William Wordsworth (Portrait by Henry Eldridge)
Cockermouth, 7 April 1770 – Cumberland, 23 April 1850
Illustration by Minnie Dibdin Spooner
Lucy Gray
Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray:
And, when I crossed the wild,
I chanced to see at break of day
The solitary child.
No mate, no comrade Lucy knew;
She dwelt on a wide moor,
--The sweetest thing that ever grew
Beside a human door!
And, when I crossed the wild,
I chanced to see at break of day
The solitary child.
No mate, no comrade Lucy knew;
She dwelt on a wide moor,
--The sweetest thing that ever grew
Beside a human door!
You yet may spy the fawn at play,
The hare upon the green;
But the sweet face of Lucy Gray
Will never more be seen.
"To-night will be a stormy night--
You to the town must go;
And take a lantern, Child, to light
Your mother through the snow."
"That, Father! will I gladly do:
'Tis scarcely afternoon--
The minster-clock has just struck two,
And yonder is the moon!"
At this the Father raised his hook,
And snapped a faggot-band;
He plied his work;--and Lucy took
The lantern in her hand.
The hare upon the green;
But the sweet face of Lucy Gray
Will never more be seen.
"To-night will be a stormy night--
You to the town must go;
And take a lantern, Child, to light
Your mother through the snow."
"That, Father! will I gladly do:
'Tis scarcely afternoon--
The minster-clock has just struck two,
And yonder is the moon!"
At this the Father raised his hook,
And snapped a faggot-band;
He plied his work;--and Lucy took
The lantern in her hand.
Not blither is the mountain roe:
With many a wanton stroke
Her feet disperse the powdery snow,
That rises up like smoke.
The storm came on before its time:
She wandered up and down;
And many a hill did Lucy climb:
But never reached the town.
The wretched parents all that night
Went shouting far and wide;
But there was neither sound nor sight
To serve them for a guide.
At day-break on a hill they stood
That overlooked the moor;
And thence they saw the bridge of wood,
A furlong from their door.
They wept--and, turning homeward, cried,
"In heaven we all shall meet;"
--When in the snow the mother spied
The print of Lucy's feet.
Then downwards from the steep hill's edge
They tracked the footmarks small;
And through the broken hawthorn hedge,
And by the long stone-wall;
And then an open field they crossed:
The marks were still the same;
They tracked them on, nor ever lost;
And to the bridge they came.
They followed from the snowy bank
Those footmarks, one by one,
Into the middle of the plank;
And further there were none!
--Yet some maintain that to this day
She is a living child;
That you may see sweet Lucy Gray
Upon the lonesome wild.
O'er rough and smooth she trips along,
And never looks behind;
And sings a solitary song
That whistles in the wind.
With many a wanton stroke
Her feet disperse the powdery snow,
That rises up like smoke.
The storm came on before its time:
She wandered up and down;
And many a hill did Lucy climb:
But never reached the town.
The wretched parents all that night
Went shouting far and wide;
But there was neither sound nor sight
To serve them for a guide.
At day-break on a hill they stood
That overlooked the moor;
And thence they saw the bridge of wood,
A furlong from their door.
They wept--and, turning homeward, cried,
"In heaven we all shall meet;"
--When in the snow the mother spied
The print of Lucy's feet.
Then downwards from the steep hill's edge
They tracked the footmarks small;
And through the broken hawthorn hedge,
And by the long stone-wall;
And then an open field they crossed:
The marks were still the same;
They tracked them on, nor ever lost;
And to the bridge they came.
They followed from the snowy bank
Those footmarks, one by one,
Into the middle of the plank;
And further there were none!
--Yet some maintain that to this day
She is a living child;
That you may see sweet Lucy Gray
Upon the lonesome wild.
O'er rough and smooth she trips along,
And never looks behind;
And sings a solitary song
That whistles in the wind.
Illustration by Minnie Dibdin Spooner
Ballada Lucy Gray–ről
Hallottam már róla sokat;
Úgy hívták: Lucy Gray.
S láttam egyszer a fák alatt
Amint eltűnt az éj.
Nem kellett néki társ, barát,
Kinn élt a láposon.
Így nőtt az édes-szép virág,
Ilyen magányosan.
Fürkészd a hajnali mezőt:
Friss még a fű nyoma,
Surran a játszi őz, - de őt
Nem láthatod soha.
- Vihar, vihar lesz éjszaka,
Siess a dombon át,
Gyerek, lámpással hozd haza
A városból anyád –
- Megyek örömmel, jóapám
Hisz délután van még.
Az óra kettőt üt csupán,
És holdas lesz az ég. –
És apja nem felel neki,
Rőzsét tör szótlanul,
Inog a lámpás, - megy Lucy,
S a fény a hóra hull.
Mint könnyűléptű őzike,
A dombon úgy szökell,
Porzik nyomán a hópihe,
Füstként repülve fel.
Vihar támad nagyon korán;
A kislány bandukolt.
És domb fehérlett domb után,
S a város messze volt…
A boldogtalan pár rohan,
De Lucy nincs sehol.
Kiáltoznak a dombokon,
De ő nem válaszol.
Kutatják késő hajnalig,
S ím, látszik már a láp,
Amott a ház, s a kis fahíd
Pár lépéssel odább.
Búcsút zokognak a szülők;
- Fogunk még látni – Ott! –
S most meglátnak a hőban ők
Két csöppnyi lábnyomot.
Követték Lucy lábnyomát
Lejtőkön, völgyeken,
A tüskés, tört sövényen át
S a kéfal mentiben,
S egy tág mezőre értek el,
A lábnyom arra vitt,
Mentek, egyet sem vétve el,
S előttük állt a híd,
S tovább vezet, tovább kisér
A parti friss havon –
S a deszkapalló véginél
Csak megszakad a nyom…!
- Meséli róla még sokat,
Hogy él, s ha tűn az éj;
Kinn jár a csöndes fák alatt
Az édes Lucy Gray.
Hátra se néz, s míg hómezőn
És lankán kóborol:
Magányos dal száll könnyezőn
S a szélben fellobog.
Gergely Ágnes fordítása
