Lucy

I

STRANGE fits of passion have I known:	
  And I will dare to tell,	
But in the lover�s ear alone,	
  What once to me befell.	
 
When she I loved look�d every day	        5
  Fresh as a rose in June,	
I to her cottage bent my way,	
  Beneath an evening moon.	
 
Upon the moon I fix�d my eye,	
  All over the wide lea;	        10
With quickening pace my horse drew nigh	
  Those paths so dear to me.	
 
And now we reach�d the orchard-plot;	
  And, as we climb�d the hill,	
The sinking moon to Lucy�s cot	        15
  Came near and nearer still.	
 
In one of those sweet dreams I slept,	
  Kind Nature�s gentlest boon!	
And all the while my eyes I kept	
  On the descending moon.	        20
 
My horse moved on; hoof after hoof	
  He raised, and never stopp�d:	
When down behind the cottage roof,	
  At once, the bright moon dropp�d.	
 
What fond and wayward thoughts will slide	        25
  Into a lover�s head!	
�O mercy!� to myself I cried,	
  �If Lucy should be dead!�	
 
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II

She dwelt among the untrodden ways	
  Beside the springs of Dove;	        30
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	        35
  Is shining in the sky.	
 
She lived unknown, and few could know	
  When Lucy ceased to be;	
But she is in her grave, and, O!	
  The difference to me!	        40
 
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III

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!	        45
  Nor will I quit thy shore	
A second time, for still I seem	
  To love thee more and more.	
 
Among thy mountains did I feel	
  The joy of my desire;	        50
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	        55
  That Lucy�s eyes survey�d.	

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IV

Three years she grew in sun and shower;	
Then Nature said, �A lovelier flower	
On earth was never sown:	
This child I to myself will take;	        60
She shall be mine, and I will make	
A lady of my own.	
 
�Myself will to my darling be	
Both law and impulse: and with me	
The girl, in rock and plain,	        65
In earth and heaven, in glade and bower,	
Shall feel an overseeing power	
To kindle or restrain.	
 
�She shall be sportive as the fawn	
That wild with glee across the lawn	        70
Or up the mountain springs;	
And her�s shall be the breathing balm,	
And her�s the silence and the calm	
Of mute insensate things.	
 
�The floating clouds their state shall lend	        75
To her; for her the willow bend;	
Nor shall she fail to see	
E�en in the motions of the storm	
Grace that shall mould the maiden�s form	
By silent sympathy.	        80
 
�The stars of midnight shall be dear	
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	        85
Shall pass into her face.	
 
�And vital feelings of delight	
Shall rear her form to stately height,	
Her virgin bosom swell;	
Such thoughts to Lucy I will give	        90
Where 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	        95
This heath, this calm and quiet scene;	
The memory of what has been,	
And never more will be.	

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V

A slumber did my spirit seal;	
  I had no human fears:	        100
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	        105
  With rocks, and stones, and trees.	
 

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