Poems, in Two Volumes (Wordsworth, 1807)/Volume 1/Alice Fell
For other versions of this work, see Alice Fell.
4.
ALICE FELL.
The Post-boy drove with fierce career,For threat'ning clouds the moon had drown'd;When suddenly I seem'd to hearA moan, a lamentable sound.
As if the wind blew many waysI heard the sound, and more and more:It seem'd to follow with the Chaise,And still I heard it as before.
At length I to the Boy call'd out,He stopp'd his horses at the word;But neither cry, nor voice, nor shout,Nor aught else like it could be heard.
The Boy then smack'd his whip, and fastThe horses scamper'd through the rain;And soon I heard upon the blastThe voice, and bade him halt again.
Said I, alighting on the ground,"What can it be, this piteous moan?"And there a little Girl I found,Sitting behind the Chaise, alone.
"My Cloak!" the word was last and first,And loud and bitterly she wept,As if her very heart would burst;And down from off the Chaise she leapt.
"What ails you, Child?" she sobb'd, "Look here!"I saw it in the wheel entangled,A weather beaten Rag as e'erFrom any garden scare-crow dangled,
'Twas twisted betwixt nave and spoke;Her help she lent, and with good heedTogether we released the Cloak;A wretched, wretched rag indeed!
"And whither are you going, Child,To night along these lonesome ways?""To Durham" answer'd she half wild—"Then come with me into the chaise."
She sate like one past all relief;Sob after sob she forth did sendIn wretchedness, as if her griefCould never, never, have an end.
"My Child, in Durham do you dwell?"She check'd herself in her distress,And said, "My name is Alice Fell;I'm fatherless and motherless.
And I to Durham, Sir, belong."And then, as if the thought would chokeHer very heart, her grief grew strong;And all was for her tatter'd Cloak.
The chaise drove on; our journey's endWas nigh; and, sitting by my side,As if she'd lost her only friendShe wept, nor would be pacified.
Up to the Tavern-door we post;Of Alice and her grief I told;And I gave money to the Host,To buy a new Cloak for the old.
"And let it be of duffil grey,As warm a cloak as man can sell!"Proud Creature was she the next day,The little Orphan, Alice Fell!