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She shall be sportive as the Fawn
That wild with glee across the lawn
Or up the mountain springs ;
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.

“ 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.

The PET-LAMB,

A PASTORAL.

The dew was falling fast, the stars began to blink;
I heard a voice; it said, “ Drink, pretty Creature, drink!"
And, looking o'er the hedge, before me I espied
A snow-white mountain Lamb with a Maiden at its side.

No other sheep were near, the Lamb was all alone,
And by a slender cord was tethered to a stone;
With one knee on the grass did the little Maiden kneel
While to that Mountain Lamb she gave its evening meal.

The Lamb while from her hand he thus his supper took Seemed to feast with head and ears; and his tail with

pleasure shook. “Drink, pretty Creature, drink,” she said in such a tone That I almost received her heart into my own.

'Twas little Barbara Lewthwaite, a Child of beauty rare! I watched them with delight, they were a lovely pair. Now with her empty Can the Maiden turned away; But ere ten yards were gone her footsteps did she stay.

Towards the Lamb she looked; and from that shady place
I unobserved could see the workings of her face :
If Nature to her tongue could measured numbers bring,
Thus, thought I, to her Lamb that little Maid might sing.

What ails thee, Young One? What? Why pull so at

thy cord ? Is it not well with thee? Well both for bed and board ? Thy plot of grass is soft, and green as grass can be ; Rest, little Young One, rest; what is't that aileth thee?

“What is it thou wouldst seek? What is wanting to thy

heart?

Thy limbs are they not strong ? And beautiful thou art : This grass is tender grass; these flowers they have no

peers; And that green corn all day is rustling in thy ears !

" If the Sun be shining hot, do but stretch thy woollen

chain, This beech is standing by, its covert thou canst gain; For rain and mountain storms! the like thou need'st not

fear

The rain and storm are things which scarcely can come

here.

“Rest, little Young One, rest; thou hast forgot the day When

my

Father found thee first in places far away; Many flocks were on the hills, but thou wert owned by

none;

And thy mother from thy side for evermore was gone.

“ He took thee in his arms, and in pity brought thee

home :

A blessed day for thee! then whither wouldst thou roam ? A faithful Nurse thou hast, the Dam that did thee yean Upon the mountain tops no kinder could have been.

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