SECTION VIII.

The pet Lamb.

1. THE dew was falling fast, the stars began to blink;

I heard a voice; it said, "Drink, pret'ty crea'ture,*drink!" And, looking o'er the hedge, before me I e-spi'd,

A snow white môûn'tain Lamb, with a maiden at its side. 2. No other sheep were near, the Lamb was all älōne, And by a slender cord, was tether'd to a stone; With one knee on the grass did the little maiden kneel, While to the môûn'tain Lamb she gave its evening meal. 3. 'Twas little Bàr'ba-ră Lēth'waite, a child of beauty rare : I watch'd them with delight; they were a lovely pair: And now with empty can, the maiden turn'd ǎway,

But eret ten yards were gone, her footsteps did she stay. 4. To'wards the Lamb she look'd; and from that shady place, I unobserv'd could see the workings of her face :

If nature to her tongue could meaşur'd numbers bring,

Thus, thought I, to her Lamb that little maid would sing: 5. "What ails thee, young one, what? why pull so at thy cord? Is it not well with thee? well both for bed and board? Thy plot of grass is soft, and green as grass can be:

Rest, little young one, rest; what is't that aileth thee? 6. What is it thou would'st seek? What's wan'ting to thy heart? Thy limbs are they not strong? and beautiful thou art: This grass is tender gråss; these flowers they have no peers; And that green corn all day is rustling in thy ears.

7. If the sun is shi'ning hot, do but stretch thy woollen chain, This beech is standing by, its covert thou canst gain; For rain and môûn'tain storms the like thou need'st not fear; The rain and storm àre things which scarcely can come here. 3. Rest, little young one, rest; thou hast forgot the day,

When my father found thee first in places far away: Many flocks were on the hills, but thou wert own'd by nóne, And thy mother from thy side for ever more was gone. 9. He took thee in his arms, and in pity brought thee home; A blessed day for thee then whither wouldst thou roam? A faithful nurse thou hast; the dam that did thee yean Upon the môûn'tain tops, no kinder could have been.‡ 10. Thou know'st that, twice a day, I've brought thee in this can Fresh water from the brook, as clear as ever ran : And twice in the day, when the ground is wet with dew, I bring thee draughts|| of milk, wârm milk it is and new. 11. It will not, will not rest! Poor creature can it be, That 'tis thy mother's heart that's working so in thee? Things that I know not of perhaps' to thee àre dear, And dreams of things which thou canst neither see nor hear.

krē'tshure.

täre.

+ bin.

dräfte.

12. Alas! the môûn'tain tops that look so green and fair;
I've heard of fearful winds and darkness that come there
The little brooks, that seem all păs'time and all play,
When they are angry, roar like lions for their prey.
13. Here thou need'st not dread the raven in the sky;
He will not come to thee, our cottage is hard by.
Night and day thou art safe as living thing can be:
Be happy then and rest; what is't that aileth thee?
WORDS'WOR

The Farmer, the Spaniel, and the Cat.

1. As at his board a Farmer sat,

Replenish'd by his homely treat,
His fav'rite Span'iel near him stood,
And with his master shar'd the food;
The crackling bones his jaws devour'd,
His lapping tongue the trenchers scour'd;
Till, sated now, supine he lay,
And snor'd the rising fumes away.
2. The hungry Cat, in turn drew near,"
And hum'bly crav'd a servant's share.
Her modest worth the master knew,
And straight the fatt'ning morsel threw.
3. Enrag'd, the snarling cur awōke,
And thus with spiteful envy spoke :
"They only claim a right to eat,
Who earn by services their meat;
Me, zeal and in'dustry inflame

To scour the fields, and spring the game;
Or, plunged in the wint'ry wave,
For man the wôûnded bird to save.
4. With watchful diligence I keep
From prowling wolves his fleecy sheep;
At home his midnight hours secure,
And drive the robber from the door.
For this his breast with kindnesst glows,
For this his hand the food bestows.
5. And shall thy indolence impart
A warmer friendship to his heart,
That thus he robs me of my due,
To pamper such vile things as you?"
6. "I own, with meekness, Pûss replied,

Nor does my heart with envy swell,
To find it recompens'd so well:
Yet I, in what my na'ture* can,
Contribute to the good of man.

7. Whose claws destroy' the pilf'ring mouse?
Who drives the věr'min from the house?
Or, watch'ful for the lab'ring swain,
From lurking rats secures the grain?
From hence if he rewards bestow,

Why should your heart with gâll o'erflow?
Why pine my happiness to see,

Since there's enough for you and me ?"
"Thy words are just," the Farmer cried,
And spurn'd the snarjer from his side.

