And fix on it a steady view,

The shadow of a babe you trace,

A baby and a baby's face,

And that it looks at you;

Whene'er you look on it, 'tis plain

The baby looks at you again.

XXII.

And some had sworn an oath that she Should be to public justice brought; And for the little infant's bones

With spades they would have sought.
But then the beauteous hill of moss

Before their eyes began to stir ;
And for full fifty yards around,

The grass it shook upon the ground;

But all do still aver

The little babe is buried there,

Beneath that hill of moss so fair.

XXIII.

I cannot tell how this may be,

But plain it is, the thorn is bound

With heavy tufts of moss, that strive
To drag it to the ground.

And this I know, full many a time,

When she was on the mountain high,

By day, and in the silent night,

When all the stars shone clear and bright,

That I have heard her cry,

"Oh misery! oh misery!

"O woe is me! oh misery!"

THE

LAST OF THE FLOCK.

In distant countries I have 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 high-way, I met;
Along the broad high-way he came,
His cheeks with tears were wet.
Sturdy he seemed, though he was sad;
And in his arms a lamb he had.

He saw me, and he turned aside,
As if he wished himself to hide :
Then with his coat he made essay

To wipe those briny tears away.

I follow'd 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.

When I was young, a single man,

And after youthful follies ran,

Though little given to care and thought,

Yet, so it was, a 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 number'd a full score,
And every year encreas'd my store.

Year after year my stock it grew,
And from this one, this single ewe,
Full fifty comely sheep I raised,

As sweet a flock as ever grazed!
Upon the mountain did they feed ;

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.

Ten 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 ask'd relief.

They said I was a wealthy man;
My sheep upon the mountain 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 ?"