It was a new-born thing: the rain Was drenched and cold. Morn came again, Yet the poor mother's fond distress To shield, with sleepless tenderness, The weak one at her side. Round it, all night, she gathered warm Her woolly limbs-her head Day dawned, and it was dead. THE PET LAMB. She saw it dead; she felt, she knew Yet how could she conceive-poor ewe! It lay before her, stiff and cold, Yet fondly she essayed To cherish it in love's warm fold: Moving, with still reverted face, And low, complaining bleat, All would not do, when all was tried: Love's last fond lure was vain : So quietly by its dead side She laid her down again. ANONYMOUS. THE PET LAMB. JHE dew was falling fast; the stars began to blink; A snow-white mountain-lamb, with a maiden at its side. Nor sheep, nor kine were near; the lamb was all alone, 105 106 THE PET LAMB. With one knee on the grass did the little maiden kneel, 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. "Thou know'st 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. "Here thou need'st not dréad the raven in the sky; "Thy limbs will shortly be twice as stout as they are now, WORDSWORTH. |