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.

No other sheep 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.

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.

Toward the lamb she looked; and from that 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 could sing:

THE PET LAMB

4I

"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 wouldst 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 woolen

chain;

This beech is standing by, its covert thou canst gain; For rain and mountain storms! the like thou need'st not

fear

For rain and storm are things which scarcely can come here.

"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 forever more was gone.

"He took thee in his arms and in pity brought thee home: A blessed day for thee! then whither wouldst thou roam? A faithful nurse thou hast; the dam that did thee yean Upon the mountain tops no kinder could have been.

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THE PET LAMB

"Thou knowest 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 plow; 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 beliké 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

THE PET LAMB

43

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 PLANTING OF THE APPLE TREE

COME, let us plant the apple tree.

Cleave the tough greensward with the spade;

Wide let its hollow bed be made;

There gently lay the roots, and there

Sift the dark mould with kindly care,
And press it o'er them tenderly,
As round the sleeping infant's feet
We softly fold the cradle sheet;
So plant we the apple tree.

What plant we in the apple tree?

Buds, which the breath of summer days

Shall lengthen into leafy sprays;

Boughs where the thrush, with crimson breast,

Shall haunt, and sing and hide her nest;

We plant, upon the sunny lea,

A shadow for the noontide hour,
A shelter from the summer shower,
When we plant the apple tree.

What plant we in this apple tree?
Sweets for a hundred flowery springs
To load the May wind's restless wings,
When from the orchard row he pours
Its fragrance through our open doors;