IV.

Year after year my stock it grew;
And from this one, this single ewe,
Full fifty comely sheep I raised,
As fine a flock as ever grazed!
Upon the Quantock hills they fed;
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.

V.

Six Children, Sir! had I to feed;
Hard labour in a time of need!

My pride was tamed, and in our greif
I of the Parish asked relief.

They said, I was a wealthy man ;

My sheep upon the uplands 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?

VI.

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.

VII.

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-
Reckless of what might come at last
Were but the bitter struggle past.

VIII.

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;

And oft was moved to flee from home,

And hide my head where wild beasts roam.

IX.

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.

X.

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."

1798.

XXI.

REPENTANCE.

A PASTORAL BALLAD.

THE fields which with covetous spirit we sold,
Those beautiful fields, the delight of the day,
Would have brought us more good than a burthen of gold,
Could we but have been as contented as they.

When the troublesome Tempter beset us, said I,

'Let him come, with his purse proudly grasped in his hand; But, Allan, be true to me, Allan,—we'll die

Before he shall go with an inch of the land!'

There dwelt we, as happy as birds in their bowers;
Unfettered as bees that in gardens abide;

We could do what we liked with the land, it was ours;
And for us the brook murmured that ran by its side.

But now we are strangers, go early or late;
And often, like one overburthened with sin,
With my hand on
the latch of the half-opened gate,
I look at the fields, but I cannot go in!