THE LAST OF THE FLOCK. Composed 1798. I. Published 1798. IN distant countries have I been, II. He saw me, and he turned aside, To-day I fetched him from the rock ; He is the last of all my flock. III. When I was young, a single man, Though little given to care and thought, And other sheep from her I raised, As healthy sheep as you might see ; And then I married, and was rich Of sheep I numbered a full score, IV. Year after year my stock it grew ; 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 ; My pride was tamed, and in our grief They said, I was a wealthy man ; My sheep upon the uplands fed, 'Do this: how can we give to you,' 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— 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; VIII. To wicked deeds I was inclined, I thought he knew some ill of me : No ease, within doors or without; 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, I loved my children less; And every week, and every day, X. They dwindled, Sir, sad sight to see! And, of my fifty, yesterday I had but only one : And here it lies upon my arm, To-day I fetched it from the rock; No man like him the horn could sound, The halloo of Simon Lee. In those proud days, he little cared For husbandry or tillage; To blither tasks did Simon rouse The sleepers of the village. He all the country could outrun, Could leave both man and horse behind; And often, ere the chase was done, He reeled, and was stone-blind. And still there's something in the world At which his heart rejoices; For when the chiming hounds are out But, oh the heavy change!-bereft Of health, strength, friends, and kindred, see! Old Simon to the world is left In liveried poverty. His Master's dead,-and no one now Men, dogs, and horses, all are dead; He is the sole survivor. And he is lean and he is sick; Rests upon ankles swoln and thick; His legs are thin and dry. He has no son, he has no child, His wife, an aged woman, Lives with him, near the waterfall, Beside their moss-grown hut of clay, This scrap of land he from the heath Oft, working by her Husband's side, And, though you with your utmost skill "Tis little, very little—all That they can do between them. Few months of life has he in store |