But they my troubled spirit rule,
For they controlled me when a boy; They bring me sorrow touched with joy, The merry, merry bells of Yule.
In distant countries have I 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 on the broad highway, I met ;
Along the broad highway he came,
His cheeks with tears were wet;
Sturdy he seem'd, 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 followed 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 may see;
And then I married, and was rich
As I could wish to be;
Of sheep I numbered a full score,
And every year increased 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 mountains 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.
"Six children, sir! had I to feed
Hard labor in a time of need!
My pride was tamed, and in our grief
I of the parish asked relief.
They said I was a wealthy man ;
My sheep upon the mountains fed,
And it was fit 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 woful 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 woful day.
"To wicked deeds I was inclined,
And wicked fancies crossed my mind,
And every man I chanced to see
I thought he knew some ill of me.
No peace, no comfort could I find;
No ease within doors or without;
And crazily, and wearily,
I went my work about.
Ofttimes I thought to run away;
For me it was a woful day.
"Another still! and still another!
A little lamb, and then its mother;
It was a vein that never stopped,
Like blood-drops from my heart they dropped,
Till thirty were not left alive;
They dwindled, dwindled one by one,
And I may say, that many a time
I wished they all were gone;
They dwindled one by one away;
For me it was a woful day.
"Sir, 'twas a precious flock to me,
As dear as my own children be;
For daily, with my growing store,
I loved my children more and more.
Alas! it was an evil time;
God cursed me in my sore distress;
I prayed, yet. every day I thought
I loved my children less;
And every week, and every day,
My flock it seemed to melt away.
They dwindled, sir, sad sight to see!
From ten to five, from five to three,
A lamb a wether, and a ewe,
And then at last, from three to two;
And of my fifty yesterday
I had but only one;
And here it lies upon my arm.
Alas! and I have none.
To-day I fetched it from the rock;
It is the last of all my flock."
SLEEPING AND WATCHING.
Sleep on, baby, on the floor,
Tired of all the playing;
Sleep with smile the sweeter for
That you dropped away in ;
On your curls' full roundness stand
Golden lights serenely.
One cheek pushed out by the band, Folds the dimple wily;
Little head and little feet,
Heavy laid for pleasure; Underneath the lids half shut,
Slants the shining azure;
Open soul in noonday sun,
So you lie and slumber;
Nothing evil having done,
Nothing can encumber..
I who cannot sleep so well,
Shall I sigh to view you?
Or sigh further to foretell
All that may undo you?
Nay, keep smiling, little child,
Ere the sorrow neareth;
I will smile too; patience mild
Pleasure's tokens weareth.
Nay, keep sleeping before loss,
I shall sleep, though losing;
As by cradle, so by cross,
Sure is the reposing.
And God knows, who sees us twain,
Child at childish leisure,
I am near as tired of pain
As you seem of pleasure.
Very soon, too, by his grace
Gently wrapped around me,
Shall I show as calm a face,
Shall I sleep as soundly?
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