-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 oh,

The difference to me!

I TRAVELL'D among unknown men,
In lands beyond the sea;
Nor, England! did I know till then
What love I bore to thee.

'T is past, that melancholy dream!
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;

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.

1799. 1807.

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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;

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;

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And hers shall be the breathing balm,
And hers 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

Even in the motions of the Storm

Grace that shall mould the Maiden's form

By silent sympathy.

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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.

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A 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.

1799.

1800.

William Wordsworth.

1806.

ROSE AYLMER

Ан what avails the sceptred race,
Ah what the form divine!
What every virtue, every grace!
Rose Aylmer, all were thine.

Rose Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyes
May weep, but never see,

A night of memories and of sighs

I consecrate to thee.

Walter Savage Landor.

THE MAID'S LAMENT

I LOVED him not; and yet, now he is gone,
I feel I am alone.

I checked him while he spoke; yet could he

speak,

Alas! I would not check.

For reasons not to love him once I sought,
And wearied all my thought

To vex myself and him: I now would give
My love, could he but live

Who lately lived for me, and when he found
'T was vain, in holy ground

ΤΟ

He hid his face amid the shades of death.
I waste for him my breath

Who wasted his for me; but mine returns,
And this lorn bosom burns

With stifling heat, heaving it up in sleep,
And waking me to weep

Tears that had melted his soft heart: for years

Wept he as bitter tears.

"Merciful God!" such was his latest prayer,

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These may she never share!"

Quieter is his breath, his breast more cold
Than daisies in the mould,

Where children spell, athwart the churchyard gate,

His name and life's brief date.

Pray for him, gentle souls, whoe'er ye be,

And O! pray too for me!

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1834.

Walter Savage Landor.

REQUIESCAT

STREW on her roses, roses,
And never a spray of yew!
In quiet she reposes;

Ah, would that I did too!

Her mirth the world required;
She bathed it in smiles of glee.
But her heart was tired, tired,

And now they let her be.

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