XXIII.

I cannot tell how this may be,

But plain it is, the thorn is bound
With heavy tufts of moss, that strive
To drag it to the ground.

And this I know, full many a time,

When she was on the mountain high,
By day, and in the silent night,

When all the stars shone clear and bright,
That I have heard her cry,

"Oh misery! oh misery!

"O woe is me! oh misery!"

THE

LAST OF THE FLOCK.

In distant countries I have been,
And yet I have not often seen
A healthy man, a man full grown,
Weep in the public roads alone.
But such a one, on English ground,
And in the broad high-way, I met;
Along the broad high-way he came,
His cheeks with tears were wet.
Sturdy he seemned, though he was sad;
And in his arms a lamb he had.

He saw me, and he turned aside,
As if he wished himself to hide :
Then with his coat he made essay
To wipe those briny tears away.

I follow'd him, and said, "My friend
"What ails you? wherefore weep you so?”

—"Shame on me, Sir! this lusty lamb, He makes my tears to flow.

To-day I fetched him from the rock;

He is the last of all my flock.

When I was young, a single man,
And after youthful follies ran,

Though little given to care and thought,

Yet, so it was, a ewe I bought;

And other sheep from her I raised,
As healthy sheep as you might see,

And then I married, and was rich

As I could wish to be;

Of sheep I number'd a full score,
And

every year encreas'd my store.

Year after year my stock it grew,
And from this one, this single ewe,
Full fifty comely sheep I raised,
As sweet a flock as ever grazed!
Upon the mountain did they feed;
They throve, and we at home did thrive.

—This lusty lamb of all my store

Is all that is alive :

And now I care not if we die,

And perish all of poverty.

Ten children, Sir! had I to feed,
Hard labour in a time of need!

My pride was tamed, and in our grief,
I of the parish ask'd relief.

They said I was a wealthy man ;
My sheep upon the mountain fed,

And it was lit that thence I took

Whereof to buy us bread :"

"Do this; how can we give to you,"

They cried, "what to the poor is due ?"

I sold a sheep as they had said,
And bought my little children bread,
And they were healthy with their food

For me it never did me good.
A woeful time it was for me,

To see the end of all my gains,
The pretty flock which I had reared
With all my care and pains,

To see it melt like snow away!

For me it was a woeful day.

Another still! and still another!

A little lamb, and then its mother!

It was a vein that never stopp'd,

Like blood-drops from my heart they droppd.

Till thirty were not left alive

They dwindled, dwindled, one by one,

And I may say that many a

I wished they all were gone:

time

They dwindled one by one away;
For me it was a woeful day.