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THE PET LAMB.

74. THE PET LAMB.

THE dew was falling fast, the stars began to blink;
I heard a voice; it said, "Drink, pretty creature, drink!"
And, looking o'er the hedge, before me I espied

A snow-white mountain-lamb with a Maiden at its side.

Nor sheep nor kine were near; the lamb was all alone,
And by a slender cord was tethered to a stone;
With one knee on the grass did the little Maiden kneel,
While to that mountain-lamb she gave its evening meal.

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The lamb, while from her hand he thus his supper took, Seemed to feast with head and ears; and his tail with pleasure shook.

"Drink, pretty creature, drink," she said in such a tone
That I almost received her heart into my own.

'Twas little Barbara Lewthwaite, a child of beauty rare!
I watched them with delight, they were a lovely pair.
Now with her empty can the maiden turned away:
But ere ten yards were gone her footsteps did she stay.

Right towards the lamb she looked; and from a shady place
I unobserved could see the workings of her face:

If Nature to her tongue could measured numbers bring, Thus, thought I, to her lamb that little maid might sing:

"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?

What is it thou would'st seek? What is wanting to thy heart?
Thy limbs are they not strong? and beautiful thou art :
This grass is tender grass; these flowers they have no peers;
And that green corn all day is rustling in thy ears!

If the sun be shining hot, do but stretch thy woollen chain,
This beech is standing by, its covert thou canst gain;
For rain and mountain-storms! the like thou needs't not fear,
The rain and storm are things that scarcely can come here.

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THE PET LAMB.

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 owned by none,
And thy mother from thy side for evermore was gone.

He took thee in his arms, and in pity brought thee home:
A blessed day for thee! then whither woulds't thou roam?
A faithful nurse thou hast; the dam that did thee yean
Upon the mountain tops no kinder could have been.

Thou know'st that twice a day I have 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, warm milk it is and new.
Thy limbs will shortly be twice as stout as they are now,
Then I'll yoke thee to my cart like a pony in the plough;
My playmate thou shalt be; and when the wind is cold
Our hearth shall be thy bed, our house shall be thy fold.
It will not, will not rest!-Poor creature, can it be
That 'tis thy mother's heart which is working so in thee?
Things that I know not of belike to thee are dear,

And dreams of things which thou canst neither see nor hear.
Alas, the mountain tops that look so green and fair!
I've heard of fearful winds and darkness that come there;
The little brooks that seem all pastime and all play,
When they are angry, roar like lions for their prey.
Here thou need'st not dread the raven in the sky;
Night and day thou art safe,- —our cottage is hard by.
Why bleat so after me? Why pull so at thy chain?
Sleep-and at break of day I will come to thee again!"
-As homeward through the lane I went with lazy feet,
This song to myself did I oftentimes repeat;
And it seemed, as I retraced the ballad line by line,
That but half of it was hers, and one half of it was mine.

Again, and once again, did I repeat the song;

Nay," said I, "more than half to the damsel must belong, For she looked with such a look, and she spake with such a tone,

That I almost received her heart into my own."

WORDSWORTH

THE HAPPIEST LAND.

75. THE HAPPIEST LAND.

FRAGMENT OF A MODERN BALLAD.

THERE sat one day in quiet,
By an ale-house on the Rhine,
Four hale and hearty fellows,
And drank the precious wine.

The landlord's daughter filled their cups,
Around the rustic board;
Then sat they all so calm and still,
And spake not one rude word.

But, when the maid departed,
A Swabian raised his hand,

And cried, all hot and flushed with wine,
Long live the Swabian land!

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"The greatest kingdom upon earth
Cannot with that compare;

With all the stout and hardy men
And the nut-brown maidens there."

"Ha!" cried a Saxon, laughing,And dashed his beard with wine; "I had rather live in Lapland,

Than that Swabian land of thine!

"The goodliest land on all this earth,
It is the Saxon land!

There have I as many maidens
As fingers on this hand!"

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THE CALM OF EVENING.

"Hold your tongues! both Swabian and Saxon!”

A bold Bohemian cries;

"If there's a heaven upon this earth, In Bohemia it lies.

“There the tailor blows the flute,
And the cobbler blows the horn,
And the miner blows the bugle,
Over mountain-gorge and bourn.”

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And then the landlord's daughter
Up to heaven raised her hand,
And said, "Ye may no more contend,—
There lies the happiest land!”

(From the German.)

LONGFELLOW.

76. THE CALM OF EVENING.

It is a beauteous evening, calm and free,
The holy time is quiet as a Nun

Breathless with adoration; the broad sun

Is sinking down in its tranquillity;

The gentleness of heaven broods o'er the sea:
Listen! the mighty Being is awake,

And doth with his eternal motion make

A sound like thunder-everlastingly.

Dear Child! dear Girl! that walkest with me here,
If thou appear untouched by solemn thought,
Thy nature is not therefore less divine:
Thou liest in Abraham's bosom all the year;
And worshipp'st at the Temple's inner shrine,
God being with thee when we know it not.

WORDSWORTH,

THE SAILOR.

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77. THE SAILOR.

WHEN Tom left the village, so lov'd was his name,
So manly his form, and so honest his fame,

So worthy his heart, that though longing to roam,
"Till his poor mother died he stuck true to his home;
While she needed him no temptation could move
His hand from his duty-his heart from her love-
Though he long'd for the life of a Sailor.

But when the last sun-ray had set o'er her grave,
Tom left the old village to sail the broad wave;
His purse was but light, for as long as a friend
Ask'd assistance from Tom, it was his to the end:
And a nobler, a better, a braver than he
Never sail'd on the breast of the billowy sea,
Nor follow'd the life of a Sailor.

But time hasten'd on, and four years slipp'd away,
When late in the spring, just at close of the day,
Our Sailor came home, but we saw with a sigh
That poor Tom had return'd to the village to die;
Still he spoke with a smile of the perils he'd past,
And his heart's dying beat was still brave to the last,
And we buried, with tears, our poor Sailor.

But again-ere a month past-that grave was unclos'd,
And the Rose of the Village within it repos'd:
Since the hour Tom return'd, she had alter'd each day,
As he faded-she wither'd-and sorrow'd away;
And her last breath implor'd, as it flutter'd and died,
That in peace she might rest, like a bride by his side,
And her heart be in death with her Sailor.

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