Our blood splashes upward, O gold-heaper, And your purple shows your path; But the child's sob in the silence curses deeper Elizabeth Barrett Browning [1806-1861] LUCY GRAY OR SOLITUDE OFT I had heard of Lucy Gray: No mate, no comrade Lucy knew; You yet may spy the fawn at play, "To-night will be a stormy night,- And take a lantern, Child, to light "That, Father, will I gladly do: At this the Father raised his hook, Lucy Gray Not blither is the mountain roe: Her feet disperse the powdery snow, The storm came on before its time: The wretched parents all that night At daybreak on the 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 And then an open field they crossed- They followed from the snowy bank Into the middle of the plank; And further there were none! 275 -Yet some maintain that to this day That you may see sweet Lucy Gray O'er rough and smooth she trips along, And never looks behind; And sings a solitary song That whistles in the wind. William Wordsworth [1770-1850) ALICE FELL OR POVERTY THE post-boy drove with fierce career, For threatening clouds the moon had drowned; When, as we hurried on, my ear Was smitten with a startling sound. As if the wind blew many ways, I heard the sound,-and more and more; At length I to the boy called out; The boy then smacked his whip, and fast But, hearing soon upon the blast The cry, I bade him halt again. Forthwith alighting on the ground, "Whence comes," said I, "this piteous moan?" And there a little Girl I found, Sitting behind the chaise, alone. Alice Fell "My cloak!" no other word she spake, But loud and bitterly she wept, As if her innocent heart would break: And down from off her seat she leapt. 277 "What ails you, child?" She sobbed, "Look here!" I saw it in the wheel entangled, A weather-beaten rag as e'er From any garden scarecrow dangled. There, twisted between nave and spoke, "And whither are you going, child, To-night along these lonesome ways?" "To Durham," answered she, half wild"Then come with me into the chaise." Insensible to all relief, Sat the poor girl, and forth did send Sob after sob, as if her grief Could never, never have an end. "My child, in Durham do you dwell?" "And I to Durham, Sir, belong." Again, as if the thought would choke Her very heart, her grief grew strong; And all was for her tattered cloak! The chaise drove on; our journey's end Up to the tavern-door we post; "And let it be of duffil gray, As warm a cloak as man can sell!" William Wordsworth [1770-1850] IN THE CHILDREN'S HOSPITAL EMMIE OUR doctor had called in another, I never had seen him before, But he sent a chill to my heart when I saw him come in at the door, Fresh from the surgery-schools of France and of other lands Harsh red hair, big voice, big chest, big merciless hands! Wonderful cures he had done, O yes, but they said too of him He was happier using the knife than in trying to save the limb, And that I can well believe, for he looked so coarse and so red, I could think he was one of those who would break their jests on the dead, And mangle the living dog that had loved him and fawned at his knee Drenched with the hellish oorali-that ever such things should be! IIere was a boy-I am sure that some of our children would die But for the voice of love, and the smile, and the comforting eye Here was a boy in the ward, every bone seemed out of its place Caught in a mill and crushed--it was all but a hopeless case: |