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No mate, no comrade Lucy knew;
She dwelt on a wide moor,
Beside a human door!
You yet may spy the fawn at play,
The hare upon the green;
Will never more be seen.
“To-night will be a stormy night
You to the town must go;
Your mother through the snow.
“That, father, will I gladly do:
'Tis scarcely afternoonThe minster-clock has just struck two,
And yonder is the moon!”
At this the father raised his hook,
And snapped a faggot-band;
The lantern in her hand.
Not blither is the mountain roe:
With many a wanton stroke
That rises up like smoke.
The storm came on before its time,
She wandered up and down; And many a hill did Lucy climb,
But never reached the town.
The wretched parents all that night
Went shouting far and wide;
To serve them for a guide.
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,
The print of Lucy's feet.
Then downwards from the steep hill's edge
They tracked the footmarks small;
And by the long stone wall;
The marks were still the same;
And to the bridge they came.
They followed from the snowy bank
Those footmarks, one by one,
-Yet some maintain that to this day
She is a living child;
Upon the lonesome wild.
O'er rough and smooth she trips along,
And never looks behind;
That whistles in the wind.
My fairest child, I have no song to give you;
No lark could pipe to skies so dull and gray; Yet, ere we part, one lesson I can leave you
For every day. Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever;
Do noble things, not dream them, all day long: And so make life, death, and that vast forever
One grand, sweet song.
THE MOUNTAIN AND THE SQUIRREL.
RALPH WALDO EMERSON.
The mountain and the squirrel
A VISIT FROM THE SEA.
ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON:
Far from the loud sea beaches
Where he goes fishing and crying,
Why is the sea-gull flying ?
Here is the corn and lea;
Hie away home to sea !
And quiet among the rushes;
But for the rooks and thrushes,
Pity the bird that has wandered !
Pity the sailor ashore !
Let him come here no more !
High on the sea-cliff ledges
The white gulls are trooping and crying,
Why is the sea-gull flying?
Oh, young Lochinvar is come out of the West,
He stayed not for brake, and he stopped not for stone,
So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall,
(For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word), “Oh, come ye in peace here, or come ye in war,
Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?”
“I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied;—
The bride kissed the goblet; the knight took it up,
near; So light to the croup the fair lady he swung, So light to the saddle before her he sprung; “She is won ! we are gone! over bank, bush, and scaur; They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young
Lochinvar. There was mounting’mong Græmes of the Netherby clan; Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they
ran; There was racing and chasing on Cannobie lea, But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see. So daring in love, and so dauntless in war, Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?
THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM.
The English and Dutch under the Duke of Marlborough and Prince Eugene of Savoy, defeated the French and ,Bavarians at Blenheim in 1704.
It was a summer evening,
Old Kaspar's work was done,
Was sitting in the sun,