THE post-boy drove with fierce career, 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 call'd out; The boy then smack'd his whip, and fast Forthwith alighting on the ground, 'Whence comes,' said I, 'this piteous moan?' And there a little girl I found, Sitting behind the chaise alone. '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. 'What ails you, child?'—she sobb'd, '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, Insensible to all relief Sat the poor girl, and forth did send Could never, never have an end. 'My child, in Durham do you dwell?' The chaise drove on; our journey's end 'And let it be of duffil gray, 'As warm a cloak as man can sell!' The little orphan, Alice Fell! W. Wordsworth 52 pacified, quieted 57 duffil, strong shaggy cloth * 9* THE LITTLE GIRL LOST IN the southern clime, Where the summer's prime Never fades away, Lovely Lyca lay. Seven summers old 'Lost in desert wild : 'Frowning, frowning, night 'O'er this desert bright, 'Let thy moon arise 'While I close my eyes!' Sleeping Lyca lay: The kingly lion stood, Leopards, tigers, play Bow'd his mane of gold, And [did] her bosom lick; And upon her neck From his eyes of flame Ruby tears there came : While the lioness Loosed her slender dress; THE LITTLE GIRL FOUND ALL the night in woe Lyca's parents go, Over valleys deep, While the deserts weep. Tired and woe-begone, Hoarse with making moan, Arm-in-arm seven days They traced the desert ways. Seven nights they sleep Among shadows deep, And dream they see their child Starved in desert wild. Pale through pathless ways Rising from unrest The trembling woman press'd With feet of weary woe: She could no further go. In his arms he bore Her, arm'd with sorrow sore; Till before their way A couching lion lay. Turning back was vain : Smelling to his prey; They look upon his eyes, On his head a crown : 'Follow me,' he said ; Then they followed Where the vision led, And saw their sleeping child Among tigers wild. |