Innocent is the heart's devotion

With which I worship thine.

P. B. Shelley

SHE

CLXXVII

THE LOST LOVE

HE 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 O!

The difference to me.!

W. Wordsworth

I

CLXXVIII

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

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;

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.

W. Wordsworth

CLXXIX

THE EDUCATION OF NATURE

THREE in sun and wher

HREE years she grew in sun and shower;

On earth was never sown :

This child I to myself will take;
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

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
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 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.

'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
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

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

A

CLXXX

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!

W. Wordsworth

CLXXXI

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 bonny 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.'

The boat has left a stormy land, «

A stormy sea before her,

When, O! too strong for human hand
The tempest gather'd o'er her.

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

His child he did discover :

One lovely hand she stretch'd for aid,

And one was round her lover.