Six Children, Sir! had I to feed ; My pride was tamed, and in our grief They said, I was a wealthy man; '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; A woeful time it was for me, To see the end of all my gains, The pretty flock which I had reared 45 50 55 60 VII. Another still! and still another! A little lamb, and then its mother! Like blood-drops from my heart they dropped. 'Till thirty were not left alive They dwindled, dwindled, one by one; 65 70 VIII. To wicked deeds I was inclined, I went my work about; And oft was moved to flee from home, IX. Sir! 'twas a precious flock to me, God cursed me in my sore distress; X. They dwindled, Sir, sad sight to see! A lamb, a wether, and a ewe And then at last from three to two; I had but only one: And here it lies upon my arm, To-day I fetched it from the rock; 75 80 85 90 95 100 REPENTANCE. 265 XXIII. REPENTANCE. A PASTORAL BALLA D. 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, 5 "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 ΙΟ 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! 15 When I walk by the hedge on a bright sum mer's day, Or sit in the shade of my grandfather's tree, A stern face it puts on, as if ready to say, What ails you, that you must come creeping to me." 20 With our pastures about us, we could not be sad; Our comfort was near if we ever were crost; But the comfort, the blessings, and wealth that we had, We slighted them all,--and our birth-right was lost. 25 Oh, ill-judging sire of an innocent son that strain! Think of evening's repose when our labour was done, The sabbath's return; and its leisure's soft chain ! And in sickness, if night had been sparing of sleep, How cheerful, at sunrise, the hill where I stood, 30 Looking down on the kine, and our treasure of sheep That besprinkled the field; 'twas like youth in my blood! Now I cleave to the house, and am dull as a snail; And, oftentimes, hear the church-bell with a sigh, That follows the thought-We've no land in the vale, 35 Save six feet of earth where our forefathers lie! XXIV. THE AFFLICTION OF MARGARET I. WHERE art thou, my beloved Son, II. Seven years, alas! to have received To have despaired, have hoped, believed, 10 I catch at them, and then I miss; 5 III. He was among the prime in worth, If things ensued that wanted grace, IV. Ah! little doth the young-one dream, 15 20 |