Not blither is the mountain roe:
With many a wanton stroke

Her feet disperse the powd'ry 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 daybreak on a hill they stood
That overlook'd the moor;

And thence they saw the bridge of wood
A furlong from the 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.

Half breathless, 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 !

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.

WORDSWORTH.

70. THE DISSOLUTION OF FRIENDSHIP.

A

LAS! they had been friends in youth;

But whispering tongues can poison truth;
And constancy lives in realms above;

And life is thorny; and youth is vain:
And to be wroth with one we love,

Doth work like madness in the brain.
And thus it chanced, as I divine,
With Roland and Sir Leoline.
Each spake words of high disdain

And insult to his heart's best brother:
They parted-ne'er to meet again!
But never either found another
To free the hollow heart from paining;
They stood aloof, the scars remaining,
Like cliffs which have been rent asunder:
A dreary sea now flows between;
But neither heat, nor frost, nor thunder,
Shall wholly do away, I ween,

The marks of that which once hath been.

COLERIDGE.

71. THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM.

WAS in the prime of summer time,
An evening calm and cool,

And four and twenty happy boys

Came bounding out of school:

There were some that ran, and some that leapt,
Like troutlets in a pool.

Away they sped with gamesome minds,
And souls unscarr'd by sin;
To a level mead they came, and there
They drave the wickets in:
Pleasantly shone the setting sun
Over the town of Lynn.

Like sportive deer they coursed about,
And shouted as they ran,

Turning to mirth all things of earth,
As only boyhood can;
But the Usher sat remote from all,
A melancholy man!

His hat was off, his vest apart,

To catch heaven's blessed breeze;

For a burning thought was in his brow,
And his bosom ill at ease:

So he lean'd his head on his hands, and read

The book between his knees!

Leaf after leaf, he turn'd it o'er,

Nor ever glanced aside;

For the peace of his soul he read that book

In the golden eventide :

Much study had made him very lean,

And pale, and leaden-eyed.

Then, leaping on his feet upright,
Some moody turns he took,-
Now up the mead, now down the mead
And past a shady nook,-
And, lo! he saw a little boy
That pored upon a book!

"My gentle lad, what is't

Romance, or fairy fable?

Or is it some historic page,

Of kings and crowns unstable?"

The young boy gave an upward glance,

"It is The Death of Abel.""

The Usher took six hasty strides,
As smit with sudden pain,-
Six hasty strides beyond the place,
Then slowly back again;

And down he sat beside the lad,
And talk'd with him of Cain;

And, long since then, of bloody men,
Whose deeds tradition saves;
Of lonely folk cut off unseen,
And hid in sudden graves;
Of horrid stabs, in groves forlorn,
And murders done in caves.

He told how murderers walk the earth
Beneath the curse of Cain,

With crimson clouds before their eyes,

And flames about their brain:

For blood has left upon their souls
Its everlasting stain!

"And well," quoth he, "I know, for truth, Their pangs must be extreme,

Wo, wo, unutterable wo,

Who spill life's sacred stream!

For why? Methought, last night, I wrought A murder in a dream!

“One that had never done me wrong,

A feeble man and old:

I led him to a lonely field;

The moon shone clear and cold:
'Now here,' said I, 'this man shall die,
And I will have his gold!'

"Two sudden blows with a ragged stick,
And one with a heavy stone,
One hurried gash with a hasty knife,-
And then the deed was done :
There was nothing lying at my feet
But lifeless flesh and bone.

"I took the ghastly body up,
And cast it in a stream,-
A sluggish water, black as ink,
The depth was so extreme.
My little boy, remember this
Is nothing but a dream!

"Down went the corse with a hollow plunge, And vanish'd in the pool;

Anon I cleansed my bloody hands,

And wash'd my forehead cool;

And sat among the urchins young,
That evening in the school!