SIMON LEE, THE OLD HUNTSMAN: WITH AN INCIDENT IN WHICH HE WAS CONCERNED In the sweet shire of Cardigan, No man like him the horn could sound, 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, Of health, strength, friends, and kindred, see! Old Simon to the word is left In liveried poverty. His Master's dead,—and no one now Dwells in the Hall of Ivor; Men, dogs, and horses, all are dead,— He is the sole survivor. And he is lean and he is sick; One prop he has, and only one: 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 But what to them avails the land Oft, working by her Husband's side, And, though you with your utmost skill From labor could not wean them, 'Tis little, very little, all That they can do between them. Few months of life has he in store, As he to you will tell, For still, the more he works, the more My gentle Reader, I perceive And now I fear that you expect O Reader! had you in your mind O gentle Reader! you would find A tale in everything. What more I have to say is short, It is no tale; but, should you think, One summer-day I chanced to see That at the root of the old tree "You're overtasked, good Simon Lee, I struck, and with a single blow At which the poor old Man, so long The tears into his eyes were brought, They never would have done. —I've heard of hearts unkind, kind deeds With coldness still returning; Alas! the gratitude of men Hath oftener left me mourning. A NIGHT THOUGHT. Lo! where the Moon along the sky But when the clouds asunder fly, Far different we, -a froward race; Thousands, though rich in Fortune's grace, With cherished sullenness of pace Their way pursue, Ingrates that wear a smileless face If kindred humors e'er would make A counter impulse let me take, FIDELITY. A BARKING Sound the Shepherd hears, A cry as of a dog or fox; He halts,—and searches with his eyes Among the scattered rocks: And now at distance can discern A stirring in a brake of fern; |