1. THE LAST OF THE FLOCK.
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In distant countries I have been,
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And yet I have not often seen
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A healthy man, a man full grown
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Weep in the public roads alone.
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But such a one, on English ground,
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And in the broad high-way, I met;
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Along the broad high-way he came,
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His cheeks with tears were wet.
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Sturdy he seemed, though he was sad;
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And in his arms a lamb he had.
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He saw me, and he turned aside,
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As if he wished himself to hide:
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Then with his coat he made essay
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To wipe those briny tears away.
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I follow'd him, and said, "My friend
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"What ails you? wherefore weep you so?"
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--"Shame on me, Sir! this lusty lamb,
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He makes my tears to flow.
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To-day I fetched him from the rock;
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He is the last of all my flock.
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When I was young, a single man.
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And after youthful follies ran,
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Though little given to care and thought,
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Yet, so it was, a ewe I bought;
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And other sheep from her I raised,
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As healthy sheep as you might see,
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And then I married, and was rich
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As I could wish to be;
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Of sheep I number'd a full score,
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And every year encreas'd my store.
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Year after year my stock it grew,
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And from this one, this single ewe,
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Full fifty comely sheep I raised,
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As sweet a flock as ever grazed!
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Upon the mountain did they feed;
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They throve, and we at home did thrive.
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--This lusty lamb of all my store
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And now I care not if we die,
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And perish all of poverty.
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Ten children, Sir! had I to feed,
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Hard labour in a time of need!
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My pride was tamed, and in our grief,
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I of the parish ask'd relief.
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They said I was a wealthy man;
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My sheep upon the mountain fed,
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And it was fit that thence I took
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Whereof to buy us bread:"
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"Do this; how can we give to you,"
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They cried, "what to the poor is due?"
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I sold a sheep as they had said,
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And bought my little children bread,
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And they were healthy with their food;
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For me it never did me good.
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A woeful time it was for me,
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To see the end of all my gains,
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The pretty flock which I had reared
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With all my care and pains,
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To see it melt like snow away!
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For me it was a woeful day.
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Another still! and still another!
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A little lamb, and then its mother!
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It was a vein that never stopp'd,
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Like blood-drops from my heart they dropp'd.
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Till thirty were not left alive
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They dwindled, dwindled, one by one,
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And I may say that many a time
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I wished they all were gone:
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They dwindled one by one away;
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For me it was a woeful day.
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To wicked deeds I was inclined,
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And wicked fancies cross'd my mind,
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And every man I chanc'd to see,
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I thought he knew some ill of me
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No peace, no comfort could I find,
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No ease, within doors or without,
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And crazily, and wearily,
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Oft-times I thought to run away;
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For me it was a woeful day.
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Sir! 'twas a precious flock to me,
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As dear as my own children be;
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For daily with my growing store
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I loved my children more and more.
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Alas! it was an evil time;
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God cursed me in my sore distress,
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I prayed, yet every day I thought
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I loved my children less;
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And every week, and every day,
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My flock, it seemed to melt away.
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They dwindled, Sir, sad sight to see!
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From ten to five, from five to three,
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A lamb, a weather, and a ewe;
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And then at last, from three to two;
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And of my fifty, yesterday
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And here it lies upon my arm,
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Alas! and I have none;
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To-day I fetched it from the rock;
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