It was a new-born thing: the rain Was drenched and cold. Morn came again, Yet the poor mother's fond distress Its every art had tried, To shield, with sleepless tenderness, The weak one at her side. Round it, all night, she gathered warm Day dawned, and it was dead. HE dew was falling fast; the stars began to blink ; I heard a voice; it said, "Drink, pretty creature, drink!" A snow-white mountain-lamb, with a maiden at its side. Nor sheep, nor kine were near; the lamb was all alone, 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. 66 'Here thou need'st not dread the raven in the sky; "Thy limbs will shortly be twice as stout as they are now, WORDSWORTH. |