voice I hear;

5

CCXXIV.

And former hours and scenes retrace,

Too fleeting, and too dear!

Yet never, never can we part,
While Memory holds her reign:

Thine, thine is still this wither'd heart,
Till we shall meet again.

H. F. Lyte.

XVIII.

CCXXV

LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER.

A Chieftain to the Highlands bound
Cries Boatman, do not tarry!
And I'll give thee a silver pound
To row us o'er the ferry!'

'Now who be ye, would cross Lochgyle,
This dark and stormy water?'
'O I'm the chief of Ulva's isle,
And this, Lord Ullin's daughter.

'And fast before her father's men
Three days we've fled together,
For should he find us in the glen,
My blood would stain the heather.

'His horsemen hard behind us ride-
Should they our steps discover,

Then who will cheer my bonnie bride,
When they have slain her lover?'

Out spoke the hardy Highland wight,
'I'll go, my chief, I'm ready:
It is not for your silver bright,
But for your winsome lady :—

'And by my word! the bonny bird
In danger shall not tarry;

So though the waves are raging white
I'll row you o'er the ferry.'

By this the storm grew loud apace,
The water-wraith was shrieking;

And in the scowl of Heaven each face
Grew dark as they were speaking.

But still as wilder blew the wind,
And as the night grew drearer,
Adown the glen rode arméd men,
Their trampling sounded nearer.

'O haste thee, haste!' the lady cries,
"Though tempests round us gather;
I'll meet the raging of the skies,
But not an angry father.'

XIX.

The boat has left a stormy land,

A stormy sea before her,

When, oh! too strong for human hand

The tempest gather'd o'er her.

40

And still they row'd amidst the roar

Of waters fast prevailing:

Lord Ullin reach'd that fatal shore,

His wrath was changed to wailing.

For, sore dismay'd, through storm and shade 45
His child he did discover :-

One lovely hand she stretched for aid,

And one was round her lover.

'Come back! come back!' he cried in grief,
'Across this stormy water:

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50

And I'll forgive your Highland chief,

My daughter!-Oh, my daughter!'

"Twas vain the loud waves lash'd the shore,

Return or aid preventing:

The waters wild went o'er his child,

55

And he was left lamenting.