Hast not heard, with heart of wonder, How this magic globe of gold, Onward through the rushing thunder Of the stormy torrent rolled? Still she wandered, faint and weary, Through the forest wild and wide, Till her thoughts grew dark and dreary, And her heart with terror died. As near the hut the master drew, The deep green earth, the Heavens blue Were still, as if the whole they knew. Did Lucy, then, poison herself and the infant to avoid separation? As the child cries, the master approaches yet again. It comes at length, the twilight dim; The weary mother sings her hymn Sweetly, but plaintively. Orphaned in this world of sorrow, Chased by savage beasts of prey— Doomed from frantic fears to borrow Strength to bear her on her way. Paled before her virgin honor— Paled before her love and truth— Savage natures, gazing on her, Turned to pity and to ————-. When, through thy long dark nights, cold sleet and rain Patter and plash against the frosty pane, Warm curtained from the storm, I love to lie Wakeful, and listening to the lullabye Of fitful winds, that, as they rise and fall, Send hollo murmurs through the echoing hall.
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