THE post-boy drove with fierce career,
For threatening clouds the moon had drown'd;
When, as we hurried on, my ear

Was smitten with a startling sound.

As if the wind blew many ways,

I heard the sound,—and more and more;
It seem'd to follow with the chaise,
And still I heard it as before.

At length I to the boy call'd out;
He stopp'd his horses at the word,
But neither cry, nor voice, nor shout,
Nor aught else like it, could be heard.

The boy then smack'd his whip, and fast
The horses scamper'd through the rain ;
But hearing soon upon the blast
The cry, I bade him halt again.

Forthwith alighting on the ground,

'Whence comes,' said I, 'this piteous moan?'

And there a little girl I found,

Sitting behind the chaise alone.

'My cloak !' no other word she spake, But loud and bitterly she wept,

As if her innocent heart would break;

And down from off her seat she leapt.

'What ails you, child?'—she sobb'd, 'Look here!'

I saw it in the wheel entangled,

A weather-beaten rag as e'er

From any garden scarecrow dangled.

There, twisted between nave and spoke,
It hung, nor could at once be freed;
But our joint pains unloosed the cloak,
A miserable rag indeed!

'And whither are you going, child,
'To-night, along these lonesome ways?'
'To Durham,' answer'd she, half wild-
'Then come with me into the chaise.'

Insensible to all relief

Sat the poor girl, and forth did send
Sob after sob, as if her grief

Could never, never have an end.

'My child, in Durham do you dwell?'
She check'd herself in her distress,
And said, 'My name is Alice Fell;
'I'm fatherless and motherless.
'And I to Durham, Sir, belong.'
Again, as if the thought would choke
Her very heart, her grief grew strong;
And all was for her tatter'd cloak.

The chaise drove on; our journey's end
Was nigh; and, sitting by my side,
As if she had lost her only friend,
She wept, nor would be pacified.
Up to the tavern-door we post :
Of Alice and her grief I told,
And I gave money to the host,
To buy a new cloak for the old.

'And let it be of duffil gray,

'As warm a cloak as man can sell!'
---Proud creature was she the next day,

The little orphan, Alice Fell!

W. Wordsworth

52 pacified, quieted 57 duffil, strong shaggy cloth

* 9*

THE LITTLE GIRL LOST

IN the southern clime, Where the summer's prime Never fades away,

Lovely Lyca lay.

Seven summers old
Lovely Lyca told ;
She had wander'd long,
Hearing wild-birds' song.
'Sweet sleep, come to me
'Underneath this tree!
'Do father, mother, weep?
'Where can Lyca sleep?

'Lost in desert wild
'Is your little child!
'How can Lyca sleep
'If her mother weep?
'If her heart does ache
'Then let Lyca wake :-
'If my mother sleep,
‘Lyca shall not weep.

:

'Frowning, frowning, night 'O'er this desert bright,

'Let thy moon arise

'While I close my eyes!'

Sleeping Lyca lay:
While the beasts of prey
Come from caverns deep,
View'd the maid asleep.

The kingly lion stood,
And the virgin view'd :
Then he gamboll'd round
O'er the hallow'd ground.

Leopards, tigers, play
Round her as she lay ;
While the lion old

Bow'd his mane of gold,

And [did] her bosom lick;

And upon her neck

From his eyes of flame

Ruby tears there came :

While the lioness

Loosed her slender dress;
And naked they convey'd
To caves the sleeping maid.

THE LITTLE GIRL FOUND

ALL the night in woe

Lyca's parents go,

Over valleys deep,

While the deserts weep.

Tired and woe-begone,

Hoarse with making moan,

Arm-in-arm seven days

They traced the desert ways.

Seven nights they sleep

Among shadows deep,

And dream they see their child

Starved in desert wild.

Pale through pathless ways
The fancied image strays,
Famish'd, weeping, weak,
With hollow piteous shriek

Rising from unrest

The trembling woman press'd With feet of weary woe:

She could no further go.

In his arms he bore

Her, arm'd with sorrow sore; Till before their way

A couching lion lay.

Turning back was vain :
Soon his heavy mane
Bore them to the ground;
Then he stalk'd around

Smelling to his prey;
But their fears allay,
When he licks their hands,
And silent by them stands.

They look upon his eyes,
Fill'd with deep surprise;
And wondering behold
A spirit arm'd in gold.

On his head a crown :
On his shoulders down
Flow'd his golden hair!
Gone was all their care.

'Follow me,' he said ;
'Weep not for the maid;
'In my palace deep
'Lyca lies asleep.'

Then they followed

Where the vision led,

And saw their sleeping child

Among tigers wild.