_Lucy_

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; 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 E'en in the motions of the storm Grace that shall mold 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 pa.s.s 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 nevermore will be.

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

_Jessie_

Jessie is both young and fair, Dewy eyes and sunny hair; Sunny hair and dewy eyes Are not where her beauty lies.

Jessie is both kind and true, Heart of gold and will of yew; Will of yew and heart of gold-- Still her charms are scarcely told.

If she yet remain unsung, Pretty, constant, docile, young.

What remains not here compiled?

Jessie is a little child!

BRET HARTE.

_Olivia_

She gamboll'd on the greens A baby-germ, to when The maiden blossoms of her teens Could number five from ten.

I swear, by leaf, and wind, and rain-- And hear me with thine ears-- That tho' I circle in the grain Five hundred rings of years,

Yet, since I first could cast a shade, Did never creature pa.s.s So slightly, musically made, So light upon the gra.s.s.

Then ran she, gamesome as the colt, And livelier than a lark She sent her voice thro' all the holt Before her, and the park.

A light wind chased her on the wing, And in the chase grew wild, As close as might be would he cling About the darling child.

But light as any wind that blows, So fleetly did she stir, The flower she touch'd on, dipt and rose, And turned to look at her.

ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON.

_From "The Talking Oak."_

_Nikolina_

O tell me, little children, have you seen her-- The tiny maid from Norway, Nikolina?

O, her eyes are blue as cornflow'rs mid the corn, And her cheeks are rosy red as skies of morn!

Nikolina! swift she turns if any call her, As she stands among the poppies, hardly taller, Breaking off their scarlet cups for you, With spikes of slender larkspur, burning blue.

In her little garden many a flower is growing-- Red, gold, and purple in the soft wind blowing But the child that stands amid the blossoms gay Is sweeter, quainter, brighter e'en than they.

CELIA THAXTER.

_The Solitary Reaper_

Behold her, single in the field, Yon solitary Highland La.s.s!

Reaping and singing by herself; Stop here, or gently pa.s.s!

Alone she cuts and binds the grain, And sings a melancholy strain; O listen! for the vale profound Is overflowing with the sound.

No nightingale did ever chaunt More welcome notes to weary bands Of travelers in some shady haunt, Among Arabian sands; A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard, In springtime from the cuckoo bird, Breaking the silence of the seas Among the farthest Hebrides.

Will no one tell me what she sings?-- Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow For old, unhappy, far-off things, And battles long ago: Or is it some more humble lay, Familiar matter of to-day?

Some natural sorrow, loss or pain, That has been, and may be again?

Whate'er the theme, the maiden sang As if her song could have no ending; I saw her singing at her work, And o'er the sickle bending;-- I listened, motionless and still; And, as I mounted up the hill, The music in my heart I bore, Long after it was heard no more.

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

_Helena and Hermia_

We, Hermia,...

Have with our needles created both one flower, Both on one sampler, sitting on one cushion, Both warbling of one song, both in one key; As if our hands, our sides, voices, and minds Had been incorporate. So we grew together, Like to a double cherry, seeming parted, But yet a union in part.i.tion, Two lovely berries moulded on one stem; So, with two seeming bodies, but one heart, Two of the first, like coats in heraldry Due but to one, and crowned with one crest.

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.

_From "A Midsummer Night's Dream."_

_Phyllis_

In petticoat of green, Her hair about her eyne, Phyllis beneath an oak Sat milking her fair flock; 'Mongst that sweet-strained moisture, rare delight, Her hand seemed milk, in milk it was so white.

WILLIAM DRUMMOND.