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 day-break 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, 'In heaven we all shall meet';

-When in the snow the mother spied
The print of Lucy's feet.

Then downwards from the steep hill's edge
They tracked the footmarks small;
And through the broken hawthorn hedge,
And by the long stone-wall;

And then an open field they crossed:

The marks were still the same;

They tracked them on, nor ever lost;
And to the bridge they came.

They followed from the snowy bank
Those footmarks, one by one,

Into the middle of the plank;

And further there were none !

-Yet some maintain that to this day

She is a living child;

That you may see sweet Lucy Gray

Upon the lonesome wild.

O'er rough and smooth she trips along,

And never looks behind;

And sings a solitary song

That whistles in the wind.

1799.

W

WHEN Ruth was left half desolate,
Her Father took another Mate;
And Ruth, not seven years old,
A slighted child, at her own will
Went wandering over dale and hill,
In thoughtless freedom, bold.

And she had made a pipe of straw,
And music from that pipe could draw
Like sounds of winds and floods;
Had built a bower upon the green,
As if she from her birth had been
An infant of the woods.

Beneath her father's roof, alone

She seemed to live; her thoughts her own; Herself her own delight;

Pleased with herself, nor sad, nor gay;

And, passing thus the live-long day,

She grew to woman's height.

There came a Youth from Georgia's shore

A military casque he wore,

With splendid feathers drest;

He brought them from the Cherokees;

The feathers nodded in the breeze,

And made a gallant crest.

From Indian blood you deem him sprung But no! he spake the English tongue,

And bore a soldier's name;

And, when America was free

From battle and from jeopardy,

He 'cross the ocean came.

With hues of genius on his cheek

In finest tones the Youth could speak :

-While he was yet a boy,

The moon, the glory of the sun,

And streams that murmur as they run,
Had been his dearest joy.

He was a lovely Youth! I guess
The panther in the wilderness
Was not so fair as he;

And, when he chose to sport and play,

No dolphin ever was so gay
Upon the tropic sea.

Among the Indians he had fought,
And with him many tales he brought
Of pleasure and of fear;

Such tales as told to any maid

By such a Youth, in the green shade,
Were perilous to hear.

He told of girls-a happy rout!

Who quit their fold with dance and shout,

Their pleasant Indian town,

To gather strawberries all day long;
Returning with a choral song

When daylight is gone down.

He spake of plants that hourly change

Their blossoms, through a boundless range

Of intermingling hues ;

With budding, fading, faded flowers

They stand the wonder of the bowers

From morn to evening dews.

He told of the magnolia, spread

High as a cloud, high over head!

The cypress and her spire;

-Of flowers that with one scarlet gleam

Cover a hundred leagues, and seem

To set the hills on fire.

The Youth of green savannahs spake,
And many an endless, endless lake,
With all its fairy crowds

Of islands, that together lie
As quietly as spots of sky
Among the evening clouds.

'How pleasant,' then he said, 'it were A fisher or a hunter there,

In sunshine or in shade

To wander with an easy mind;

And build a household fire, and find
A home in every glade!

'What days and what bright years! Ah me! Our life were life indeed, with thee

So passed in quiet bliss;

And all the while,' said he, 'to know
That we were in a world of woe,
On such an earth as this!'

And then he sometimes interwove
Fond thoughts about a father's love:
'For there,' said he, 'are spun
Around the heart such tender ties,

That our own children to our eyes
Are dearer than the sun.

'Sweet Ruth! and could you go with me

My helpmate in the woods to be,

Our shed at night to rear ;

Or run, my own adopted bride,

A sylvan huntress at my side,
And drive the flying deer!

'Beloved Ruth!'-No more he said. The wakeful Ruth at midnight shed A solitary tear :

She thought again—and did agree

With him to sail across the sea,

And drive the flying deer.

'And now, as fitting is and right,
We in the church our faith will plight,
A husband and a wife.'

Even so they did; and I may say
That to sweet Ruth that happy day
Was more than human life.