very
Swift-footed.  She spoke and was gone; and when Oliver cried,
‘Hie over! hie over! you man of the ferry—­the ferry!’
By the still water’s side she was heard far and wide—­she replied
And she mocked in her voice sweet and merry, ’You man of the ferry,
You man of—­you man of the ferry!’

‘Hie over!’ he shouted.  The ferryman came at his calling,
Across the clear reed-border’d river he ferried us fast;—­
Such a chase!  Hand in hand, foot to foot, we ran on; it surpass’d
All measure her doubling—­so close, then so far away falling,
Then gone, and no more.  Oh! to see her but once unaware,
And the mouth that had mocked, but we might not (yet sure she was there!),
Nor behold her wild eyes and her mystical countenance fair.

We sought in the wood, and we found the wood-wren in her stead;
In the field, and we found but the cuckoo that talked overhead;
By the brook, and we found the reed-sparrow deep-nested, in brown—­
Not Echo, fair Echo! for Echo, sweet Echo! was flown. 
So we came to the place where the dead people wait till God call. 
The church was among them, grey moss over roof, over wall. 
Very silent, so low.  And we stood on a green grassy mound
And looked in at a window, for Echo, perhaps, in her round
Might have come in to hide there.  But no; every oak-carven seat
Was empty.  We saw the great Bible—­old, old, very old,
And the parson’s great Prayer-book beside it; we heard the slow beat
Of the pendulum swing in the tower; we saw the clear gold
Of a sunbeam float down to the aisle and then waver and play
On the low chancel step and the railing, and Oliver said,
’Look, Katie! look, Katie! when Lettice came here to be wed
She stood where that sunbeam drops down, and all white was her gown;
And she stepped upon flowers they strew’d for her.’  Then quoth small Seven: 
‘Shall I wear a white gown and have flowers to walk upon ever?’
All doubtful:  ‘It takes a long time to grow up,’ quoth Eleven;
’You’re so little, you know, and the church is so old, it can never
Last on till you’re tall.’  And in whispers—­because it was old
And holy, and fraught with strange meaning, half felt, but not told,
Full of old parsons’ prayers, who were dead, of old days, of old folk,
Neither heard nor beheld, but about us, in whispers we spoke. 
Then we went from it softly and ran hand in hand to the strand,
While bleating of flocks and birds’ piping made sweeter the land. 
And Echo came back e’en as Oliver drew to the ferry,
‘O Katie!’ ‘O Katie!’ ‘Come on, then!’ ‘Come on, then!’ ’For, see,
The round sun, all red, lying low by the tree’—­’by the tree.’ 
‘By the tree.’  Ay, she mocked him again, with her voice sweet and merry: 
‘Hie over!’ ‘Hie over!’ ‘You man of the ferry’—­’the ferry.’ 
      ’You man of the ferry—­
      You man of—­you man of—­the ferry.’