SECTION X.

The Wheat and the Weeds.

1. 'Twas in a pleasant month of spring,
When flow'rets bloom and warblers sing
A field of wheat began to rise,
The farmer's hope, his country's prize.
When lo! ămid' the op'ning ears,
A various crop of weeds appears.
The poppy, sol'dier-like array'd,
Its flimsy scarlet flow'rs display'd.
Some, like the lofty sky,† were blue;
And some wĕre ting'd with golden hue:
But ev'ry where the wheat was seen,
Clad in one robe of modest green.
2. It chănc'd, three youths, in city bred,
That knew to eat--not raise their bread,
For pleaş'ure's sake, had rambled there,
To see the sun, and breathe fresh air.
Of herbs and grain they little knew
What Lin'næ-us wrote, or Sin'clair grew:
But each, as o'er the field they gaz'd,
What fancy led to, pluck'd and prais'd.
3. "See," said the first, "this flow'r so red,
That gently bows its blushing head:
Can the whole field a plant display,
So rich, so noble, and so gay?"

"Yes," said the next, "the flow'r I show, With star-like rays, and sky-light blue,

So much does your dull plănt outshine,
That the best choice is surely mine."
4. "Stop," said the third, "the flow'r I hold,
With cluster'd leaves of burnish'd gold,
Than yours or his, is richer drest;
The choice I've made, is doubtless best,"
In this, however, each agreed',
That nothing could his own exceed;
And that the rising blades of green,
Did not deşĕrve' to grow between.
5. A Farmer chănc'd behind the gate
To overhear the youths' debate;
Knowing from ign'rance errour springs,
He strove to teach them better things.
6. "My lads," he said, now understand,
These are but weeds that spoil our land;
But the green blades you trample down,
Are wheat, man's food, and nature's crown.
With art and pains the crop is sown,
And thus your daily bread is grown.
Alas! your judgn.ent was not right,
Because you judg'd from outward sight."

66

SECTION XI.

Economy the source of charity.

1. By gen'rous goodness taught, my early youth
Soon learn'd humanity.-My parents died-
Orphans have claims on charitable souls;
The pious Ed'găr thought so: mov'd perhǎps'
By the soft eloquence of infant tears,
Pěrchǎnce' by na'ture* prompted, to his roof
He led the fatherless.-

2.

It was the seat
Of nuptial happiness: a rustick cot,

Small, yet convenient, for their wânts were few.
And Edgar, knowing what all men should learn,
Was with his lot contented.-Happy state!
Labour he plied for exercise, not gain.
At early dawn, he led me to the field;

3.

When all arrears of labour shall be paid;
Each well-meant toil rewarded."-

Once, perchǎnce',
I found him busied near a murm'ring rill:

To various little streams he turn'd its source,

Where, wând'ring devious thro' his neat dress'd grounds, It cheer'd the green copse, fill'd the earing corn; Then trickled gently through the perfum'd grove. 4. "Mark well, my child," he said; "this little stream Shall teach thee Charity. It is a source

5.

6.

7.

8.

I never knew to fail: direc'ted thus

Be that soft stream, the fôûn'tain of thy heart.
For, Oh! my much lov'd child, I trust thy heàrt
Has those affections that shall bless thyself;

And flowing softly, like this little rill,

Cheer all that droop."

The good man did not ĕrr;

The milk of human kindness wârm'd my breast;

Young as I was, I felt for others' woes,

And, when I could, reliev'd them.-Yet I was young. And, having lavish'd all my infant store

In gewgaw toys, and childish fooleries,

I do remember well, a vet'ran old,

Maim'd and disfigur'd by the hand of wår,
Implor'd my charity.—

I felt, ălăs'!

His various wants-sore, sick, and wân, he seem'd :
My little heart bled at each wôûnd he show'd.
Alǎs'! ălăs'! replied my infant thoughts,

And shall wânt cloud the evening of his days
Whose noon of life was toil ?-And then I wept.-
It was the first time that I e'er* knew wânt;
I was indeed a bankrupt.—

Ed'găr came.
I wept, but spoke not; for my heart was full.
"What wilt thou give, my boy?"-Fearing a lie,
I sobb'd out truth most sadly. Ed'går felt;
Pardon'd my folly; (for he lov'd my tears ;)
And gave what sooth'd the poor man's misery.
But, in our ev'ning walk, behold! the stream
Was dry. I ǎsk'd the cause.-

"Mark me, my child! This rill, I told thee oft, thro' all thy life,

* āre.