Page:Lyrical ballads, Volume 2, Wordsworth, 1800.djvu/124

116 I, too have pass'd her on the hills

Setting her little water-mills

By spouts and fountains wild,

Such small machinery as she turn'd

Ere she had wept, ere she had mourn'd

A young and happy Child!

Farewel! and when thy days are told

Ill-fated Ruth! in hallow'd mold

Thy corpse shall buried be,

For thee a funeral bell shall ring,

And all the congregation sing

A Christian psalm for thee.