Избранная лирика

      I

                     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 in the broad highway, I met;
                     Along the broad highway he came,
                     His cheeks with tears were wet:
                     Sturdy he seemed, though he was sad;
                     And in his arms a Lamb he had.

      II

                     He saw me, and he turned aside,

                     As if he wished himself to hide:
                     And with his coat did then 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.

      III

                     "When I was young, a single man,

                     And after youthful follies ran,
                     Though little given to care and thought,
                     Yet, so it was, an ewe I bought;
                     And other sheep from her I raised,
                     As healthy sheep as you might 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.

      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 grief
                     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."