THE LAST OF THE FLOCK.

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 followd him, and said, "My friend

"What ails you? wherefore weep you so?"

--"Shame on me, Sir! this lusty lamb,

He makes my tears to ?ow.

To-day I fetched him from the rock;

He is the last of all my ?ock.

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 numberd a full score,

And every year encreasd my store.

Year after year my stock it grew,

And from this one, this single ewe,

Full ?fty comely sheep I raised,

As sweet a ?ock 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 askd relief.

They said I was a wealthy man;

My sheep upon the mountain fed,

And it was ?t 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?"

I sold a sheep as they had said,

And bought my little children bread,

And they were healthy with their food;

For me it never did me good.

A woeful time it was for me,

To see the end of all my gains,

The pretty ?ock which I had reared

With all my care and pains,

To see it melt like snow away!

For me it was a woeful day.

Another still! and still another!

A little lamb, and then its mother!

It was a vein that never stoppd,

Like blood-drops from my heart they droppd.

Till thirty were not left alive

They dwindled, dwindled, one by one,

And I may say that many a time

I wished they all were gone:

They dwindled one by one away;

For me it was a woeful day.

To wicked deeds I was inclined,

And wicked fancies crossd my mind,

And every man I chancd to see,

I thought he knew some ill of me

No peace, no comfort could I ?nd,

No ease, within doors or without,

And crazily, and wearily,

I went my work about.

Oft-times I thought to run away;

For me it was a woeful day.

Sir! twas a precious ?ock to me,

As dear as my own children be;

For daily with my growing store

I loved my children more and more.

Alas! it was an evil time;

God cursed me in my sore distress,

I prayed, yet every day I thought

I loved my children less;

And every week, and every day,

My ?ock, it seemed to melt away.

They dwindled, Sir, sad sight to see!

From ten to ?ve, from ?ve to three,

A lamb, a weather, and a ewe;

And then at last, from three to two;

And of my ?fty, yesterday

I had but only one,

And here it lies upon my arm,

Alas! and I have none;

To-day I fetched it from the rock;

It is the last of all my ?ock."