Page:Poems Mitford.djvu/59

As wafted by the maiden's sigh,
The buoyant seeds wide-scatt'ring fly.
But oft, alas! the village maid
Seeks the dark gipsy's fatal aid,
Down by the wood's romantic side
She glides unseen at evening tide,
With trembling awe her fate she hears.
Quick rising hopes, and bashful fears;
Wak'd by the sybil's wily art,
What transports swell that simple heart!
She tells of gentle lovers true,
With nut-brown hair, and eyes of blue,
"'Tis he! 'tis William!" Lucy cries,
And light as air to meet him flies,
Too fond, too happy, to be wise!

 How slowly wells the limpid flood!
How calm, how still the solitude!
No sound comes wafted on the gale,
Save the sweet warblings of the vale;